Chaser by John W. Pilley Page A

problem-solving challenges.
    On the other hand, chasing cars was an all-too-lethal challenge. In my mind’s eye I kept playing back the nightmare moment when the Jeep turned and Chaser raced to cut it off. Fortunately, she failed in her attempt. But it was too close a call.
    As I watched Sally playing with Chaser, I recalled Wayne West’s telling me about refusing to sell some people a dog because they didn’t have a fenced-in yard. Wayne said, “If they ain’t got the facilities to keep a Border collie, I don’t sell them a dog. I tell them, ‘This dog won’t last two weeks. It’ll get run over. Whether it’s a car or a bumblebee, this dog’s gonna try to work it and herd it. And the car is the most challenging and exciting thing for the dog to pursue. The dog’s gonna be out there running after the car. And if a dog gets started doing that, it’s hard to break them of it.’”
    Tomorrow I would have to redirect Puppy’s powerful impulse to chase, without quashing the impulse itself. I couldn’t let her continue to have an unbridled instinctual desire to chase cars. But sure as shooting, I did not want her to lose the instinctual joy of chasing, either.

6
Chaser Learns What Not to Chase
    N OW I HAD two problems to deal with: chasing cars and that darned cat.
    Driving back from Wofford the next day, I had time to stew about the threat of the cat. I was completely flummoxed by Sally’s casual attitude, particularly after the last run-in with the cat. Both my eyes and my gut told me that the cat was stalking Chaser. She was less than half his size, so Chaser was no bigger challenge for him than a squirrel. As soon as I got home, I would insist that we call the animal shelter. Working myself up, I rehearsed my argument out loud. Maybe I was being a little childish, but the cat had to go.
    When I hurried through the door, Chaser ran to meet me, wiggling and squirming on the floor for my attention like a fuzzy little inchworm. I couldn’t help but smile, and the tension in my back and shoulders started to fall away as I knelt down to scoop her up in a hug.
    Sally came into the living room and walked up to me and gave me a kiss before I could get a word out of my open mouth. I took a breath and began again, feeling much less agitated than I was in the car. “Sally, I need to talk to you about . . .”
    â€œOkay, hon, just a minute,” Sally said. “Before I forget, I want to tell you I’ve taken care of the cat.”
    Stunned by that, I asked, “What do you mean, sugar?”
    Sally explained that she had been picking the brain of Lynn, our neighbor three blocks over and an avid cat lover, about the best way to deal with the feral cat. Lynn’s first suggestion was that we adopt the cat. Sally confessed that she thought that would be unfair to the cat with all of our attention showered on our new puppy. Lynn said she completely understood and would put some thought to it.
    While I was out that morning, Lynn had come by the house with a cat carrier. She and Sally had walked over to the drainpipe opening in the little gully across the street, and Sally had called, “Kiiiittty! Kitty, kitty, kitty!”
    The cat had come shyly out of the drainpipe, meowed, and rubbed up against Lynn’s legs. With a little cheese, they had lured it into the carrier, and the feral cat was now a domestic cat, living with Lynn and her husband, Ken.
    I wrapped Sally in my arms and said, “Thank you, thank you, thank you, sugar. You are amazing!” Chaser had to get in on the hug too, wiggling and squirming against our knees with playful puppy yelps.
    This eliminated one of my two fears. But that still left chasing cars—or anything else that brought Chaser running out into the street.
    I was blown away by Chaser’s speed in pursuing the Jeep. I knew instinct was a force to reckon with, as I’d observed many times in