Chapter 8 2

Of course, her faithful companion during this time of confinement was Marley.He pitched camp on the floor next to Jenny's bed, surrounded himself with a wide assortment of chew toys and rawhide bones, waiting in case Jenny changed her mind and decided to jump out of bed Come down and join in a little impulsive tug-of-war.He waited there day and night.When I got home from get off work, I found Aunt Anita cooking dinner in the kitchen with Patrick sitting next to her in the bouncy chair.Then, I'd go into the bedroom and I'd see Marley standing by the bed with his chin resting on the mattress, his tail wagging, and his nose nuzzling Jenny's neck while Jenny was reading, or dozing off, Or just staring at the ceiling, arms dangling lazily over Marley's back.I marked off each day on the calendar to help her keep track of her progress, but it was counterproductive, reminding her how slowly each minute and each day passed.There are some people who are content to be idle, and Jenny is not one of them.She was born to work, and this forced idleness was slowly wearing her down at an imperceptible speed, and every day, the situation was getting worse.She was like a sailor trapped in the equatorial dead zone, waiting with growing desperation for even the faintest wind to fill the sails and keep the journey going.I did my best to encourage her, saying things like, "One year from now, when we look back on this painful time, we'll be smiling with relief."However, these words of encouragement did not have much effect.Some days, her eyes will look into the distance, blank.

Aunt Anita packed her suitcase and kissed us good-bye while Jenny was still in bed for another full month.She has stayed as long as she can, in fact, has extended her visit several times over, but she also has a husband at home, she quipped half-jokingly, that if he lived alone on frozen fast food Had he survived, he might have turned into a wild animal.So, we once again began to live independently. I do my best to keep our ship of life afloat without sinking.At dawn, I'd get up, take a shower, get Patrick dressed, feed him porridge and carrot mush, and take him and Marley out for a walk.Then, on the day I needed to go to work at the newspaper, I would leave Patrick at Sandy's house and pick him up in the evening.I'd be home at noon, make Jenny's lunch, bring her the mail--that's the most emotional time of her day, throw the stick at Marley, and then, there would be chaos and chaos from neglect. Clean up the old state of the house.The lawn hadn't been mowed in ages, the unwashed laundry was piling up, and the screen on the back porch hadn't been repaired since Marley rammed it to chase a squirrel.The torn screen blew in the wind for weeks, and in fact served as a space between Marley's backyard and the house during the long hours alone with the bedridden Jenny. Looking for a happy, free door for dogs to come and go. "I'll fix the screen," I promised Jenny, "it's on the agenda." But, I could see the frustration in her eyes.It took her great self-control not to leap out of bed to restore her home to its original state.At night, after Patrick fell asleep, I would go grocery shopping, and sometimes, in the middle of the night, I would take a short walk in the hallway.We survived on canned food, frozen food, and pasta.My loyal subscription for several years was suddenly discontinued simply because I had neither the time nor the energy to read magazines.All I can write about this dismal situation is this: "The burdens of life are overwhelming."

Then, one day, when we were finally looking forward to Jenny's thirty-five weeks pregnant, the hospital technician came to our door and said, "Congratulations girl, you made it! You're free again! She undid the medical pump, removed the catheter, packed up the fetal monitor, and took away the doctor's written instructions.Jenny is finally free and back to her normal lifestyle.No bondage, no medication.We can even have sex again.Now, the fetus is fully viable.Labor will come in due time. "Have fun," she said, "You deserve it." Jenny lifted Patrick over her head, played playfully with Marley in the backyard, and threw herself wildly into chores.We celebrated with an Indian meal out that night and a show at a local comedy club.The next day, the three of us continued our festivities and had lunch at a Greek restaurant.However, as soon as the waiter brought our food to the table, the baby in Jenny's womb couldn't wait to come out to see the world.That night, before she could enjoy the mutton curry, labor pains began.She didn't want a few contractions to interrupt her hard-earned night of food in the downtown area.But at this moment, every contraction would make her almost unable to stand up in pain.So we sprinted back home, where Sandy was already on call to take over from Patrick and babysit Marley.Jenny was waiting for me in the car, and by the time I grabbed her duffel bag and got back to the car, she was breathing heavily and in increasing pain.By the time we arrived at the hospital and checked into a room, Jenny's cervix had been dilated to seven centimeters.Within an hour, I was out of the delivery room with our newborn in my arms.Jenny counted his fingers and toes, no more, no less.His eyes were wide open, as if in wariness, and his chest had turned rose red.

"You did it," declared Dr. Sherman. "The baby is beautiful and healthy." Crowe Richard Gerrogan, five pounds and thirteen ounces, was born on October 10, 1993.I was so happy that I didn't immediately think of a sad irony about this pregnancy—we paid a fortune for a luxury suite, only to be totally oblivious because the labor was so short. Didn't get to enjoy this expensive suite.If the delivery had been quicker, Jenny would have delivered the baby directly in the parking lot of the Texaco station.I hadn't even had time to sprawl out on the "dad couch".

We felt the birth of our second son was headline news given all that we had to go through to bring this child safely into the world.However, for the local media, this news is not big and sensational enough, so it will not be published or broadcast.Beneath our window, though, a number of TV news vans were congregating in the parking lot, their satellite TV dishes poking into the sky.I could see reporters standing in front of the cameras with microphones in their hands, reporting live. "Hey sweetie," I said, "the papaches [photographers without a permanent job] are out for you."

A nurse tending to the newborn in the room said, "Can you believe it? Donald Chuang is in the hallway." "Donald Zhuangpu?" Jenny asked. "I didn't know he was having a baby, too." When the real estate mogul moved to Palm Beach a few years ago to make her home in the sprawling former home of famed grain heiress Marjorie Murray Wade Post, there was a stir. There was quite a stir.The property is called Mar-a-Lago, which means "from the sea to the lake."As the name suggests, the property stretches over seventeen acres from the Atlantic Ocean to the Intracoastal Waterway, and includes a nine-hole golf course.From the end of our street we could look across the quay to the spire of the fifty-eight-bedroom Moorish-influenced mansion, taller than palm trees.But now, in this hospital, the Zhuang Pu family and the Gerogan family have become practical neighbors.

I turned on the TV to learn that Donald's girlfriend, Marle Maples, had just given birth to a daughter, making them proud parents.They named their daughter Tiffany - she was born not long after Jenny gave birth to Crowe. While TV news crews gathered here to capture footage of Zhuang Pu leaving the hospital and returning to his residence with their newborn, we watched the bustling and unprecedented event from the windows.Marler smiled demurely as she held up her baby for the camera; Donald waved his arms, his eyes bright with pride. "I feel great!" he said to the camera.Then they got into a chauffeured limousine and drove off.

The next morning, when it was our turn to leave the hospital and go home, a kind retiree who volunteered at the hospital led Jenny and baby Crowe in a wheelchair through the hall and out the automatic door, Bathed in the sunshine.There were no photographers, no satellite vans, no soundtrack summaries of news interviews to be broadcast, no live coverage, just the three of us and our elderly volunteer.Even though I wasn't interviewed or asked questions by anyone, I felt "awesome".Donald Chuang is not the only one who is proud of his offspring. When I went to the curb to pick up the car, the volunteers waited with Jenny and the kids.Before strapping the newborn into his car seat, I held him high above my head for the world to see this newborn as if someone was watching him, And said: "Crow Gerrogan, you are as unique as Tiffany Zhuang Pu, please never forget this."

These days are supposed to be the happiest of our lives, and in many ways they are.We now have two sons, a toddler and a baby boy, separated by only seventeen months.They bring us great joy.However, the dark cloud hanging over Jenny's head during her forced bed rest has not dissipated.For the first few weeks, she felt fine, happily coping with the challenges of taking responsibility for two lives that depended entirely on her for all their needs.On other weeks she was very gloomy, full of frustration, and her life was shrouded in a cloud of melancholy.We were both exhausted and, most tragically, we were relentlessly sleep deprived.At night, Patrick would wake us up at least once, and Crowe would wake up several times, crying loudly, asking us to either nurse him or change his diaper.We rarely sleep for two hours without interruption.Some nights we were dead-eyed and motionless, like reanimated zombies, Jenny walking to one child and I to another.We would wake up once at midnight, then at 2 in the morning, then at 3:30, and finally at 5.Then, the sun will rise slowly, slowly lifting the curtain of a new day, bringing new hope, and another day that makes our bones ache.Then, from the hall, comes Patrick's sweet, cheery, wide-awake voice: "Mom! Daddy! Fan!" We brace ourselves with willpower, and we know that this night's sleep will So far away.I started making my coffee stronger to refresh myself, and showed up at the office in a crumpled shirt with baby vomit on the collar.In my editorial office one morning, I found a young and attractive editorial assistant gazing at me intently.I smiled at her, smug in my heart: "Hey, you know, I'm a father of two now, but I can still attract women's attention." Unexpectedly, she then said: "You know you have glue on your hair something?"

Complicating the chaos of sleep deprivation is the increasingly dire situation we live in because of the anxiety we've had with the birth of our new son.Crow hadn't been weaned yet due to being underweight, and Jenny was focused on feeding him strong and healthy, and he seemed equally determined to thwart Jenny's plans.She would open her breasts to him and he would help her get what she wanted, sucking hungrily.Then, he would spit out all the milk he drank.So she had to nurse him again; and he would gobble it up again, and then empty his stomach again.Jets of vomit appear in our lives with a high frequency of once an hour.This procedure was repeated over and over again, and each time Jenny became more frantic.Doctors diagnose this as reflux and advise us to consult a specialist.The experts injected a sedative into our little baby boy, then inserted an observation instrument from his throat, and entered his body in a detour, making detailed observations.Crowe eventually stopped having reflux symptoms and gained weight rapidly.However, for more than four months, we have been extremely anxious about him and exhausted physically and mentally.Worry, stress, and frustration overwhelmed Jenny as she nursed him almost non-stop, as he poured her milk back into her and she watched helplessly. The siege, combined with the severe lack of sleep, exacerbated her annoyance and made her very irritable. "I feel so incompetent," she would say, "that mothers should be able to have everything their children need." I could see her emotional fuses getting shorter and shorter, even the smallest "Crime"—the cupboard door was left open, the table was left with breadcrumbs that hadn't been cleaned—would set her on fire.

The good news is that Jenny never once let go of her concerns about her two children.In fact, she nurtured them both with an almost urgent care and patience.She dedicated every inch of her being to them selflessly.The bad news is that she directed her madness and anger directly at me and, more importantly, at Marley.She lost all patience with him.He was in the crosshairs of her fire sights, and nothing was right.Each of his crimes—and more crimes that resulted from them—moved Jenny's hand on the trigger a little closer.Apparently, Marley will carry on with his antics, crimes, and unbridled enthusiasm to the end.I bought a bush and planted it in the garden as a celebration of Crow's birth; Marley uprooted it that same day and chomped it up.I was running around to replace the torn porch screen, and Marley, accustomed to the dog door he had made himself, quickly sprinted to the screen again and through the door.He spent a day on the run to get away with it, and when he finally came home he had a pair of women's trousers in his teeth.I don't want to know what he did again. Although Jenny fed Marley more sedatives more often—more for herself than for him—Marley's phobia of thunderstorms and subsequent irrational behavior got worse every day.Even now, a soft shower would send him into a panic.If we had been home, he would have jumped on us and his excess saliva would have soaked our clothes.If we hadn't been home, he'd have done it in the same surly way -- scratching at doors, plaster walls, or linoleum, trying to carve holes for escape.The more I fix it, the more often he destroys it.I can barely keep up with him.I should have been furious, but Jenny was furious at both me and Marley.So, instead of getting angry at Marley, I covered it up for him everywhere.If I found a chewed-up shoe, book, or pillow, I'd hide the evidence until Jenny found out.When Marley ran amok and got into trouble in our tiny home, I would be right behind him—straightening the rugs, setting the coffee table, wiping his spit off the walls.Before Jenny finds out, I'll sprint to the vacuum cleaner to clean up the wood chips Marley left on the garage floor after another gouging of the door.I stayed up late just to fix things and throw sand on the ground so that by the time Jenny woke up in the morning, the latest damage Marley had done would be covered up. "For God's sake, Marley, don't you want to die?" As I knelt down one night, repairing the latest damage, Marley stood beside me, tail wagging, While licking my ear, I said to him, "You have to stop making trouble." This night, I walked into an environment where Jenny's anger could explode at any time.I opened the front door to find Jenny punching Marley.She was wailing uncontrollably, beating him furiously, looking more like she was pounding a drum than a dog, her fists raining down on his back, shoulders and on the neck. "Why? Why are you doing this?" She screamed at him, "Why did you destroy everything?" At that moment, I discovered the crime he had committed - the sofa cushions were gouged open The fabric on the outside of the cushion was torn to shreds and the stuffing inside was dragged out.Marley stood there head-down, with his limbs splayed out in a figure-eight, leaning his body as if against a hurricane.He didn't try to escape or dodge the punches that landed on him; he just stood there and took each one without a whimper or complaint. "Hi! Hi! Hi!" I yelled, grabbing her by the wrist, "Okay. Stop hitting. Stop hitting!" She was sobbing and panting. "Stop it," I repeated. I got between her and Marley, face to face with her.It was like looking at each other with a stranger.I didn't notice the look in her eyes. "Get him out of here," she said, her voice calm but with a silent tingle. "Get him out of here, now." "Okay, I'll take him out," I said, "but you need to calm down." "Get him out of here, don't let him stay here." The calmness in her voice was disturbing. I opened the front door and Marley jumped outside.When I went back into the house to get the leash I left on the table, Jenny said, "I mean, I want him to disappear. I want him out of here forever." "Well," I said, "that's not what you meant." "That's what I mean," she said. "I've had enough of that dog. You've got to find him a new home, or I'll do it." There was no way she really wanted to send Marley away.She loves this dog.Despite the fact that Marley's flaws could make a long list, enumerated one by one, she still liked him.She's just sad right now; she's just so stressed that she's breaking down.She will reconsider the decision she just made on the spur of the moment.I think the best thing to do in this situation is to give her time to calm down.I didn't say anything and walked out of the room.In the front yard, Marley was running and jumping around, leaping into the air, trying to bite the leash off my hand.He was back to his usual cheerfulness, apparently not depressed by the continuous punching.I know Jenny didn't hurt him.To be honest, when I was playing wild with him, I used to punch him way harder than Jenny's fists did, and he loved the brutality, jumping back and hoping Start more contests.As a pure sign of his blood, he was immune to pain, a never-ending machine of mental and physical energy.Once, while I was washing my car in the driveway, he stuck his head in a soapy bucket, and with the bucket firmly on his head, he darted across the lawn like a blind man until he hit a side Concrete walls before he stopped.This didn't seem to bother him.But a pat on the hip with an angry palm, or even just speaking to him in a stern voice, will show that he is deeply hurt.For a guy as dumb as he was, this sensitivity in Marley seemed a little strange.Jenny had done him no harm physically, but she had crushed him emotionally, at least for the moment.Jenny was everything to him, one of his two best friends in the world.She was his mistress, and he was her faithful companion.If she thought it proper to give him a beating, he would think it right to take it all and suffer the beating in silence.From other aspects of the dog, Marley's performance is indeed unsatisfactory, but his loyalty is unquestionable.Now, it's my job to fix the damage and make things good again. In the street, I grabbed the dog's leash and ordered, "Sit!" And Marley sat down.I put the choker high up around his throat, ready for our walk.I put my hands on his head and massaged his neck before I took a step.He stuck his nose in the air and looked up at me, his tongue dangling long from his neck.It seemed that the incident with Jenny had been forgotten by him; now, I hoped that Jenny would put it behind her as well. "What am I going to do with you, you stupid dog?" I asked him.He jumped straight up, as if the soles of his feet had springs, and pressed his tongue to my lips. Marley and I walked miles and miles that night, and when I finally opened the front door, he was exhausted and ready to lie down quietly in a corner.Jenny rocked Crowe on her lap as she fed Patrick a bottle of baby food.She was calm and seemed to be back to her old normal.I untie the strap around Marley's neck, and he drinks from his water bowl, licking vigorously, splashing waves over the rim of the bowl.I toweled the floor dry and stole a sneaky glance in Jenny's direction: she seemed unperturbed.Perhaps the dreadful hour is over.Perhaps she had reconsidered her impulsive decision.Maybe she's feeling shy about her emotional volcano and looking for the words to apologize.Marley clung to my heels as I walked past her, and without looking at me, she said in a calm, deliberate voice, "I'm absolutely serious. I want him out of here. " Over the next few days, she repeated the ultimatum so tirelessly that I finally realized it wasn't just an empty threat.Although she didn't lose her temper, it doesn't mean that the problem has gone away.I am very anxious about this.It sounds very sympathetic, Marley has become my male soul mate, my close companion, my friend.He was indeed undertrained, uncultivated, recalcitrant, nonconformist, and in political terms he had the free spirit I'd always craved—if I had been brave enough.In his unruly vitality, I seem to have obtained the same pleasure.No matter how complicated life gets, he can remind me of the simple joys; no matter how many responsibilities I have, he can remind me that sometimes it is worth paying a high price for stubborn disobedience of.In a world full of coming and going, he is his own master.My soul withers and withers at the thought of giving him up.But now I have two kids to worry about and a wife that both I and my kids need.Our families are held together by the most delicate threads.If the loss of Marley could lead to the complete downfall or stability of our family, how could such a huge difference make me disrespect Jenny's wishes? I began to extend my tentacles, discreetly asking friends and colleagues if they would be interested in adopting a lovable, playful two-year-old Labrador Retriever.From them I learned that one neighbor was very fond of dogs and would have nothing against canines.However, even he said "No" to me.It was unfortunate that Marley's notoriety was too daunting for him. Every morning, I open the paper and look through the classifieds as if I could spot some miracle ad there: "Looking for the wild, energetic, uncontrollable, polyphobic Labura Plus a destructive talent. Willing to pay top dollar for it." Of course I didn't get to see this kind of advert, quite the contrary, what I found was that deals for the transfer of young adult dogs for various reasons were very Prosperity.These young adult dogs, many of which were purebreds purchased by their owners only a few months ago for hundreds of dollars, are now being sold for cheap or even free.And among these dogs who are about to be abandoned by their owners, male Labradors account for a surprisingly large number. Almost every day, these commercials break my heart instantly, but they also make me feel instantly cheerful.In my favour, I can discern an attempt to cover up the true reasons for the dogs' return to the trade.These ads are filled with cheerful euphemisms, a pattern of behavior I know all too well. "Lively...loving people...needs a large yard...needs room to play...spirited...heroic...powerful...kind." These modifiers add up to just the same thing: This is a dog out of his control, a dog that has become a burden to his master, a dog whose master is ready to give up. On the one hand, I laughed knowingly; because the shenanigans in these commercials are hilarious.When I read "Extreme Loyalty" I know what Vendor really means is "he bites", "Forever Companion" means "has anxiety about being alone", and "Excellent Watchdog" Can be interpreted as "constant barking" and I knew it when I saw "best price" which meant that the desperate owner was actually asking, "what the hell am I going to pay for?" How much are you willing to take this guy off of me?" On the other hand, I was aching with grief.I am not one to give up easily; I am sure Jenny is not one to give up easily either.None of us are the type to pawn our troubles in the classifieds.Marley is undeniably one of those rare breeds of dogs, and a dog that can be a real nuisance to its owner.He bears little resemblance to the stately dog ​​that Jenny and I grew up with.He has a long list of bad habits and actions.The crimes he committed are too numerous to list.He is also very different from the spastic puppy we brought home two years ago.In his own flawed way, he enjoyed himself.Part of our journey as his master is to mold him into what we want him to be, but another part of our journey is to accept him as he is.Not simply to accept him, but to praise him and his unyielding canine soul.What we bring into our home is a living, breathing being, not a popular accessory sitting in the corner.For better or worse, he is our dog.He is part of our family, and despite his countless faults, he gives us a hundred times more joy and love than these faults.And the devotion and selflessness that he did his best to provide us cannot be measured by money, it is priceless. I'm not ready to give up on him. Just as I continued to poke around with feigned enthusiasm to find a new home for Marley, I began to work with him in real enthusiasm.My own secret mission, Mission Impossible, was to restore the dog's reputation and prove to Jenny that he was worthy.Cursing my interrupted sleep, I started getting up at dawn, strapping Patrick into the stroller, and walking Marley toward the pier.sit down.Hold still.get down.keep up.We practiced it over and over again.There was a desperate, desperate air to my mission, and Marley seemed to pick it up.Now, the game is different; this time for real.Just in case he doesn't get it all, I'll make it clear to him more than once, without any pretentious words: "We're not here to fool around, Marley. This time it's serious. Let's get started." I'll Command drill again, while my assistant, Patrick, clapped his hands and yelled at his big, yellow-haired friend, "Stick! Whoa!" When I re-enrolled Marley in obedience school, he was no longer the delinquent teenage dog I first appeared with.Although he was still as wild as a wild boar, this time he knew that I was the one calling the shots and he was the subordinate.This time, no more pounces on other dogs (or at least fewer pounces), no more tandem tugs between the owner and his dog across the tarmac, no more There was a bump to the stranger's crotch.After eight weeks of study, I finally got Marley through command training with a tight leash around the dog's neck, and he was happy to cooperate, even ecstatic.At our last meeting, the trainer—a less strict lady who was the exact opposite of Miss Dominatrix—called us forward. "Okay," she said, "show us the results of your training." I ordered Marley to sit down, and he squatted down.I lifted the choker chain high around his throat, gave a clean tug on the leash around the dog's neck, and ordered him to follow.We trotted across the parking lot and back again, with Marley at my side, his shoulder lightly touching my calf, in the standard position taught in the book.I ordered him to sit down again, and I stood straight in front of him, pointing my finger at his forehead. "Sit down," I said quietly, as my other hand dropped his belt.I took a few steps back.His large brown eyes watched me intently, waiting for any slight signal from me to release him from the sitting position, but he remained in the squatting position.I turned a 360-degree circle around him.He was shaking with excitement, and tried to turn his head so that his eyes could continue to follow my figure, but he didn't move his body half a step.When I turned back to him, I snapped my fingers just for fun, and he immediately straightened up, ready to call.The female teacher burst out laughing.I turned my back to him and walked thirty paces away.I could feel his burning eyes focusing on my back, but he stayed where he was.By the time I turned to face him, he was shaking violently.It seems that the volcano may erupt at any time.Then I took a big step with my feet and got into a boxer's stance because I could see what was coming, and said "Marley..." and I let his name hang in the air for a few moments Seconds, "... come here!" He shot towards me like an arrow off the string, and I was ready for the collision.就在他撞在我身上的前一秒钟，在这千钧一发之际，我熟练而灵巧地横跨一步躲闪开来，姿势极具一个斗牛士的优雅，而他则从我的身边“发射”了过去，然后他又转了回来，用他的鼻子从后面刺戳着我的屁股。 “好孩子，马利，”我热情地说道，蹲了下来，“很好，很好，好孩子！你是一个好孩子！”他围着我跳起舞来，就好像我们刚刚一起征服了珠穆朗玛峰一样。 那天晚上的最后，老师把我们叫出了队列，然后将我们的结业证书交到了我的手上。马利已经通过了基本的服从训练，并且排在班级的第七名。但如果那是一个只有八只狗的班级，而且那只位居第八名的狗还是一只患有精神错乱的美洲叭喇狗的话，那么马利的成绩还值得我大张旗鼓地炫耀一番吗？尽管上述的情况确实属实，但是，马利，我的这只无药可救的、无法训练的、缺乏教养的狗，终于通过了服从训练。我实在是太自豪了，以致于我差一点要激动得热泪盈眶了。事实上，要不是因为我过于沉溺在这种自豪与喜悦之中，我原本是可以阻止马利跳起来迅速地吃掉了他的那张结业证书的。 在回家的路上，我兴奋得扯着嗓子唱道：“我们是同伴。”马利感觉到了我的快乐和骄傲，于是把他的舌头贴在了我的耳朵上。不过这一次，我并不介意。 我和马利之间还有一件事情没有完成。我需要去掉他所有糟糕的习惯中最为恶劣的一个——跳到人们的身上。不论对方是一位朋友还是一个陌生人，是一个孩子还是一个成年人，是一个湿温刻度计还是一台不间断电源的驱动器，对他来说都没有关系，他照跳不误。马利用同样的方式来迎接他们——全速朝他们冲过去，滑过地板，跳跃起来，然后当他用舌头猛舔他们的脸的时候，他会将两只前爪搭在对方的胸脯上或肩膀上。当他还是一个让人想拥抱的小狗时，他的这种行为还比较可爱，可如今，他的这种欢迎仪式已经变得令人讨厌了，对于某些他的这种未经请求的“邀请函”的收件人来说，他简直就是一个恐怖分子。他曾经撞倒过小孩子，惊吓过客人，弄脏过我们朋友的衬衫和上衣，而且几乎把我那位脆弱的母亲吓病过。没有一个人会欣赏他的这种行为。我曾经无数次尝试着运用标准的训练狗的技巧试图戒除掉他的这种跳跃习惯，却无一成功。后来，一位我十分尊敬的经验丰富的狗主人告诉我说：“你想要让他戒除掉那个习惯，那么下一次他朝你身上跳去的时候，你就用膝盖迅速撞击一下他的胸部。” “我不想伤害到他。”我说道。 “你不会伤害到他的。用你的膝盖刺戳几下，我向你保证他就不会再跳到人身上了。”