Being a Doggy Mama - Canine Complaint Call Center

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

<CLICK>

 

Thank you for calling the Canine Complaint Call Center.  

Your call is important to us.   Please stay on the line while we direct you to our state of the art system, which will make sure you receive impeccable service, dynamically customized to our needs and delivering up to the minute information.

 

<CLICK>

 

Please tell us how we can help you.  

You will hear a list of issues, so please have a pen ready to write down the number - or numbers - that correspond to your issue.  

You are welcome to choose more than one.  

If they are separate, please put a zero between them.  If they are connected, simply use your phone keypad to type in each letter, one after the other, preferably in the order of your perception of the priority of the issues.

 

Press 1 to repeat these instructions.

 

Press 2 to pause to go and get a pen and paper.  

 

Press 3 to continue.

  

<CLICK>

 

Press 1 for.  Issues with feces or urine.

 

Press 2 for.  Issues with your dog eating their food or drinking their water.

 

Press 3 for.  Issues with drooling.

 

Press 4 for.  Issues with your dog affecting your meal times.

 

Press 5 for.  Issues with barking.

 

Press 6 for.  Issues with excessive agression or timidity.

 

Press 7 for.  Issues with breeding.

 

Press 8 for.  Issues with training.

 

Press 9 for.  Any other issue.

 

<BEEP.  BEEP.>

 

You pressed.  

 

Four and.  

 

Three.  

 

Is this correct?  Press 1 for yes and 2 for no.

  

<BEEP>

  

Good.  If I understand you correctly, you have issues with.

 

Your dog drooling.

 

And.

 

Also with.

 

Your dog's behaviour affecting your meal times.  

 

Can you tell me a little more about these two issues?

  

First, what breed is your dog?  Please use the letters on your phone keypad to spell out the breed name.

  

<BEEP.  BEEP.  BEEP.  BEEP.  BEEP.  BEEP.  BEEP.>

 

I think you indicated.  

 

Labrador.  Is that correct?  Press 1 for yes and 2 for no.

 

<BEEP>

  

Drooling and.

 

Labradors.  Labradors do not tend to drool excessively.  

 

Does your dog have a medical condition that makes him or her drool?  Press 1 for yes and 2 for no.

 

<BEEP>

  

Good.

 

Is the drooling related to your dog seeing you eat?  Press 1 for yes and 2 for no.

 

<BEEP>

  

OK.

 

Does your dog sit in a special place, away from it's humans, when you eat?  Press 1 for yes and 2 for no.

 

<BEEP>

  

It is a good idea to train your dog to sit in a specific place, away from the diners, while the humans in the house are eating.

  

Does your dog sit right in front of you, or right next to you, as you eat?  Press 1 for yes and 2 for no.

 

<BEEP>

  

That is not a good idea.

  

Does your dog drool on your feet?  Press 1 for yes and 2 for no.

 

<BEEP>

  

That is not a good idea.  That is not a good idea.

 

Have you, or do you, give your dog food from your plate while you are eating?  Press 1 for yes and 2 for no.

 

<BEEP>

That is not a good idea.  That is not a good idea.  That is not a good idea.

  

Do you allow your dog to lick your plate after you have finished eating?  Press 1 for yes and 2 for no.

 

<BEEP>

  

You are a lost cause.  Good luck with that.  You will now be disconnected.

<CLICK>

To read the rest in this series, click the Doggy Mama tag below.

 

Being a Doggy Mama - Beeeeeg steeeeeck

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Puppy Girl has a new hobby and, with winter setting in, she's getting ample opportunity to indulge it.  

 

She's become a Big Stick Chick.

 

When we're out walking, she somehow manages to find - every time - a big, spindly branch that has fallen prey to pruning or temperature change.  Tail almost at 90 degrees to her back (a.k.a Joy Tail), she grabs the stick in her teeth, gnawing on it, open-mouthed, as if testing the bouquet of a prize Merlot.  

 

It's all happy-happy-joy-joy... until she tries to move.

 

Then the ends of the branch, the little branchlets coming off it, start to snag on the ground.

 

She tries to walk sideways, find a way to keep up with us, now waiting for a few steps forward on the sidewalk.  The little branchlets scrape the pavement slabs.   

 

She keeps pulling, trying to walk at different angles to make progress in a generally forward direction.  Somehow, she ends up with the branchlets dragging under her, now scritching her tummy.  She looks like she has an alien extension.

 

Not to be daunted, she adjusts the thickest part of the stick in her mouth.  

 

CRACK!

 

The branchlets spit off.

 

She's free!

 

She tries to gambol foward, to join us, still waiting for her.  Her brother is invariably sniffing something, oblivious to the canine Harold Lloyd homage in progress.  The stick, now free from it's spindly arm which rested on the ground, can swing from side to side.  Each step which Puppy Girl takes proves Newton's 3rd law and she tries desperately to balance the branch, which touches down, first on the right of her and then on the left.

 

By this time our giggling has grown into guffawing.

 

She moves her head to one side, biting down to try to tame the pendulum.  Tip.  Bite.  Tip.  Bite.

 

Finally - blissfully, the stick is bitten in two again, and she is now left with a somewhat manageable chunk.  And the tail waves higher, and the paws prance higher, and she's by our side again, ready to find her way back home.

  

 

To read more in this series, click here.

 

You might like:

• Mornings with Puppy Girl
• You turn your back for thiry seconds and...

Being a Doggy Mama - Ball fight!

 

We took the doggies to the dog park yesterday.  Puppy Dog is still recovering from his FCE injury and is now at the stage where he can benefit from swimming on his own.

Puppy Dog has a bad habit of taking other dogs' tennis balls.  Lots of dogs do this, but Puppy Dog doesn't give them back, which can lead to some unpleasant encounters.

I am always amazed at how protective people in a dog park are over their tennis balls.  I mean, who cares?  

It's a tennis ball.  

If it's so goddamn precious to you, why'd you bring it to a public place?  Keep your gem-encrusted, 24 carat gold sphere at home.

I've written about this before, more than once.  So I won't bore you with it again.  So, why am I writing about it again.  What was different this time?

Bear with me...

Mr Fatty throws ball into water.  His dog doesn't go after it.  Puppy Dog does.  We call him out of the water.  We try to get the ball from him.  His jaws clamp down.  He pants hard.  He won't let go.  We offer Mr Fatty a ball nearby.  He declines, because "that isn't my ball."  So far, the story is the same as always.  

I finally give the owner our ball, which is way better quality that his.  He inspects it first, then grudingly accepts.  We walk away, annoyed, but not wanting to behave like the arseholes we detest.  

Puppy Dog is still panting, chewing the ball, salivating.

But here's the twist.

After a few minutes Puppy Dog drops the ball, and we get the attention of Mr Fatty, trying to do the right thing and give it back to him.  Mr Fatty walks over.  But then, Mr Bignose steps in, saying the now free ball belongs to his dog.

Mr Fatty and Mr Bignose proceed to have an argument over who owns the extra-special-preciousssssss red and blue tennis ball.

Voices are raised, shoulders are squared, hips are thrust forward.  The last ten minutes of our planet's history, pertaining specifically to the 5 square feet around us, are retold by them in turn, each in the firm belief that they are the source of the absolute truth.  They address each other, with dripping sarcasm, as "Sir."

I look at Fluffy Bear.

He looks at me.

In one tiny glance, which takes a milisecond, we both agree, silently, on the utter stupidity of the situation. 

We walk away, leaving two grown men posturing over a cheap commodity on a sunny Saturday morning. 

"None of this would have happened," snorts Fluffy Bear, "if that stupid guy had taught his dog to actually retrieve!"

To read more in the Being a Doggy Mama series, click here.

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• Dog bite
• You turn your back for 30 seconds and...

Being a Doggy Mama - The Elephant

 

A few days ago I went to a toddler's birthday party.  

If you know me at all, you know I'm not that into snotgoblins.  But they emerged from a good friend of mine, so I thought I'd suck it up and take advantage of the chance to catch up with her, and perhaps get a slice of cake.

I spruced myself up a little, spent a full five minutes at the local gift shop finding something rugrat appropriate, and headed over.  

So there we are, outside in the yard, balloons aloft and - thank God - margaritas for the folks who met the minimum height requirement.

I'd just put my paltry little gift on the table when some guests arrived bearing the children's party equivalent of a offering by the Magi - a Nieman Marcus box.

My friend duly opened it and oohed and aahed over the contents.  There was a book with a padded cover, in bright colors.  The story was about an elephant.  And so the book came with a little soft toy.

It was a stylized elephant shape, the shape a child might draw, making a flattish plush toy, in bright fluffy fabric.

Now... you know those times where you do something stupid and your body is ahead of your brain?  

It takes a moment for your brain to catch up and, by the time it has, your body is already engaged in idiocy, in full view of all those around you.  All you can do in these situations is come up with some self-depricating humor to cover up.

And this is how I found myself next to my friend, squeezing the soft elephant with both hands, all over its little soft body, and sheepishly saying:

 Oh, right!  It's not a dog toy is it?  I guess there's no squeaky!

To read more in this series, click here.

You might like:

• Escape Artist
• The sunny side of the street

Being a Doggy Mama - FCE Recovery Day 6

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

Just under a week ago, our lives changed.

 

Puppy Dog went out to potty and, five minutes later, came limping up to his dad, his right front paw held close to his chest, and his gait severely damaged, causing him to tilt over and almost fall at every step.

 

We rushed to the vet and he sent us directly to a neurologist.

 

Turns out he has suffered an injury called an FCE - Fibrocartilaginous Embolism.  It happens when a dog is running and comes to a rapid stop, or jumps awkwardly.  Essentially a small piece of the disc comes off and gets into the bloodstream.  It then causes a blockage and the spinal chord is starved of blood.  The blood reroutes through other vessels but, in the interim, there has been something like a stroke to the spinal chord.

 

The result is paralysis.  

 

Some dogs are completely paralyzed.  The good news is that it's a neurological injury so it's about the messages getting to the right place which means that, with rehabilitation, a complete or very good recovery is possible.

 

In fact, you can usually see a small improvement in your dog each and every day.  There are videos online, like this one, that show a dog's progress through recovery.

 

Luckily for us, this is the very best prognosis it could have been considering his symptoms.  Other options would have been an exploded disc, or even cancer.

 

Still, as you can imagine, it was incredibly scary.  

 

And it has changed our lives significantly.

 

I was catching up with the second season of In Treatment the other day, which is based around a psychologist and the patients he's treating.  One of the characters said that her life had been rerouted, and that's what I feel has happened to us.  

 

Things have changed, and that's just the way it is.

 

We have to do physiotherapy with Puppy Dog on his right side four times a day, along with massage. We also have to massage his left side, because he's using that side to stay upright, walk, etc.  There is a danger that the overuse could cause a blown out knee or some other injury, so we have to keep the muscles loose.

 

Each bit of physio and massage takes about 20-30 minutes if you do it well, so consider the time out of your day.  

 

I am not complaining about our darling dog here.  What I am trying to do is describe how our lives have changed.

 

Why?  Because if you came to our house you'd see a dog limping, who is walking a little better each day.  No biggie, right?

 

Nope.

 

Finding ways to make life easier for him, and stop him trying to do the things he always has - like jump up and run to the door when there's a knock - has meant he has to be constantly supervised, and we've had to come up with processes and mitigations.

 

We now have 8 rubber-backed rugs all over our wooden floors, because he slips and can't walk.  We've built a ramp down the steps out of our back door to the yard.  There are pee pads on all his beds, because he's had accidents.  

 

Getting into the car to go anywhere is a melodrama.  Carry him to the car, try to get him to pee on the grass easement before we leave, he won't (he likes privacy to go potty).  Lift him into the car, he poops.  Take out the towel in the car, take it to the porch, get Nature's Miracle, pour it on the towel.  Get another towel and take it to the car.  Rearrange the pee pads and put the towel on top.  Decide we should have some Nature's Miracle in the car.  Go back to the house, get the Nature's Miracle.  Go back to the car.  Try to get him to sit.  Try again.  Force him to sit.  Finally leave.

 

I am loathe to mention it, but we have to also consider the costs.  Vet, emergency vet, rehab vet evaluation, water therapy,  massage.  This is going to wipe out the money we managed to squirrel away over the last 6 months.   

 

The stuff above is bad, but there are two things that make this really difficult.  

 

The first is the pressure on us, which manifests as bickering.  One of us forgets to bring X to the car, or holds him a way that the other doesn't agree with, or steps away for a moment and that's when he decides to get up and falls over, and we snap at each other.  We're both scared and angry and stressed out and tired and sad... and we take it out on each other.

 

The second is the grieving.  

 

Our boy, our beautiful, vibrant, uberfit boy, who swam and ran and jumped, is lying on the pee pad, towel covered bed in the house and he doesn't understand what's happened to him.  Will he fully recover?  You want to stay positive, but the question is in your mind anyway.  It's heartbreaking. 

 

And our little girl.  She doesn't know why everything has changed either.  She doesn't know why she can't play with him, why her humans are displaying emotions that she is tuning into, and they are not happy ones.  Her energy is down, she's tentative and much more tired than usual.  

 

 

This is hard.  This is ugly.  This isn't fair.

 

The silver lining is seeing him get a little better each day.  It's seeing his gait improve after his first water therapy session.  It's seeing him finally get over his privacy issues and pee outside with one of us holding him up by his side.  

 

It's each little thing that shows it's getting better.  

 

But, for now, it hurts.

 

And that's our story.

 

 

To read more in the Doggy Mama series, click here.

 

You might like:

• Two exhausting hours
• Escape Artist

Being a Doggy Mama - 7 Rules of Dog Park Etiquette

 

I've written about this stuff before.  

But, sadly, it seems that Fuckwits still abound, so I have no choice but to reiterate.

Here are the...

7 Rules of Dog Park Etiquette

1) NO SQUEAKY TOYS IN THE DOG PARK

I am happy for you that you buy your dog special squeaky toys.  Bully for you.  

Just don't bring them to the dog park because - guess what? - my dog doesn't know that the thing being thrown in the air that is emitting loud prey sounds is off-limits to him.  

And my Puppy Dog is most likely a damn sight faster than your dog (because he can run like the wind) and - guess what? - my dog is going to get to the prey before your dog.  And then my dog is going to chew the prey which, of course, is going to continue to emit loud death cries.  And then I am not going to be able to get your fucking squeaky little piece of shit toy back from my dog to give it to you, it's rightful, righteous owner.

For an example of this kind of utter fiasco, see here and here.

2) PICK A LINE OF SIGHT

When you are throwing the ball for your dog, and at least three other people are too, don't you think it might be a good idea to make sure that the balls' trajectories don't cross each other?  Or were you not paying attention in Maths class when they covered Geometry?

If you have to cross trajectories because the park is full - guess what? - you can try timing.  Watch, just like you would when you're in your car, the relative speed, distance and direction of whatever the potential obstacle may be, and launch your ball accordingly.

It's up to YOU to makes these assessments and calcuations because - guess what? - my dog isn't going to.  And, most likely, neither is yours.  When they chase balls, they're not in fucking ballet class, Mate.  They have a singular focus, their instinct takes over and nothing will deter them from catching the prey. 

I don't give a shit if you don't like it - this is just the way it is.  If you can't figure out a way to play with your dog safely, in a way that doesn't endanger my dog, kindly fuck right off and play somewhere else in the park - like the ditch.

3) WATCH YOUR KID

Rugrats need training as much as dogs do.  If you insist on bringing them to the dog park - in spite of the fact that Snot Goblin parks outnumber dog parks in this city something like 10 to 1 - kindly instruct your Mini-me's on how to behave.

There is a strict etiquette to approaching another person's dog, which is not just about manners, but also safety.

You approach slowly, get the owner's attention and ASK if you may greet or pet the dog.  That way, I can make sure I hold Puppy Girl's collar so that she sits nicely and does not jump up to lick your Tinker in the face, smashing her stone skull into your poor little Nappy Crapper's chin.  

Because, you see, your Small Fry is not a miniature adult to my dog.  It's a playmate.  

My dog does not understand that your Brat weighs two thirds of what it does.  My dog does not understand that all your Scamp wants to do is reach out a tentative finger to touch it.  My dog does not understand that your Hatched Alien is above it in the pack order because, once again, my dog is heavier, faster and fitter than your Ankle Biter and it knows that she could take it down in a heartbeat.

Manners!  Etiquette!  Ignore these elements in your Snot Nose's education and you'll rue the day.  

4) WATCH YOUR FURKID

I am happy for you that you are a gregarious, approachable person who likes to gather temporary BFFs at the dog park.  

But, as you exchange inane pleasantries, kindly keep an eye on what your dog is doing.  Because if it's coming over to hump my dog, bark insessantly at her or get in the way of her chasing the ball, your dog is going to get a swift lesson in the power of the Alpha Female.

5) SCOOP THE POOP

This is a follow on from point 2.  

If you don't watch your dog, you can't see when it poops can you?  So pay a-fucking-tention and do what you are supposed to do.

And don't you dare use not having a bag as an excuse.  Less than 5 feet from you in any direction is another dog owner who'll have bags, or you can go to the ones provided by the dog park on the fence and walk your fat, lazy arse back to where the poop is and pick it up.

I do not want to step in your dog's poop.  I do not want my dog to step in your dog's poop.  I do not want my dog's ball to roll in your dog's poop and then her pick the ball up in her mouth.

If I see you repeatedly offending in this way, I am going to come to your house, shit on your doorstep and show you what it's like to not scoop.

6) IF IT DOESN'T COME TO YOU, GO TO IT

I can't tell you the number of times I've heard people at the dog park calling their dogs repeatedly.  If your dog isn't coming to you, move your lardy arse and go to it.

Yes, dogs can run circles around us and make it hard to catch them but, frankly, you wouldn't be in this situation if you had trained your dog properly in the first place.

Anyone who does not teach their dog the "Come" command is a monumental Fuckwit.

Don't stand in the dog park subjecting us all to your sing-song call that reminds us all of bad Karaoke.  

Train your dog, go to your dog and shut the fuck up.

7) PAY FOR YOUR DOG'S SINS

If your dog attacks another dog, do the right thing.  Go up to the owner, apologize and offer him or her your details so that you can pay a portion of the vet bill.  

You'd have to do it if it were a car wreck wouldn't you?  What makes you think you can just walk away when your badly behaved furkid has sunk his teeth into another dog?

Today, at the dog park, two dogs set upon a third, and they had him at either end, pulling him apart.  

The dogs' owners - surprise! surprise! - were chatting to each other and took at least 30 seconds after the volume indicated that this was a really-dangerous-incident-in-progress to run up and deal with their dogs.  

When I went to comfort the owner of the poor dog who was attacked, I asked her whose dogs had hurt her baby.  She couldn't even tell me because she was in shock, and nobody had had the decency to approach her to apologize.

I greatly regret not standing in the park and yelling: "WHOSE DOGS ATTACKED THIS DOG?" running up to them and telling them to remember some fucking manners and make amends to the poor woman who was about to have an Emergency Vet bill to deal with.  Nobody gets half price at the 24 hour dog clinic on a Saturday afternoon.

But, sadly, I was so freaked out that I didn't do it.

But I hereby officially curse those two Fuckwits who didn't help that poor woman.  May they be plagued with arse-pimples, halitosis, constipation and erectile dysfunction for at least six months from today.  And, the next time their dog sinks it's teeth into anything, let it be some soft, warm part of their owners' bodies where the pain will be as acute as possible. 

Read more in the Being a Doggy Mama series.

You may also like reading about how my dogs converse in Puppy Talk.

Being a Doggy Mama - The Venn Diagram of Life

Circle of Life - Kid: 

1. I am part of you

2. I'm coming out! OUCH!  OUCH!  OUCH!  OUCH!  WHAT THE HELL?  

3. I am part of you. FEED ME! CHANGE ME!

4. I love you.  What's going on?  Oh, this is kinda fun.  Playtime!  Tired now.  FEED ME!  CHANGE ME!

5. I love you.  Playtime!  AMUSE ME! FEED ME!  Go potty myself?  NO!  WHAT THE HELL? Tired now.

6. I love you.  Playtime! AMUSE ME!  FEED ME! Wait, I go potty.  OK, tired now.

7. Let's play!  This is fun!  I love you!

8. School is fun!  We play there!  I love my friends.  I love you.

9. LEAVE ME ALONE!  I'M ALMOST AN ADULT!

10. I HATE YOU!

11. College!  See ya!  Hey I'm back!  Thanks for doing my laundry!  Gotta go!

12. I have a job.  I'm MOVING OUT!!! I'm happy that I am making you proud.  I am going to tell you all about it.  I'm starting to understand how much you did for me, now that I have to do my own laundry and cook for myself.  I know how much you love me.  I love you too.

13. I'm working so hard, I'm so busy.  It's good to hear from you but I have to go.  Yes, yes, I love you, Bye.

14.  I love her.  I'm getting married. Can you help out with the wedidng?  Thanks! I love you.   

15.  Yes, we're very happy together.  I love you, but you have to understand - she's my wife.  I have to take her side.

16.  We're having a baby!  I'm so excited to share this news with you!  I can't wait to make you a proud grandmother!  I love you!  Work is wonderful, and I know that the way you brought me up is part of why I am so happy and successful now.  I won't say it out loud, but inside, I thank you.  Oh, one more thing... we're moving to another State.

17. It's good to be living close by again but you have to understand, I have two kids of my own now.  I'm so busy.  Sure, let's have Sunday lunch.  My kids love you and you're great with them.  Could you babysit?  Thanks!  I love you.

18. My kids are awful now.  I think back and know I was just as horrible to you.  I'm sorry.  I love you.  I appreciate you.  Damn!  I have to get home.  The boy just shot the neighbor's cat with his pellet gun.  I know!  What should I do?  Thanks, that's great advice - I love you.  I gotta go.

19. Thank God!  My kids are out of the house!  Shall we spend some time together?  I realize you had this whole life before you had me and there are so many things I don't know about the family.  Let's talk. I enjoy spending time with you.  I love you.  That was fun, but I have to go.  Things to do, people to see... you know how it is.

20. There were so many things I wanted to talk about.  Don't go.  I'm sorry - I should have made more time, I should have been more grateful, I should have respected you more.  I'm sorry.  I do love you, you know, and I realize now how much you have always loved me.  I love you.  I'm sorry.  Goodbye.

Circle of Life - Furkid

1. I can't see you but I'll snuggle. I snuggle birth mommy and drink... yum yum.  I snuggle my sisters and brothers

2. I snuggle you.  I pee.  I'm happy.  I snuggle you

3. I snuggle you.  Let's play! I'm happy! I love you!

4. I snuggle you.  Let's play! Let's play!  Let's play! I'm happy! I lovelovelove you!

5. I snuggle you.  Let's play! I'm happy! I lovelovelove you!

6. I snuggle you.  Let's play... I'm happy! I love you!

7. I snuggle you.  Let's play a little.  I'm so happy. I love you

8. I snuggle you.  Let's walk a little.  I'm happy. I love you so much

9. I snuggle you.  I'm happy. I love you so much

10. I'm going to rest now.  I've been so happy.  Thank you.  Thank you for playing, for feeding, for shelter, for scooping, for cuddles, for toys. I have always loved you and I always will.  Goodbye

To read more in the Doggy Mama series, click the Tag below or the link on the left.

You might like: 

• The 9 circles of hell - about how taking the dogs to the off leash park can be purgatory
• Breaking point - about how having a puppy isn't all snuggles
• Funny moments with Puppy Dog - episode 2

Being a Doggy Mama - The 9 Circles of Hell

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Going to the offleash dog park should be fun, right?

 

Well, not today.

 

Today was hell.  Dante's Nine Circles of Hell.

 

(Yes, there were nine circles, not seven.  Look it up.)

 

 

Circle 1 - Limbo

 

The dogs have been in Limbo for the last three days, because I've been sick.  They haven't been walked or been to the park.

 

So I should have seen this coming.

 

 

Circle 2 - Lust

 

Puppy Dog lusts after other dog's balls. 

 

No, not those balls.

 

Tennis balls.

 

So there I am in the offleash dog park and, while my back is turned, kicking a ball for Puppy Girl to chase, he steals another dog's squeaky tennis ball.

 

This is the part where I think:  "Oh, shit!" because I know what's coming.

 

 

Circle 3 - Gluttony

 

Puppy Dog chews the ball, making it squeak, and starts to froth at the mouth like a rabid wolf.

 

He circles the park, chewing and chewing, tail held high, his Victory Laps.  This is what he's saying to the other dogs who, just by the way, don't give a damn:  

  

"I gotta baw-hawl!  I gotta baw-hawl!  Nyah nyah-nyah nyaaaah nyah!"

 

 

This is the part where the Ball Owner starts to approach, and I have to go to meet him.

 

 

Circle 4 - Greed

 

You have to understand something about Puppy Dog.  

 

Puppy Dog has been known to fit three tennis balls in his mouth.  One squeaky ball is child's play for him to hang onto.

 

This is the part where both the owner and I start to chase Puppy Dog and he deftly avoids us, running up close when I tell him to "Come!" then dodging artfully to prance off again, victorious.  The Ball Ower almost catches him, his hand grazing down Puppy Dog's back, like he's chasing an oiled pig.

 

Next, I try offering Puppy Dog another ball, even throwing it.  No dice.  He has something that squeals like a mouse - a Ferrari - and he's not going to give it up for no stinking Volvo. 

 

 

Circle 5 - Wrath

 

Puppy Dog will not, under any circumstances, let go of the ball. 

 

He is a Field Lines Labrador, bred over decades and decades to do one thing - hunt.

 

A squeaky ball may be, to your sweet dog, something that belongs to him which he dutifully chases, retrives and runs back to drop at your feet.  To my dog, it's just prey.

 

This is why, as I have said before:

 

 

DO NOT BRING A SQUEAKY BALL TO THE DOG PARK,

YOU STUPID FUCKING MORON BOLLOCKS

WANKER FUCKWIT SMEGHEAD!

 

  

If had had money, I'd make signs saying that and nail them to the gate of every fucking dog park in my State. 

 

This is the part where I'm thinking the above, as the Ball Owner and I finally catch Puppy Dog, and we're both attempting to pry the ball from his mouth.  We stick our hands into the spittle-spattered maw, we pull, we yank.

 

Hah!  Nice try.

 

 

Circle 6 - Heresy

 

Here's the thing.  Puppy Dog does not believe that we, as the humans, have a right to take his prey from him.  This is his nature.  

 

To him, for us to violate this doctrine is utter heresy.

 

And if you think that an animal's nature can be overcome by training, you're wrong.  Very, very wrong.  

 

Even we, as humans, labor under the misapprehension that we are evolved, we are cerebral beings, we are in control.

 

Not so.

 

Every man who gets slightly hard when he sees a beautiful female and imagines fucking her, is responding to nature's call to spread his sperm as widely as possible.  Every man who buys a flashy car is trying to indicate to females that he is the head of the herd, and should be chosen as the rutting male.  Every man who buys a stunning house, and furnishes it impeccably, is trying to show a female his lavish nest, so that she will breed with him.

 

Every woman who worries, just before penetration, that maybe, maybe, this time the contraceptive device won't work, will one day experience a completely irrational desire to take a mate and bear a child (she may choose to resist it, as I have, but the impulse is always there).  Every woman who paints her lips is creating an allegory to attract mates - she is indicating the juicyness, the softness, the sweetness, of her other set of lips.  Every woman who shares a living space with other woman, and slowly sees the synchronization - the utterly baffling and ridiculous synchronization - of her menstrual cycle with her living mates, has a body which is adjusting so as to be able to compete with them for winning the mate.

 

This the part where I realize that I can't you blame my dog, my less evolved dog, for following his true nature.  That's heresy.

 

Ball Owner is committing the same sin.

 

 

Circle 7 - Violence

 

A dog evolved - lest we forget - from a wolf, and so will do anything to defend his prey.  Centuries have taught the dog that, if it does not guard his prey against other predators, he may lose it, and therefore potentially starve and die.

 

This is part where my dog, my dog who loves me, my dog who cuddles me, my dog who comes to me when I cry or cough to make sure I am OK, clamps his jaws with 58 pounds of jaw pressure (yep, look it up) down onto my hand.

 

And it bloody well hurts.

 

But I am committing violence too, because I shove my finger down his throat to try to make him let go of that damn ball.  I don't feel good about it, trust me.  But I'm desperate.

 

And Ball Owner, hanging onto my dog's jaw, pressing his lips against his teeth (don't think I didn't notice, Fuckwit) is guilty of exactly the same sin.

 

 

Circle 8 - Fraud

 

Every time Puppy Dog has a ball stuck in his mouth, Puppy Girl can get it from him.  He has given us the impression that sending his little sister after him to get a ball from him works every time.

 

And so I hide the other balls I have in my pockets and encourage my younger baby to:

 

 

"Get the ball!  Get your brother's ball!"

 

 

But Puppy Dog is determined to prove that my foolproof method isn't going to work.

 

He runs faster, he puts the ball on one side of his mouth and turns in circles so she can't get to it, he growls at her.

 

All those times he's given up the ball to Puppy Girl, he was just being nice.  He could've kept it the whole time.  Little fraud.

 

This is the part where I turn to Ball Owner and offer him two of my balls for his.  The balls I offer him aren't mine.  My dogs found them in the dog park.  They aren't as new as the yellow-green shiny ball he had.  I'm a grifter.  But he won't be conned.

 

 

"No!" he snaps.  "The ball I have is much more expensive than those."

 

 

The Kong Squeaker he has costs $2.99.  I just looked it up on Petsmart.com.  A normal Petsmart tennis ball costs $0.99.  So he is arguing with me over ONE STINKING DOLLAR!!!

 

So who, I ask myself, is more of a fraud in this situation?

 

 

Circle 9 - Treachery

 

You may have noticed, as we have worked our way through the levels of hell, that the sins are becoming less and less committed by my dog, and more and more by the humans around him.

 

This is the part where Ball Owner throws a tantrum.

 

 

"OH, FUCK IT!" he yells, stomping back to his dog.

 

"I'm sorry!" I say.  "He's a rescue, and they come with certain behaviors that no amount of training will---  I tried!"

  

 

But he's gone. 

 

He is the traitor.  The traitor to all dog owners.  He brought the fucking squeaky ball.  He thinks he's been robbed when there's only a dollar at stake.  He doesn't get that these things happen at dog parks and sometimes, you just have to graciously let it go.  

 

I mean, he's a dog owner.  Do you honestly believe that his dog has never done something naughty?  That it's never jumped up on someone it shouldn't have?  Or peed somewhere it shouldn't?  Or tried to grab a toy and made contact between tooth and skin?

 

Give me fucking break, Mate!

 

 

Exit from Hell

 

This part takes a while.  

 

First, I have to vent.  Luckily for me, I have an amazing husband, and we tend not to have crises at the same time, so one of us can always talk to the other down.

 

 

Me:  "You won't believe what Puppy Dog just did!"

 

Fluffy Bear:  "He stole another dog's ball."

 

Me:  "Yes.  A squeaky ball."

 

Fluffy Bear:  "Why did someone bring a squeaky ball to the dog park?"

 

Me:  "I KNOW!"

 

Fluffy Bear:  "You can't get it back, can you?"

 

Me:  "NO!  I tried everything.  I tried showing him another ball.  I tried to prise open his jaw.  I tried sending Puppy Girl after him."

 

Fluffy Bear:  "Even that didn't work?"

 

Me:  "NO!"

 

Fluffy Bear:  "Did you try treats?"

 

Me:  "I COULD HAVE A WHOLE ROAST CHICKEN!  IT WON'T MAKE ANY DIFFERENCE!"  

 

Fluffy Bear:  "I know, Honey.  I'm sorry."

 

Me:  "Its so embarrassing!"

 

Fluffy Bear:  "I know, I know."

 

Me:  "He's obsessed!"

 

Fluffy Bear:  "I know.  There's nothing you can do when he gets Froth Mouth."

 

Me:  "I KNOW!"

 

Fluffy Bear:  "Go for a walk along the path with them.  Take deep breaths."

 

Me:  "OK."

 

Fluffy Bear:  "I'll see you soon."

 

Me:  "OK." 

 

 

And so I walk, the dogs follow me, and then they came - the tears of humiliation.  There I am, snivelling down the dog path, with Puppy Girl dropping a ball (not the same one) in front of me, me ignoring it and stepping over it, her picking it up, running to catch up to me, and dropping it again.  I also have Puppy Dog circling me, still doing Victory Laps.  And I wipe my face with saliva-covered gloves.  And I keep my head down so nobody will see that I'm blubbering in public.

 

And, of course - of course - ten minutes later Puppy Girl gets the ball from her brother.  But Mr "Fuck It!" has probably left the park in a huff by now and, anyway, I had my head down looking at my dog during the Ball Battle, and I no idea what the man looks like.

 

Half an hour later, we're home and I face the final stage of the exit from Hell.  Because after I've slammed the front door and stomped through to the kitchen, I turn to see my little boy standing in the dining room, looking at me, tail down, back legs shaking.  He doesn't know why I'm mad.  Miliseconds after the Ball Battle, he's forgotten the war.  He has no idea why I'm upset.

 

I have to quash my feelings.

 

It's just like a mother of a new baby whose been crying for two hours at 3am in the morning.  As the mother gets more anxious, the baby's yells go up one octave + three decibels, because the baby is accutely attuned to its mother's feelings and it knows Mummy is fantasizing about picking it up by it's little feet and smashing it's head against the wall.

 

I exit Hell with an act of contrition.  I kneel down and console Puppy Dog.  Soft voice, soft strokes, soft kiss.  Slowly, his tail starts to wag, first low down, then higher and higher, until he feels better.

 

And, with that, we're both in heaven again.

 

 

 

To read more in the Being a Doggy Mama series, click the Tag below or the Category link on the left.  

 

Similar posts you might like:

• Being a Doggy Mama - Two Exhausting Hours
  • I make the grave mistake of taking Puppy Dog for a Reiki treatment
•  Being a Doggy Mama - 10 Ways Puppies are Like Human Children

 

 

 

 

 

Being a Doggy Mama - Sing Song

Here is a song I sing to my dog, to the tune of Sunrise, Sunset.

Where is the little pup I carried?
Where is the little pup at play?
Why do you keep on getting bigger
Day by day?

Where is your little pinky tummy?
Where are your sweet pirahna teeth?
Why do you suddenly weigh sixty
pounds good grief?

Where's my
Pup-py
Where's my
Pup-py
All that's left is soft ears
Somebody bring me back my puppy
Bring back my little baby girl

To see more in the Being a Doggy Mama series, click here.

Being a Doggy Mama - 2 exhausting hours

 

Today a wonderful local lady who does massage and Reiki on dogs offered her services at a reduced rate to raise money for a local dog shelter.  She did it in partnership with our local pet food store, so I booked Puppy Dog in for a half hour session.

Our Chocolate Labs are both very active, so I decided to take Puppy Dog for a walk to the pet store - about 40 minutes away - to wear him out before we got there.  So off we went.

He was reasonably well behaved, although he has a different definition of our outings.  I'm walking, but him?  At this time of year, he's hunting.

He's on an extendable leash, zig zagging on the sidewalk and the grass verge, tracking.  He's pretty good at staying within the extent of the leash, and he always waits for me at streets and crosses on heel.

It was cold but sunny, autumn leaves on the trees, and a few houses decorated with spiders and spiderwebs, ghosts and pumpkins for Halloween.  We were having a really good time.  

But then I see a huge white dog ahead of us, off leash.  And when I say huge dog, I mean it.  It must have weighed 110 pounds.  It was sniffing things here and there, and I couldn't see it's owner.  I stopped Puppy Dog from going any further.  The dog hadn't seen him yet and Puppy Dog was too busy sniffing around to care about the fur covered horse.

I kept looking, trying to figure out what was going on.  And then I saw him: the owner.  Walking at least half a block in front of his dog, talking on his cellphone, completely oblivious to what his pet was doing.

Now, see, this kinda thing pisses me off no end. 

There are laws here about having your dog on a leash.  I'd love to let my dog run around and sniff about, but I don't.  If I have to adhere to the law, so do you, Fuckwit.

Secondly, having your dog wander around on suburban streets is dangerous.  You only have to be in Washington State for half a day to realize that the worst drivers in the world have chosen this place as their home.  Let your dog wander around and there's a pretty good chance it's going to get run over.

And so we waited.  Waited for the man to pause in his conversation, remember he had a dog, turn around to look for it and call it.  Waited for the dog to take it's sweet time to listen to him and trot to catch up his master.  

That little annoyance overcome, we walked on.  

Puppy Dog peed on bushes, telephone poles and fire hydrants, sniffed patches of grass and rubbed his body along decorative grasses that hung over from flower beds.  

I strode along, burning calories and breathing fresh air.

And then, the dreaded squirrel.

I have come to regard squirrels with a deep and burning hatred that pulses red hot within me.  Why?  Because they don't run.

We're halfway across a street and there it is, a little fluffy-tailed critter sniffing about on a grass verge.  Puppy Dog is straining on the leash, panting, his back legs quivering with the hunting instinct.  I can barely hang onto him.

I give him the "Leave it" command, but his wolf DNA is overriding his cerebral cortex.

I wait, holding on.  Puppy Dog waits, straining.

And the squirrel does not move.  It looks up, sees us and just keeps on doing what it's doing.  It's on a grass patch, no trees nearby.  Any escape would be difficult.  But it just ignores us.  

Eventually I have to turn around and choose a different street to walk along.  Incredible.

The rest of the walk is uneventful.

We get to the pet store and Puppy Dog has to be held at heel to get him past the enticing displays of Bully Sticks, dried yam and frozen bones.  

We met the Massage Therapist, and she was lovely.  We were taken into the back, Puppy Dog had some water and she started to massage him.  She had a very gentle energy about her, this woman.  Her voice was soothing, and she worked with our dog, not against him.  If he moved, she followed him.  She gave him treats.  She spoke to him in soft tones.

But Puppy Dog spent the entire half hour panting frantically and trying to hump her.

And not just little humps.

No.

Full lipstick, slobbery chops humping.  He grabbed her around the leg.  He jumped up for full frontal.  He even managed to throw his 70 pound weight onto her back when she was in a kneeling position.  

It was mortifying.

The Massage Therapist remained calm and gracious throughout the whole thing, and I tried to remain calm too.  I mean, it was supposed to be a healing massage.  There's no point freaking Puppy Dog out by yelling.  Being in the back of the shop - staff coming in and out to the bathroom, inventory everywhere and Nirvana (give me a break!) on the sound system - was bad enough.  

Puppy Dog was clearly freaked out.  He panted and humped and moved and sniffed and humped and panted and humped and moved and humped and moved and sniffed and panted and panted and panted.

And this poor woman was doing this for charity!  She wasn't taking any money for her time and expertise!

The half hour took forever.

At the end of it all I was out of that store and on the phone to Fluffy Bear so fast I think I left flaming tracks on the shop floor.

When I told Fluffy Bear he started laughing, of course.

"Well," he said, "come on!  She touched him first!"

Yes, yes, very funny.

If you'll excuse me, I need a nap.

To see more in the Being a Doggy Mama series, click here.

Being a Doggy Mama - Another Lost Dog

 

We found another lost dog last weekend.

We were driving along and he ran across the road right in front of us.

Having seen a dog run over and killed a few months ago, Fluffy Bear is very sensitive to this stuff, and immediately pulled over.  

I called the dog and it came to me, very friendly.  It had a collar, but no tags.

We put it in the car, in the back seat because our two crazy mutts were in the back of the SUV, and headed up to the nearest vet.

I've been to this vet before and the receptionist totally put me off registering there.  We still go to our old vet close to where we used to live.  He's worth the drive.

The receptionist was just as rude and incompetent as when I'd first met her.  She was clearly not interested in helping us, and kept scanning only one spot on the dog's back.  Fluffy Bear tried to explain to her that our dogs have their chip in their shoulder, and asker her to please move the scanner around, but she just kept waving it at a spot on the top of the dog's neck, saying that there was no chip.

She was utterly useless.

We put the dog back in the car and decided to head down to the Animal Shelter.

The dog was very sweet, very well behaved and sat down quietly next to me.  This was clearly someone's loving pet.

At the Animal Shelter we met a very nice English Vet Tech who helped us out.  She took out her scanner, waved it and it went BEEP in less than 5 seconds.  I swear to God!  She found the chip right away.

She also realized that the number, being 15 digits instead of 10, meant that this was a foreign chip.  Apparently America uses a different standard to the rest of the world for dog chips.  No comment.

Anyway, she said she'd trace it and we left the dog in her capable hands.

Two days later, we were driving past the Animal Shelter, so we stopped in to see what had happened to the dog.  

And here's the crazy thing.

The couple had come into the shelter less than an hour after we dropped off their dog, looking for it.  They had just moved to town, and they are English!

So everyone involved in this story of the lost dog has a British accent!

No wonder the dog came to me when called!  He was probably thinking:  "Oh yes, you sound right.  Unlike all the other strange hairless apes I've been around for the last two days!"

Imagine how freaked this poor dog was.  He had just been on an 8 hour flight, come to a very strange place and then got completely lost.  

We were so happy to hear this story had a happy ending.

Being a Doggy Mama - Escape Artist

 

Well, last night was exciting.

Let me put it this way - within ten minutes of arriving home, in spite of a bottle of red wine and two glasses of Pimms and Lemonade, Fluffy Bear was 100% sober.

Why?

Because Puppy Dog was missing.

We had been to dinner at a friend's house and, as we walked up the steps to our front door, I was worried right away.

Three things:

• First, Puppy Dog wasn't standing behind the glass, tail wagging, greeting us.  He knows the sound of our car and he waits at the front door, guarding his den, whenever we go out.  
• Second, the cardboard piece that had been blocking the glass panel of our front door (which the dogs broke a few weeks ago) was sticking out.  It had been shoved out from the inside.
• Third, there was a strange bowl on the steps, with water in it.  

We went into the house and Puppy Girl ran out to meet us.

But no Puppy Dog.

Not in the bedrooms, not in the kitchen, not in the basement, not in the front yard, not in the back yard.

We were freaking out.

We walked around, calling him.

Then I thought I heard him bark, and the jingle of the tags that hang off his collar.

We ran back out the front and there was our next door neighbor, bringing him home.

He had found Puppy Dog on our front porch when he came home - about half an hour after we left - and he had slowly enticed our dog into his house.  Puppy Dog is a rescue, and he can get very anxious.  Our neighbor fed him and hung out with him, but he told us Puppy Dog's back legs were shaking the whole evening.

He was in the middle of telling us all of this when I lunged at him and hugged him.  I was so happy and relieved, I couldn't help myself.  The poor man.  He was very nice about it, but I think I almost knocked him over.

Puppy Dog was beside himself with joy to be back with us.  He jumped all over us - which he doesn't normally do - and licked us for about fifteen minutes after we got home.

We gathered around him and spent some time with our furkids, in our pack, appreciating our family.

Today we took our neighbor flowers, wine and a card.  I feel like it's not enough.

Thank God Puppy Girl didn't follow her brother out, because she wouldn't have hung out on the porch like he did.  She would've been off round the neighborhood, clomping along on her bandaged foot.  A car driving too fast, someone who felt like stealing a pretty dog, falling down the steep drops in the park near our house... there are a multitude of bad things that could've happened to her.

Fluffy Bear and I had a long debate about how Puppy Dog had got out.  I was convinced that it was through the missing panel in the front door, but he thought the open windows in the dining room were to blame.

Until this morning.

We left for our golf lesson and, as we got in the car, Fluffy Bear looked up to see BOTH dogs running towards us.  The windows weren't open wide enough for them to get out, so my theory about the missing panel in the front door was proven right.

As we led them back to the house, we engaged in a loving exchange:

Me:  "Say it!  SAY IT!"

Fluffy Bear:  "You were right."

Me:  "I'm sorry, what was that?"

Fluffy Bear:  "You heard."

Me:  "No, I really didn't.  What was it you said?"

Fluffy Bear:  "You were RIGHT, OK?  YOU.  WERE.  RIGHT."

Me:  "Thank you.  Now fix the damn door."

But it still wasn't over. 

As soon as we got to the golf range, I ran up to our pro and told him to greet my husband with a question.  As Fluffy Bear walked up to him, he went with my joke:

"Hi," he said.  "Who let the dogs out?"

Fluffy Bear laughed.  He's taken my shit for over ten years... I've trained him well.

But I kept the best for last.

Half an hour later, as he was lining up his putt, I let him have it, channeling the song by the Baha Men.

"Who let the dogs out?  Who?  Who-Who?  Who-WHO?"  

To read more in the Being a Doggy Mama series, click here.

Being a Doggy Mama - Dog Bite

 

Fluffy Bear is away at a work thingy, so I have to take the furkids to Doggie Day Care every day.

Today I went to pick up the dogs and there was another furkid Mommy in front of me picking up her gorgeous black and golden retrievers.  She was chatting with the guy who owns the Doggie Day Care and I overheard her asking him if he was allright.

Then I saw him how her his hand, with two big band aids on his index finger and they discussed how wounds should be cleaned.

He disappeared into the back to get her dogs and I asked her what was going on.

"A dog bit him today," she said.

"Oh my God!" I shrieked.  "I hope it wasn't one of mine."

"He called me today and I told me about it, but I freaked out because he was calling me," she continued.  "When he said the word 'Bite' I thought he was saying that one of my dogs got bitten, and I was frantic because, I thought to myself, if he is calling me then it must be bad.  Not like the usual scrapes they get into at day care."

"So I was so worried," she said, holding her hand up to her heart, " but then he said it was him and I was so relieved that I said 'Oh, thank God, it was you who got bit!'  I felt so bad afterwards!"

"I totally get it!" I said, laughing with her.  "If it were me, I'd be relieved too!"

Being a Doggy Mama - Bye Bye Sweet Lady

My good friend had to put her dog down this week.

This wasn't just any dog.  Her dogs are like my dogs' cousins.  We're like extended family.

I didn't know what to say.

There's nothing TO say, is there?

So, so sad.

And if you are one of those people who think that pet owners don't have the right to grieve, because it's "just an animal" then I only have two words....

FUCK  and  YOU!

Coming not long after me sobbing in front of the telly (TV) as I watched MacKenzie Phillips put her dog down on Celebrity Detox (VH1 Channel), this is another reminder of the sad fact every dog owner has to face - our furkids will not outlive us.

I try not to be a glass-half-empty person, but I see the reality I am going to have to face in the amazing speed with which Puppy Girl is growing (15 to 49 pounds in 6 months), in the fact that Puppy Dog doesn't jump up to dance with me as much as he used to.

None of us should go through life dreading the day we have to face the death of the ones we love but, with dogs, you know - you know - that you're going to have to deal with it.

And so I hung up the phone from my dear friend, Kathy, and went to hug my dogs.  My beautiful, funny, cheeky, silly, furry, silky, always-hungry, always-loving, dogs.

At first I didn't want to tell them what had happened.  But I felt I had to.  We were going to visit Kathy's house at some point, and they'd know.  So I said the words, and then it hit me.  

Puppy Girl wasn't sure what was going on but, as he always does, Puppy Dog knew I was upset, and tolerated at least three long hugs, which he wouldn't normally (dog don't hug like apes do).  Then he licked the tears off my cheek.

 

I should take a moment to pay tribute to Tara (she's the one on the left).

She was old, of course, and sick by the time I met her.  But that didn't stop her personality coming through.  

She was a regal dog, quietly in command of her pack.  

When she barked to ask to be let out of the house, it was part request, part command.  She was a stately old lady.

She was loving and enthusiastic.  Even when she was really sick, she came gullumphing across to me to say hello - her equivalent of a puppyish bounce.

They had to lift her legs to get her up each step, one at a time, towards the end.  She reminded me of Shirley MacLaine in Terms of Endearment, when, playing the ageing actress Aurora Greenway in hospital after a car crash, she ties a scarf around her head, slaps on some lipstick, wraps herself in a fur coat and is wheeled out to see the press, head held high.  

Tara retained her dignity, no matter how sick and sore she got. 

Darling Tara, I hope she's running and jumping and barking and chasing and playing in heaven.

To see more in the Doggy Mama series, click here. 

Being a Doggy Mama - Mornings with Puppy Girl

 

First thing in the morning, Puppy Girl is ON.  

She is rested, energized and ready to take on the Duracell Bunny and WIN.  Scratch that - ready to rip the Duracell bunny to furry shreds, exposing it's soft stuffing and hard battery case, and WIN!

First thing in the morning I am OFF.

I am groggy, grumpy and physically fighting the urge to go back to bed.  

And so we have a routine now.

I get up, I let the dogs outside, I feed them, I let them outside again.  I let Puppy Dog back into the bedroom so that he can go back to bed and surface at a much later hour - more suited to the teenage boy that he is.

Then I brush my teeth.

And that's when the game starts.

Puppy Girl brings me her morning retriever game ball.

It's a big hollow rubber thing.

I don't know who invented or designed this ball, but they are a GENIUS.  It's soft it doesn't hurt the furniture, it bounces a bit, so the dogs can chase it in different directions, it's light, so it's easy to kick and throw, and the holes mean the dogs can (a) wrap their teeth around it and play tug and (b) get it stuck in their mouths when they want to drop it, which can be highly amusing.

So I brush my teeth in the doorway of the kitchen and dining room, gunk in my eyes, electric toothbrush in my mouth, hair a la Medusa, bending it like Beckham at 6:15 in the morning.

We've had a few fun moments with this game.

There was the time I got more air in the kick than expected and the ball ended up on top of the bookshelves.

There was the time Puppy Girl got too into it, stood to close to me and the follow on curve of my kick ended with my foot in her open mouth.

And then there was the time the ball ricocheted off her crate and, trying to stop, she planted her feet and slid about three feet across the wooden floor, crumpling into the side of the couch and I guffawed, only to choke on the electric toothbrush.  Trust me, you don't want toothpaste triggering your gag reflex.  Once it get's past your mouth, that shit is STRONG.

And so, by 7am, I've managed to have something to eat, tidy the kitchen a little bit and take my vitamins.  All interspersed by kicking, kicking, kicking the ball.  Puppy Girl is then read to crash on the bed with her daddy, while I go and shower in peace.

It's our little routine, and we like it.

Being a Doggy Mama - Doggy Day Care

 

This week, Fluffy Bear was away on a business trip, so I had to take the pups to Doggy Day Care.

Day 1: 

We park outside Doggy Day Care and I slowly, slowly open the back of the SUV, sticking my hand in and saying "Wait.  Waaaaaait.... WAIT!"

Yeah, not so much.

Puppy Girl wriggled out of the car and jumped down, running into the road.

This is a five lane road, a major road, and it was full of morning rush hour traffic.

I have a mental picture in my mind of the moment she reached the second lane, her leash dragging behind her and my realization that she was going to die.  I heard someone scream her name, and it was me. 

A thought that Fluffy Bear is going to hate me if she dies flashed through my head.

And my next thought changed the situation.

"Don't chase her," my brain said, "take a tip from Victoria Stilwell and make her chase you."

And so I turned, ran to the door of the Doggy Day Care and, thank God, Puppy Girl followed me.

I left the SUV open, my purse in the front seat - I just didn't care - and got the two dogs inside.

It was only when I got back to the car that I started shaking, and burst into tears.

Day 2:

This time I was prepared.  I parked in parking lot on the side of Doggy Day Care, slightly away from the street.  

Why didn't I do this the first time?  Because it belongs to another business and we aren't supposed to use it.  But, I figured, fuck it.

When I opened the back of the SUV, I had chicken snacks in my hand.  I managed to keep both dogs in the car till I had their leashes.

I get dragged into Doggy Day Care - this time Puppy Girl knows where we are going and, like her older brother, she wants to get there as fast as possible.

I managed to control them relatively well, until the young lady who takes the dogs into the back came out.  Wanting to get to play with his friends NOW, Puppy Dog pulled on the leash, going around the back of the desk.  Everything was caught on the leashes, and went flying, including this poor young lady's coffee.

Two staff jumped at me, grabbed the leashes out of my hands and took the two dogs back to their different play areas (because Puppy Girl is young, she goes in with the puppies).

It was so embarrassing!

I offered to replace the coffee, but was told no, it's OK.

I left as soon as I could.

Day 3:

I managed to get the dogs in OK, but when I collected them, one of the staff decided he would make Puppy Girl sit before he handed the leash to me.  She knows how to sit - we've been to training class.  But all training goes out of the window inside the doors of Doggy Day Care.

He signaled at her, he said sit, he gently pushed her butt down.  She sat for a millisecond.  

He did it again.  She barely sat again.

And he wouldn't give up.  

On and on and on and on.

Eventually, she won.

I grabbed her leash, pulled Puppy Dog with me and we practically ran out of there.

Thank God we start our second training class this week...

Being a Doggy Mama - Puppy Casualties

Well, it had to happen sometime...

Being a Doggy Mama - Choopelaaaaaah!

 

Getting the dogs to play sometimes takes some trickery.

They have toys lying all over the house, but they tend to follow me around and get under my feet.

So I've created the toy box.

Every day I pack up the toys that are out and then I get to make a big deal out of pulling something out of the box for them to play with.

To get them doubly excited, I throw the toy across the room and whoop-yell something to get them excited.

The whoop-yell is usually a made up word.

I've made up words for years.  It started when I went into the workplace and couldn't swear (curse) anymore, and really crystallized when we first moved to the US and the hairy eyeballs I got in supermarkets made it clear to me that saying "Why the FUCK are there so many breakfast cereals?!?!?" wasn't socially acceptable.

Saying "Fattyboozlybuckawallie" is better than "Fuckingbollocksbuggery."

This word invention has served me well when trying to get the dogs to chase a toy and leave us alone for five minutes.

Here are some of the words I whoop, soprano-cheerleader style:

• "CHOOP-E-LAAAAAH!"
• "OM-POMPIE-DOOBIE!"
• "OOKIE-SHOOOOOOOKIE!"
• "WAN-A-KAT-A-LAAAAAH!"
• "BARRA-MINKIE-POOOOOOOO!"
• "ORRRA-WARRA-WARRA-WARRRRAAAAAAH!" (rolling of the R's is de rigeur)
• "GOH-GED-EEEEEEEET!" (origins of this one are obvious)
• "FAL-ESKIE-BLOO-BLOOOOOOOO!"
• "HOOOOOOO-GAJJA-WAH-WAAAAAAAAH!"

Works every time.

Being a Doggy Mama - You turn your back for 30 seconds and...

  

Puppy Girl is asleep on the couch, Puppy Dog is napping in front of the TV.  These are the stolen moments when I can get stuff done.

I am in Fluffy Bear's office doing some filing.  The TV is on - Countdown, the political commentary show on MSNBC hosted by Keith Olbermann.  

I am peering at paperwork to figure out what the hell it is, and moving it, piece by piece, from a scrappy pile on a chair to the various hanging files we have.  

I start to notice something is off.  

I look.  No dogs nearby. 

I listen.  No dogs making noises.

I tune my hearing in to the TV, and realize that I haven't heard Mr Olbermann's dulcet tones in a while.  

And this has been going on too long for it to be just an ad break.

The sound cuts abruptly, mid-sentence, to a new person speaking, about something completely unrelated.

My brain kicks in, I run to the living room.

Sure enough, the remote is in Puppy Girl's mouth, and she is happily chewing her way through the cable channels!

And now I believe that couple that said their dog ordered Microsoft points online in the middle of the night.

Being a Doggy Mama - Another 10 ways puppies are like human children

 

See first 10 ways here.

1. You think they understand the words you're saying, but they don't
2. They get very excited by new toys
3. They crawl into the smallest places, then you can't get them out again
4. They are adorable when they sleep
5. Their high pitched cry is utterly heart-breaking
6. You can tell when they are overtired, and slightly manic
7. They come this close to shocking themselves to death with a socket or power cord at least once a day
8. They grow so fast it's scary
9. Their little tummies are so pink and soft, it's delightful
10. You know you'd fight - or even kill - to keep them safe