That's the usual tongue-in-cheek comment that follows when you tell the Swiss you're not Swiss.
A year ago, I couldn't get within 500 feet of a pasture of grazing horses or cows without an explosion of histrionics from Loki. Yesterday, I called them back to me when I saw a horseback rider approach during one of our off-leash walks. He sat patiently with Juno while a horseback rider walked past us only 3 feet away. As he waited for them to pass, he ate a multitude of chicken treats as if he were chain smoking them nervously. But no barks, no yips and no histrionics. Counter-conditioning rocks. Each time, he needs fewer treats. Someday he won't need any.
Most of our walks through the farms and woods are off-leash and both dogs are making me proud each day. Today we passed our usual pasture of donkeys but this time, they were at the fence line within his reach and as usual, he and Juno were off-leash. He was interested and really wanted to investigate, but I managed to call him off each time he expressed interest.
Busy towns used to frighten him. Now Morges and Lausanne are his and Juno's favorite walking places. They happily go to town with no embarrassing crackeriness. Who can blame them? They get to share our sandwiches and ice creams each time.
Now if I could just get him to ignore the fence-fighting dog we pass by daily. Each time the dog charges the fence, Loki's inner-cujo errupts.
What can I say? He's not Swiss. Nobody's perfect.