Hi, it’s me Leia!

I have a question: what is this heel thing the human is so excited about???

I thought I knew, having successfully brought my brother to heel. But apparently all I know is what heel is NOT.

How many ways are there to NOT heel?

Let me count the ways:

Nipping at my brother’s heels? Apparently NOT HEELING.

Unless you’re a Blue Heeler, or some other known cattle dog. Though this does result in some unsolicited screeching about not tearing your brother’s hock hair off, coupled with some rather NOT nice speculation regarding my parentage.

Speaking of cattle, apparently my brother is NOT one. Despite the fact that he has been known to belch. And the jury is out on how many stomachs he has. Who knew?

Weaving back and forth in front of Mom. Apparently NOT HEELING.

Walking BEHIND Mom and stepping on her heels? Again, no. Also strongly discouraged.

I have a real problem with this. Having figured out where heels are, and put myself squarely on top of them, I deserve some credit. NOT “OMG, you’re going to kill me, bitch!”

We practice using something called “Choose to Heel”, which I’m told was invented, or at least codified, by someone named Dawn Jecs.

It’s not a bad approach, all told. Mom wanders around aimlessly. Fortunately she has already perfected this in normal life, so that helps. I follow her around. That is, after all, what we sheepdogs do. So far, so good.

When I hit a certain magic spot – not what you would think; actually on her left side and with my shoulder aligned with her knee – food magically appears. OK, it’s not magic. I can smell it. I know it’s there. It’s just a matter of putting my feet in the right place to get fed. Then she quick turns into me and game on!

So far, so good, even though I personally feel strongly it should be called KNEE position. Apparently the American Kennel Club’s obedience regulations does not actually recognize this superior nomenclature. But I’m confident that they can be brought to hee…eh, I mean knee.

Your thoughts?