I have a seven year old boxer named Frodo.  Boxers are awesome family dogs; smart, friendly, goofy and for the most part, non aggressive.  Frodo anyways. He’s the kind of dog who will happily welcome in a burglar for tea then invite him to dinner.  But Frodo has two pet peeves, mailmen and moving vehicles – both of which he loves to hate.  There’s little that has the power to distract him from the chase of either.  Not obedience school, not his age, not reward, not the local animal control lady.

The local animal control lady showed up last summer after Frodo got hold of the paperboy’s pant leg.  She’d visited once before with probation papers so I cringed upon seeing her official looking truck pull into the cul-de-sac again.    Frodo, of course greeted her like his long-lost sister which I wasn’t sure whether aided or impeded his case.   But despite her official business, the animal control lady was more of a dog defense attorney than dog prosecutor and explained to me…

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