by Karen Clymer

Created on: July 05, 2008   Last Updated: October 31, 2008

In 1965 I was a nerdy, nearsighted 15-year-old girl with only three friends in the world: Alana, Linda, and my dog Tuffy.

Tuffy was one of those All-American ownerless mutts who could have been half cocker spaniel and half Pekingese. He had a fluffy blond coat, an undershot jaw, a tail that curled up over his back, and a hunter's instinct to chase every car that drove down our street. In those days there were no leash laws and my parents, who were reluctant to allow me to adopt this young stray mongrel, said he had to be an outside dog

Alana and I met when we were both selected to go to 4-H Summer School during the high school summer break. She told me about her standard poodles, and I told her about Tuffy.

"Why don't you join our 4-H dog care and training project," Alana suggested. Her mother was the co-leader, and did most of the instructing.

We trained outside at the fairgrounds on a concrete slab. The 4-H club attracted a variety of ages of boys and girls, and a wide range of dog types. Tuffy wasn't the only dog of unknown pedigree. He enjoyed going to class, getting attention and praise, and slowly we began to get the basics down.

Heel was the hardest he lagged. Sit, stand, down, stay, come, and finish were required exercises for the 4-H competition. He got the idea, but obeyed erratically. No food was allowed in those days. We used chain collars for corrections and praise for motivation.

At home, Tuffy was my shadow. While he couldn't go to school with me, he went everywhere else. In that small town, you didn't take a car to go three blocks to the library. I walked and Tuffy trotted. At the grocery store (no supermarkets yet) he had to wait outside. He got the message to stay out after being chased away multiple times by the store clerks. Because of the obedience training, he came when I called, even while walking off leash.

The obedience training built a bond between us. Nothing kept us from our weekly lessons. My parents decided I needed a lesson in thrift. I had to pay them for the gas to get to the fairgrounds for classes. I paid a quarter for every trip. .

Practicing between lessons was a joyful part of my after-school life. Tuffy won my mother over and graduated from being an outside dog to being able to sleep in the basement, then in the kitchen, and finally in my bedroom.

There was only one flaw in those obedience classes. One of the other teenagers, encouraged by her mother, was a snob. She made no secret of their disdain for those of us with mutts,

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