Indulging my dog to the extreme.

Handfeeding him.

Letting him sleep in my bed.

I made a mistake with my male Cane Corso, and it caused me difficulties for the following years. It was entirely my fault.

He’s intelligent. He’s opportunistic. For the next two years, he attempted to outsmart me every second of the day. Even now, he still tries occasionally, but I’ve become more “dog smart” in the process.

Let me give you an example: I place the dog in a sitting position in the middle of the house and tell him to stay there. He looks at me with puppy eyes and lies down on the floor. The moment I open the front door, he darts out. Cane Corsos are like canine Ferraris. He can sprint at incredible speed in no time at all and crash into the door frame with all his body weight, leaving you no chance to stop him.

While he joyfully leaps like a baby goat in the middle of the street, I spend the next few hours shouting, pleading, and begging:

“Come back, you stubborn idiot!…” It doesn’t work. He ignores me. So I try a different approach.

“Jackie… do you want a bone?” He’s no fool; he doesn’t want a bone!

“Look who’s here!” He looks. But there’s nobody.

And so it goes.

He’s a master at faking convincing body language, a true manipulator. He gazes at you with those adorable puppy eyes, evaluating you, in fact. But our human hearts melt. So he gets the green light: “Yeah, I’ll get my way this time too… ‘Whatever Lola wants…'”

Here’s another example: spending half an hour (precisely 30 minutes) with him on a leash in front of the door. The dog looks deep into my eyes, with an expression of pure academic curiosity as if to say, “Let’s see what on Earth you can do if I don’t want to sit!”

Then, he dashes to the front yard, proudly shaking a bra. Or some socks. Or bikinis. Making sure everyone sees what he’s got. I shout at the top of my lungs, “Jack, you rascal, give it back!”

He stops and looks at me.

He even puts the damn object on the ground.

He waits.

Just as my hand is about 5 centimeters away from it, he snatches it and runs away, proudly displaying to the world what a clever rascal he is! I swear he’s laughing at me.

Repeat this scenario 30 times, and you’ll have an idea of the quality of my life in the meantime. Day in and day out.

Yes, I did hire a trainer. And yes, my dog behaved impeccably during the training sessions, so the trainer probably left with the impression that I was being paranoid and seeing behaviors that didn’t exist.

So I was left to deal with it on my own.

I started off on the wrong foot, and now I have to fix it.