When my aunt came, the dog’s stubborn personality began again. For weeks before her visit, our dog Bobo had been surprisingly well-behaved—almost like he’d turned over a new leaf. He didn’t bark at every squirrel, didn’t beg at the dinner table, and even waited patiently for walks. We were starting to believe he had finally grown out of his mischievous ways. But the moment my aunt walked through the door, Bobo’s old self came charging back with a bark and a bounce.
Now, let me explain something: my aunt, Aunt Rosa, is loud, cheerful, and full of energy. She doesn’t tiptoe into a room—she announces herself with booming laughter and exaggerated hugs. Bobo, I’m convinced, sees her as a partner in crime. Their bond is strange and immediate. From the second she arrived, Bobo ran circles around her, tail wagging like a metronome stuck on high speed. She bent down, kissed his forehead, and said, “There’s my good boy!” That’s when the chaos started.
Suddenly, Bobo was back to barking at the vacuum cleaner as if it were a deadly enemy. He refused to eat his dog food unless my aunt fed him by hand. When we tried to put him in his crate for bedtime, he flopped over dramatically like a toddler refusing to go to school.
Even worse, he stopped listening to anyone—except Aunt Rosa. She’d say, “Sit,” and he’d sit instantly. I’d say it? He’d roll over on purpose, look at me, and yawn like I was boring him. When my mom asked him to stop jumping on the couch, Bobo just stared at her, then slowly climbed up and rested his head on a pillow. Aunt Rosa, of course, laughed and said, “He’s got personality!”
Yes—personality is one way to put it. Stubbornness is another.
We tried everything to get him back on track. Treats. Toys. Timeouts. Nothing worked. The dog had decided that while Aunt Rosa was in the house, he would only answer to her. He followed her everywhere—into the kitchen, the garden, even the bathroom once (she found that funny, of course). He refused to go on walks unless she held the leash. If anyone else tried, he’d plant his paws and refuse to move.
The final straw came when we found him sitting at the dinner table, right in Aunt Rosa’s chair, waiting for her to come back from the kitchen. She walked in, saw him sitting there, and burst into laughter. “Looks like he’s taking my place,” she said.
“He’s taken over everything,” I muttered.
When Aunt Rosa finally left after a week, Bobo whined for hours and searched the house for her. But slowly—thankfully—his stubborn streak faded again. He went back to sleeping in his crate and listening to commands. It was like someone flipped a switch back.
We love Aunt Rosa. But now we joke that when she visits, we don’t just prepare the guest room—we brace ourselves for the return of Bobo the stubborn dog.
