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

 

Puppies are like babies/toddlers because...

1. they put everything in their mouths
2. they don't understand daylight savings time and get hungry at what would have been dinner time
3. you buy expensive toys and they play with a stone. a piece of cardboard or an ice cube
4. they scream when they don't want to go to sleep and you put them in bed
5. you are constantly cleaning up poop and pee
6. everything you try to do takes double to three times as long as it used to
7. they wake you up in the middle of the night
8. when they get tired, they just flop down in the closest comfortable spot
9. they wriggle like a ferret in your arms when you are holding them and they want to be somewhere else
10. you're busy, then you suddenly realize there's silence and you just know that means something bad is going on and you find yourself sprinting outside to find out what's happening.

And, finally...

... hugging them to your chest is the most heart-melting feeling you've ever had

Being a Doggy Mama - Digestive efficiency

 

One minute there is a soft, sweet, slumbering puppy next to you on the couch...

...

...and, the next minute, there is a soft cough, a long burp and she very delicately vomits up something the size of half of her left foreleg.

Then she starts to lick it.

Apart from me trying to get her head away so I could clean it up, it was all very quiet and dignified... and a little surreal.

Being a Doggy Mama - Routine, bonding and a rookie mistake

 

We're starting to develop a routine:

• 05:00: Puppy Girl cries to be let out of her crate to pee, I take her outside
• 05:10: We come back in, I put her on the bed to sleep with me.  Yes, I know this is wrong, but I can't stand 15 minutes of her screaming at 5 in the morning
• 07:30 - 08:30: Puppy Girl is awake, and squiggling, making little whining noises  
  • I take her outside, closing the puppy gate between the dining room and the passage to the bedroom, because Puppy Dog does not like her first thing in the morning
  • I go back inside, and take her crate out to the dining room.  During this procedure, I have to try to keep her away from Puppy Dog, who growls a deep bass when she comes anywhere near him
  • I put her in her crate.  She screams
  • I let Puppy Dog out, to pee in peace
  • I get Puppy Dog his breakfast, and he eats in the kitchen
  • I get Puppy Girl her breakfast, and she eats in the crate in the dining room
  • I let Puppy Dog outside, closing the back door so he can poop in peace
  • I let Puppy Dog back inside and back into the bedroom, closing the puppy gate
  • I let Puppy Girl outside to try to concentrate, with her ADD brain, on pooping
• 08:30 - 9:00: Puppy Girl comes back inside and starts to play in the living and dining room.  When I see Puppy Dog at the puppy gate, wagging his tail, he is allowed in to play with her.

I totally get where Puppy Dog is coming from.

It's the same as those people who only talk in a low grumble till they've had their morning coffee, and the last thing they want is a little baby pulling their hair, trying to get them to play.

Our little routine is still developing, but we're getting there.

The aim is to minimize the bigger dog's irritation at the baby because, if she really pisses him off, he'll nip or bite her.  Or so the books say.

Yesterday, while they were playing, he put one paw gently across her body and pinned her.  It was pretty relaxed, and she submitted.  I watch them all the time and he is learning to be gentle, while still making his dominance clear.

He is also clearly teaching her things.  She pooped in the large area of ivy we have on a bank in the yard yesterday - his preferred poopy place.

He comes up to her with toys, initiating play.  Each day, they seem to enjoy each other more.

Except for yesterday, when I totally screwed up.  

One of the training techniques taught at our puppy class is to get the dogs excited and running around, then ask them both to sit, and give them a treat.  This is so that they learn, even if they are in the midst of rambunctious play, to listen to you, stop and sit nicely.

They do it very well - as long as they see/smell that I have treats in my hands.

Yesterday, I gave Puppy Girl her treat before Puppy Dog.  I had the small piece of treat, which I wanted to giver her, at the front of my fingers and, in that instant, I just didn't think.

Big mistake.

He spent the following 3 hours chasing and humping her.  

He can't exactly mount her - she's so tiny compared to him that all he has to do is stand over her.  She fits right under his torso.   His penis wasn't actually touching her as he humped, and he didn't have lipstick - it was all about dominance.

But there were a few slightly disturbing times when he walked over her and she was facing the other direction.  He'd hump and she'd lick his penis.  

I paid a lot of attention to him and, after he was fed first at dinner time, like he always is, he calmed down.

Thank God.

I don't want to watch a child-molesting, incestuous 69.

Being a Doggy Mama - The sunny side of the street

 

I think I've been unfair.

I keep complaining about sleepless nights, unscheduled vet visits and twisted ankles.  

Of course, there's much more than that to having a puppy.

There's: 

• The silky, soft, floppy ears, like a sip of chocolaty goodness
• The warm, pink, doughy tummy
• The unbearable cuteness of her looking into your eyes and tilting her head sideways when she doesn't understand you 
• The wonderful feeling when she follows a command correctly and shows that her training is working
• The adorable sound of her high growls, compared to her brother's deep, low grows, when they play tug
• The lolloping, gallumphing way she runs, making boof-boof sounds on the wooden floor
• Her triumphant trot, tail held high, when she's managed to sneak one of my shoes from next to the back door and is heading to the living room to chew it
• The sharpness of her piranha teeth when she nibbles my finger 
• Her quiet, rhythmic snoring
• The way she stretches, tiny paws pushed out, head arched
• Her little paw going crazy when I scratch behind her ear. 

It's really difficult to communicate how utterly adorable she is.  So I'll just show you.

Being a Doggy Mama - Breaking point Ahoy!

I would never presume that having a puppy is the same as dealing with a human child.  I didn't carry an alien in my belly for 9 months.  I didn't go through the stress, the sickness, the hell of IVF.  I didn't experience the bureaucracy, the waiting, the expense of adoption.

But - fuck me! - it's still hard.

And I broke this morning.

I found myself on my bed, Puppy Girl safely locked in the living room behind the puppy gate, calling Puppy Dog to me and hugging him, crying.

She had pooped on his cushion.  Again.  

I know that doesn't seem like a big deal.  Some dog stain liquid and some Bounty and Bob's your uncle, Fanny's your aunt.  All cleaned up.  But that wasn't it.

Flashback:  Friday

I have an interview with the company I really, really, really, really, really want to work for.  It's my second round of interviews with them.  

The first was for one kind of job (I have three core skills) and I got through to face to face interview, but there was obviously a candidate who was a better fit.  One shouldn't take this stuff personally.  Also, someone passed my resume on internally for another role, so clearly they think I'd be an asset.  Excellent.

So I've had a phone interview for Job No. 2, and it went well.  Time for the face to face, with the Hiring Manager and her Boss Man.  It's at 2pm.

I'm supposed to be prepping in the morning but, God, I'm tired.  I read over old notes, I look up the people on LinkedIn and Facebook.  Guess what, Boss Man has all his info locked down.  No clues.  

At about 10am, I talk to a present employee of the company - a friend of a friend - and he tells me what it's like to work there.  This is about the 7th phone call I've had with people who work in all sorts of jobs at the firm.  I do my research.

At about 10:30, a little thought pops into my head: "You're going to have to go to the vet before the interview."

Don't be ridiculous, I tell myself.  Paranoia.  Just focus on preparing.

And then, around 11:30, Puppy Girl runs in from outside, sits on her cushion and starts to cry.  I have no idea why.  I look her over and it seems like she squeals when I touch her left back paw.  She keeps whimpering - on and on and on.

I call the vet.  I tell them what is going on.  I tell them about the interview.  They tell me to come in, leave her with them and pick her up afterwards.

I have no time to shower.  Can you believe that?  I have no time to shower.  

I throw makeup at my face, I drown my head in hairspray, I overdo the deodorant.  

We head to the vet.  He's a wonderful man and sees her almost right away.  He looks, he prods, he shines lights.  He doesn't find anything.

Maybe she ate something in the yard, he tells me.  Go back and make sure you don't have anything toxic out there.  

Yeah, sure, me who doesn't recognize any plant that isn't a rose.

So she stays with them, I go to the interview.  My head is not in the game.

The Boss Man's arms are crossed and he fires questions at me:

"What are the three most important characteristics to be successful in this role?"

"What three things do you bring that other people don't?"

"Name the phases of project management."

"Name three key metrics we should be measuring."

I blather.  All my answers are too long.  I tell stories - he wants acronyms.

He tells me to ask him questions.  I decide to play his game.

"What do you want the person in this role to achieve in the first 60-90 days?"

"What three things are your key challenges?"

"What is the ultimate goal of this team?"

His arms uncross.  He even smiles.  But then I ask him if there are any other questions he has for me, if there are any gaps I need to fill in.

"When I asked you about the project management phases," he says, " I expected you to say the five phases but you talked around it.  You got there in the end, but you should have been able to name them."

Oh, fuck.

I tell him that my brain is half at the vet, and that I am very sorry.

I feel like I've lost him.

The second interview, with the Hiring Manager, goes very well.  We get on even better in person than we did on the phone.  But her Boss Man can overrule her, so I worry.

I go back to the vet to get Puppy Girl, relieved that the prognosis - and the invoice - is a lot better than I expected.

Never before have I experienced the need to juggle home and work like this.  Puppy Dog needs to be walked every day, but we got him at 1 year old, and he just never needed as much time and attention as a puppy.  And he didn't wake us up at night.

Flashback:  Sunday

My friend Jean is visiting.  We haven't seen each other in weeks.  We talk, we have wine (not that much - you'll see why I'm saying this real soon), I make cheese and prosciutto grilled sandwiches.  

Puppy Girl has to go potty.  Again.  I'm in the kitchen, wearing socks, holding her in my arms so she won't pee on the floor, trying to get my feet into my slip-on Birkenstocks.  

She wriggles, I lose my balance, I fall onto my ass, twisting my ankle.  

Oh, the indignity!  And the pain.

I manage to get up, the evening progresses.  Apart from trying to kill me, Puppy Girl has been sleeping almost all day.  

Hah!  I should have known.

She wakes me to potty at midnight.  

She wakes me at 2am but then refuses to come out of her crate.  She doesn't need to potty, she was just bitching because she wanted to be up on the bed.

She wakes me for potty at 4am.  

She wakes me for potty just after 6am.

This is a major regression.  She'd been sleeping through from midnight to 6am.

I give in, and put her on the bed.  We make it through to 8:45 before she wakes me again.

So now I'm tired, and I have another interview - a phone one, thank God - with a firm I know very little about at 1pm.  

And my brain is fried.  Dipped in batter, sprinkled with seasoning and deep fried.

 And then she pooped on Puppy Dog's cushion.

A big, smelly, round in a circle, turd.

Don't be fooled by that sweet little picture.  That little pink tummy can make some revolting gases and solids.

So know you know the perilous journey that has led to this ship running aground on Breaking Point.

Maybe tomorrow will be better.

Puppy Girl - The escape artist

 

Sigh.

If Puppy Dog is a Velociraptor, Puppy Girl is Houdini.

When we went for weekend to the Best Ripoff Hotel in the West, she stayed with our good friends, Will and Kathy - Theo, Tara and Tasha's parents.  

Tasha is Puppy Girl's cousin, and only fractionally older than her, so Will and Kathy are also living in the midst of puppy madness and kindly agreed to help us out (we arranged to go to Ripoff Hotel long before I got Puppy-itis and managed to melt Fluffy Bear's heart).

While Puppy Girl was staying with Will and Kathy, she got out of her crate not once, but twice.  Kathy came into the kitchen to find Puppy Girl in front of Tasha's crate, mocking her.

"I got out!  HA HA!  You're still stuck in your crate!  HA HA!  I can run around and play!  HA HA!"

Needless to say, Tasha was pissed.

Much barking going on.

So at least I was pre-warned.

I've been careful to make sure the crate is really closed when she's in there, I check on her every five to ten minutes when she and Puppy Dog are playing (outside or inside).

But I'm human, and I have to go to the bathroom.

So I don't know when exactly the dogs came inside.  I don't know how the front door got opened.  I also don't know how Puppy Girl managed to break the screen on the screen door.

What I do know is that, when I came out of the bathroom, Puppy Dog was quivering, looking up at me, very concerned.  I followed him through the dining room and living room and there she was, at the front door, outside the screen, paws on the lower part of the screen door (which is metal and about 10 inches high), head sticking through the broken square of screen, completely confused as to how she could get back into the house.

I wish I could download that mental picture for you, and the feeling of panic that followed hot on its heels.

But I knew I couldn't yell or make any sudden movements, or she might turn around, run outside, down the steep bank in front of our house (we have no fencing around the front yard), out onto the sidewalk, the road, and God knows where after that.

So I made placating noises and reached through the screen to pull her back in, sighing with relief.

I know Fluffy Bear will laugh when I tell him.

It may not have been funny to live, but at least it will be one of those stories that's funny to tell.

Oy vey... 

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

Being a Doggy Mama - Breaking point

 

Many year's ago - I must've been 12 or so years old - I went to stay with my sister while her husband was away on a business trip.  She'd just had her first baby.

I remember waking up in the middle of the night and seeing her in the living room, watching her wide-awake son playing with toys on the carpet, crying her eyes out.

I was confused by what I saw, and slunk back to bed.

When I was a kid, if there was something I didn't understand, it stayed stored in my memory in the "Don't get it - Gather more data" file.

Sometimes I'd ask someone a question to get the answer, sometimes I'd think it through, and sometimes I just kept my mouth shut, instinctively knowing that I couldn't ask an adult about it, and that, someday, I'd get it.

Case in point:  I used to read a lot of Judy Blume.  I remember one scene where the female protagonist was kissing the boy of her dreams and she got scared, telling the reader that she felt something hard and knew it wasn't his keys.  It took at least 3 years till I understood that one.  

Hey - don't mock me!

I read WAY above my age range.

Anyway, I didn't get why my sister was sitting there, like a crumpled tissue, slumped in the lounge chair, sniffing.

Over the years, I've seen movies about being a mother, talked to friends, read books.  But I'll never understand the pain and emotion involved in giving birth to a child, never feel what it is like to breast-feed a baby, never go through the wrench of empty nest syndrome.

But there is one thing I DO get now.

I get that you can be so tired that you open the fridge instead of the trash can to throw away snotty tissues, that you are unreasonably tetchy with your husband and that you can actually get to the point where you wonder what the hell you got yourself into, doubt you can cope, and just want to sit down, put your head in your hands as if you are the overacting, big-haired, pancake-makeup-faced lead in a daytime soap opera, and cry, cry, cry.

I didn't actually do it.  But I thought about doing it.  My nose got tickly, my lower lip pouted, and tears almost came.

Still, it's only my third sleepless night with the puppy, so you never know.

That little bundle of warm, milky, chocolaty goodness may break me yet.

Being a Doggy Mama - Puppy Girl Day 1

Oh boy.  

Oh boy oh boy oh boy.

Well, of course we took her into our family.  Who could resist?

As I am job hunting, I am on night duty.

And here's how the first night went:

• 1:15 am - she wakes up, crying.  I take her out for a pee, she plays
• 2:00 am - she asks to get up onto the couch with me, and settles down
• 2:22 am - I gather her up in the blanket she's lying on, and put her into her crate
• Ah, sleep
• 4:22 am - she wakes up, crying.  I take her out for a pee, she plays.  She poops on the carpet.  Ah, who knew she needed to do No. 1 and No. 2?
• 4:33 - she asks to be up on the couch with me, and settles down
• 4:44 - I put her in her crate
• 4:46 - she cries.  I lie down with her, my head half in the crate, to calm her.  She licks and nibbles my head, searching for a nipple in my hair.  It's kinda funny and disconcerting, all at once.  She goes to sleep
• Ah, sleep
• 6:30 - she wakes up, crying.  She pees.  She plays.  She eats.
• 7:42 - she asks to get up on the couch and settles down
• 8:00 - I put her in her crate
• Ah, sleep
• 8:30 - she wakes up, crying.  She pees, she poops, she plays.
• 9:30 - she asks to get up on the couch with me
• Fluffy Bear wakes up.  My shift is over.  Oh, thank God.

Being a Doggy Mama - Scoop-A-Poop

Scooping dog poop is something you get used to. I guess it's like parents of human babies who just don't care when their little darling vomit all over them.

But after a while you start to become a doggy poop officionado.

We have a 8 C rating scale and, depending on how many treats he gets, Puppy Dog usually scores pretty low.

1. Collectability – on a good surface, like NOT the pavement


2. Convenience – not at 3.30 am


3. Composition – a neat little pile, easy to get into the bag in one handful


4. Creep-free - all in one place, no shifting forward on hind haunches while doing the deed


5. Consistency – not oatmeal, not pellets


6. Consideration – less five mins after going outside if it is raining


7. Color – black or red, we are told, are BAD


8. Closure – Finish it – don’t keep squatting again and again

Being a Doggy Mama - Dog Park Personalities

I have begun to form profiles of the animals you find at the dog park.

The Nervous Parent

Telltale signs:

• Usually couples - the come together for moral support


• Their baby is on a leash in an off leash dog park


• They are in constant conversation, analyzing every move their puppy makes


• They watch all other dogs carefully, protecting their little one

Rules of engagement:

• If you want to have fun, call your dog over and let him sprint up to their puppy to sniff its butt. They'll politely freak out as only middle class White people can


• If you want to be kind, walk up to them slowly, ask them about their puppy, make sure you let it sniff your hand before you touch it and then tell them reassuring stories (aka lies) about how your dog took to the dog park immediately and always comes back when you call him

The Gormless Idiot

Telltale signs:

• Running through dog park, shouting their dog's name

Rules of engagement:

• If you want to have fun, yell "I saw him go that way" and point in a random direction. If they are too stupid to know that you have no idea which dog is theirs then they get what they deserve


• If you want to be kind, ask them what their dog looks like and genuinely think about whether you've seen it. And, if you have a three-years-of-drama voice like mine, ask the name and boom it accross the dog park, making your husband die of embarrassment

The Pretty Pretty Princess

Telltale signs:

• Ugg boots or fashion Wellies


• Carrying small dog in an off-leash dog park

Rules of engagement:

• Ignore them

The Dog Club

Telltale signs:

• A pack of the same type of dog gathered in one place, with various proud owners discussing the finer points of the breed


• There are usually at least two people wearing unflattering outdoorsy hats

Rules of engagement:

• If you want to have fun, split up with your husband so you are either side of them and one of you has your dog, and then the other calls your dog so he sprints right through their self-satisfied pure-bred pack


• If you want to be kind, you and I are not meant to be friends

The A-type Personality Dog Owner

Telltale signs:

• The latest and greatest (and most expensive) in dog floaty toys/balls/frisbees


• Never lets their dog do their own thing - the dog must be chasing and retrieving some kind of thrown item at all times


• Yells encouragement at dog a lot, military-trainer style

Rules of engagement:

• If you want to have fun, position yourself at right angles and throw a ball for your dog accross their path. These types tend to think the entire dog park is their territory and this will really piss them off


• If you want to be kind, and you know your dog is faster than theirs, position yourself next to them, throw your ball at the same time they throw theirs and watch your dog kick their dog's ass. You don't think this is being kind? Oh come on, these types need to learn a lesson!

The annoying family

Telltale signs:

• There are at least 6 of them


• They walk very slowly


• They have a toddler with them who keeps squealing and generally behaving like prey

Rules of engagement:

• Walk in opposite direction, especially if toddler is throwing ball for their dog and your dog is the kind of dog that would sprint up to the toddler and jump at it to get to the ball.... let's move on, shall we?

The David and Goliath

Telltale signs:

• Dog is bigger and heavier than owner


• Owner is hanging onto dog, trying to control it


• Look for: Japanese Akita, Great Dane, Burmese Mountain Dog, Bullmastiff

Rules of engagement:

• Do not help. If these people want to have big dogs, they should eat more.

The Psycho-Dog Owner

Telltale Signs:

• Dog is on a leash, although it is clearly used to dog parks


• Owner grabs leash and pulls dog very, very close whenever another dog comes within 2 metres of them

Rules of engagement:

• Avoid! Clearly their dog is a nut job and is moments away from killing yours

The Connection Seekers

Telltale signs:

• They smile broadly and walk towards you, obviously hoping you'll engage them in conversation


• They'll reach out to touch your dog or call him to them


• They have a dog that looks like yours

Rules of engagement:

• Be nice. They have a dog that looks like yours. Except, of course, it's not quite as cute as yours is

Being a Doggy Mama - The 7 Circles of Doggy Hell

I believe that Hairless Apes who are bad to dogs have it coming. Dogs have made a deal with the Devil (who do you think gave him his Hellhounds?) and have a special part of Hell reserved for them.

Dante was onto something, you know. Except he just wrote about the Hairless Ape's 7 circles. Let me tell you about the dog ones...

The First Circle of Doggy Hell - Quick Sniff Circle
Example crime: Forgetting to feed your dog.
Here there are all sorts of doggies, and the Hairless Apes are naked. The dogs, given full rein to indulge in their true nature, sniff the Hairless Apes' butts. There are so many dogs that it ends up being one cold, wet nose about every thirty seconds.
The dog staff have to be continually rotated because, let's face it, as a dog, once you've sniffed each butt once, it gets boring.

The Second Circle of Doggy Hell - Fluffalicious
Example crime: Bathing your dog clumsily, getting shampoo in their eyes and using water that is too cold or too hot.
Here we gather the fluffiest of dogs: Golden Retrievers, Cocker Spaniels, German Shepherds, Huskies, Saint Bernards, Sheepdogs. We get them when they're moulting and let them shake it all about. The Hairless Apes are given allergies - whether they had them when they were alive or not - and have to live with sneezing till they throw their backs out at least 7 times. To make it even more hellish, we give the Hairless Apes one of those little handheld vacuum cleaners each. They think they can combat the flying fluff but we don't tell them we've taken the filters out. They're engaged in a constant battle they can never win. And we don't give them any tissues! Ah ha ha ha ha ha!
Any of the fluffy dogs in heaven came come down and have a good shake here. It's one of our more popular circles, and more fun than going to the dog groomer!

The Third Circle of Doggy Hell - Hellitosis
Example crime: Not ever giving your dog a bath or buying them any treats.
We feed our employees special fishy food and send them into the arena. The Hairless Apes are strapped into electric chairs and the dogs jump up on their laps and breath in their faces. If the Hairless Apes throw up, they get zapped. It's simple, but very effective.
Our employees in this circle have very understanding spouses.

The Fourth Circle of Doggy Hell - Yapland
Example crime: Not buying your dog any toys, never taking them for walks.
This circle is filled with yappy Chiuauas who never shut up, 24/7. If you try to think of a song to drown them out, your brain starts singing you the song in Chiuaua yaps. That particular bit of genius was Foofy Trixibelle's idea. She runs the place.
The poor Chiuaua employees can only work in half shifts. The job plays havoc with their vocal chords.

The Fifth Circle of Doggy Hell - The Sewer I
Example crime: Not ever showing your dog any affection.
Here we provide the Hairless Apes with doggie bags that break and make them scoop the poop. We make sure they all have long fingernails. There is a lot of poop.
All our staff have to use this area as their bathroom, 24/7. It takes commitment, but you soon learn not to have to go in the middle of the night when you live out in Hell's suburbs.

The Sixth Circle of Doggy Hell - The Sewer II
Example crime: Abandoning your dog.
Here we dress the Hairless Apes as janitors and make them clean up endless puddles of diarrhea and sick. Their mops are very small and there's hardly any water in the their buckets. If the Hairless Ape starts to cry, he or she goes back to the beginning of the effluent and starts all over again.
Naturally we don't have an endless supply of excrement and vomit. We had to bribe some fallen angels to collect it from earth. This is an expensive circle to maintain.

The Seventh Circle of Doggy Hell - You're the Prey
Example crime: Dog fight club owner.
Here we gather the most-feared breeds and let them loose. Dobermans, Rottweilers Pittbulls, Akitas and Huskies, frothing at the mouth and growling incessantly circle and taunt Hairless Apes before tearing them limb from limb. Of course, once in Hell, you cannot die so, after excruciating pain and sickening amounts of blood, the Hairless Ape loses consciousness only to wake ten seconds later, whole again and brand new prey.
Of course none of these dogs actually are bloodthirsty maniacs. They're just doing their job and they go home at the end of their shift to the bitch and puppies like any other breed.

Treat your dog well... or welcome to DOGGY HELL...

Being a Doggy Mama - Dog-Owner Neighbor Etiquette

  

Today I saw a message on a list I belong to from a woman whose next door neighbor's dog keeps pooping in her yard.

This completely amazed me.

How can someone allow this to happen?

Being a good Dog-Owner Neighbor is basic good manners.  And it just isn't that hard.

First, to be a good Dog-Owner Neighbor, you need to have a fence.  

When we rented the house we're in, there was no fence.  Fluffy Bear duly enlisted the help of two friends, and off they went to the hardware store.  They bought a roll of green wire fencing, and some poles.  They came home, they opened beer, they got out the toolbox.  There was some discussion, some cutting, some banging, and there you go.  

There was a slight glitch when they didn't fence in front of some hedges and, beers in hand, in the middle of congratulating each other, they noticed Puppy Dog looking at them quizzically from next door's garden.  He'd got out, and he didn't know how to get back in.

Another quick trip to the hardware store, some more cutting and banging, and the whole back yard was secured for about $150.

It's really that simple.

Second, barking.

Puppy Dog never gets beyond the fifth bark before he is cordially, but very firmly, invited to stop, come back into the house and retire to his bed, thank you very much.

Bill, a dear friend of ours, has a slightly more serious problem with Dogette, who has a piercing bark and can hear movement anywhere near her den through the front door.  The postman has been chased down the street, barked and growled at, and the mail he put through the slot repeatedly ripped to shreds.

Bill bought a new mailbox that sits on the outside of the house and bought Dogette a shock collar.  Now I know that there are other ways of training dogs to bark other than a shock collar, but Bill has some restrictions on his time that mean he can't give Dogette a lot of lessons.

The collar doesn't have to be on anymore.  She just doesn't bark loudly - she makes soft growly noises instead.

Being a good Dog-Owner Neighbor isn't hard.

It's about the little things like remembering to take poop bags with you when you walk your dog around the neighborhood.  It's about keeping your dog safe within the confines of your home.  And it's about making sure your dog doesn't disturb the neighbors.

Anyone who can't do these simple things is an Asswipe.

Being a Doggy Mama - Squeaky Toy Lady

  

Dear Squeaky Toy Lady

I guess you don't read my blog.  Or, if you do, you missed the post about Dog Park Etiquette.

Because here you are, at the off-leash dog park, with not one, but two dogs with squeaky toys.  

And you have the nerve to stand at the edge of the water and yell "Who's dog is that?  Can I have my toy back, please?" every time my dog or that nice little yellow lab puppy swims faster than your dogs and nabs their toys.

It's not that our dogs are bad.

It's not that we are bad parents who haven't trained our dogs.

It's that our dogs... are dogs.  And you have squeaky toys.

So here's what's going to happen if I ever see you at the dog park again and your dogs have those toys with them.  

1. I am going to wait by the dog park gate until you leave


2. I am going to discretely follow you home so I can see where you live


3. I am going to hire a private investigator to bug your home


4. I am going to wait until you host a party or a BBQ


5. I am going to hire a very young, very pert, very pretty stripper


6. I am going to buy a Princess Leia costume from the scene where she is tied to Jabba the Hut, so that I've even got the geek men covered


7. I am going to gatecrash your party with the stripper

And then we'll see just how well trained you and your friends' husbands are.

How about that, Lady?

Being a Doggy Mama - Boot fetish

Puppy Dog is fixed, but he can still get his freak on.  It's a domination thing, like his constantly humping Theo, his friend, including in the middle of dinner parties.

The other night I had my dear friend Dolly over for dinner.  

There was lasagne, expertly cooked by Fluffy Bear, there was wine, inexpertly chosen by me.  

And there was Puppy Dog.

Puppy Dog, who decided he liked Dolly's knee high lace-up boots.

A lot.

First there was the sniffing.

I didn't pay much attention to this.  So he was sniffing her shoes - so what?  They probably smelled of other dogs and cats and places unknown.  No big deal.

Dinner was eaten, wine was drunk, conversation flowed.

Then, the licking.  He was licking her boots.  

OK, a bit gross, and she probably didn't want dog spit on her leather, but the licking was minor, she didn't seem to notice it so, instead of interrupting our chat and yelling at my furkid - the kidless hate how us parents punctuate our lives with constant screeching - I let it be.

Another bottle was opened, an ice bucket brought out for convenient top ups, conversation continued to flow.

And then I saw it.  

He approached Dolly,  he looked up at her to check she was distracted, he made some licking movements to show he was friendly, he tottered a little as he tried to silently, inconspicuously position himself over the boot which was tantalizingly waving in front of him (Dolly had crossed her legs, so one boot was off the floor).  

I had one eye on him, and one eye on Dolly, still trying to pay attention to what she was saying.  Dolly is always erudite and amusing, so it's worth staying tuned in.

Then I saw it.

The back legs pushed forward, just a little.  Hump-ready.

I clapped my hands, loud.  Dolly, mid-sentence, wasn't sure if I was about to laugh uproariously, or if I was showing audience appreciation.  Till she saw my eyes - I was glaring at Puppy Dog, who retreated to his cushion.

Humpterupption.

But, of course, he's an intelligent, tenacious little bugger.

He crawled forward on his cushion, inch by inch, then, making sure I was occupied, slowly stood and sidled over to The Boot.  I'd catch him just as he was trying to assume the position and yelled.

"NO!"

 Poor Dolly was somewhat bemused at the seemingly random interruptions.

 What does one say to a well heeled guest? My dog want's to hump your lovely boot?

 No.

So I muttered something about him having a foot fetish - Ha! Ha! So funny! - and spent the rest of the evening intermittently glaring at him so he didn't go near her.

Much catching up and drinking later, it was time to call the cab.  This just goes to show the singlemindedness of my dog.  As she was leaving, he put his paw around her boot and thrust his pelvis foward.

One last try before his beloved boot left him forever...

Being a Doggy Mama - 10% Velociraptor

 

This is a guest blog by everywhereventually.

Think back to the movie Jurassic Park.

Think back to the moment when the grizzled hunter ranger is showing the visitors the Velociraptor cage.

Think back to when he is in full exposition mode, telling everyone what clever hunters the velociraptors are... testing the electric security fence by "never testing the same place twice".

The relevance of this to Puppy Dog?

I have been invited by my friends, PD's alpha and beta pack leaders to stay in PD's den. As PD is a rescue hound, my friends cannot be 100% sure of what breed or breeds he is.  He looks very much like a Chocolate Lab, but there are a few differences in his tail and muzzle to the pure-bred lab.  My experiences of waking up in the PD den over the last two mornings lead me to suspect that he is 10% Velociraptor.

Why so?

The room I am sleeping in has two doors that access the hall. Each morning at around 8am there is a thump on the left door.  Then you hear clatter clatter clatter of claws on floor and on the right door another dull thud... 

Clatter Clatter Clatter followed by a snuffle and a snort by the left door.
Clatter Clatter Clatter scratch at doorhandle height on the right door.
Clatter Clatter Clatter whole body thump on the left door.
Clatter Clatter Clatter shoulder bump on the right door.

You see what clever PD is doing?  Testing the security and never in the same place twice.

Then there is a game changer.  In Jurassic Park, it is when the power fails and the Velociraptors are free.  In PDs den this morning, it is when my partner goes to the rest room, and only pulls the door 90% closed...

Clatter Clatter Clatter. Thump. 

I hear the sounds of the door swinging open and the sounds I am hearing start to change.

Pant Pant Pant. Clatter Clatter Clatter and then Lick Lick Lick all over my barely awake face!

Puppy Dog... 90% Lab, 10% Velociraptor.

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

Being a Doggy Mama - Don't mess with the Birdies

  

We have a little bush outside our front door, next to the steps up to the front porch.

The other night I was sitting outside getting some air (OK, OK, having a cigarette), and Puppy Dog was with me.

He generally sniffs around the front porch a bit, then sits and sniffs the neighborhood air, listening to all the sounds.  That evening, however, he kept sniffing the bush.  Then he walked down the steps to the porch, around to the other side of the bush, and kept sniffing.

Then I saw it.

There was a small bird sitting on a branch at the top of the bush, completely still.  The minute I saw it, I sent Puppy Dog inside the house. 

I looked at the bird - it wasn't moving.  I know I'm an imbecile, but I didn't realize it was roosting.  I thought it was dead.  The annoyance, ickiness and general blergh of having to pluck a dead bird off the bush, and get rid of it somehow, ran through my mind.

I gently touched the bush.

The bird's head moved - turned so it could see me better - and it blinked.  Once.

OK, not dead.

I went inside and left the bird alone.

The next morning, I went out to see if the bird was OK.

Where it had been roosting, it had left a little message for us.  It clearly was not impressed with having a human and a dog disturb it's sleep. 

It had left us a massive pooh.  White and black, it was about an inch and a half in diameter.  A round, smelly, gooey message of dissatisfaction at room service.

Being a Doggy Mama - Beta Bitch

    

My husband, Fluffy Bear, is the Alpha Dog, which makes me the Beta Bitch.

He is away at the moment and, ever since he left, Puppy Dog has been misbehaving because, of course, I'm just the Beta - no need to pay her any respect.

Nothing major, just a low-grade evil, like:

• Constantly pulling on the leash - hard


• Not heeling when told


• Not coming when called


• Jumping out of the back of the SUV before being given permission to do so


• Having to be asked three times to sit before he listens, so I can put his food bowl down and give him permission to eat


• etc., etc., etc.

Today, we came back from a walk at a local park.  He'd been pulling my arm off, ignoring commands and just generally being a little shit.

We pulled up in front of the house, and I parked the car.  I gathered my stuff, got out and went round to the back.  I opened up the boot (trunk) door of the SUV and, again, without pausing till he was told it was OK to get out, he bounded off.  He then didn't come back to me when I called and, instead of going straight up to the house when told "Home!" he trotted about, sniffing trees and the sidewalk.

I'd had enough.

"Your father,"I yelled, "is coming home tomorrow night and then we'll see about your misbehaviour!  Just you wait till Daddy comes home!"

It was one of those moments where, even as you hear yourself say the words, another part of your brain is quietly, rationally explaining to you that you are being totally insane and that - worse still - you're doing it out in public.

But I couldn't stop myself.  In that millisecond before I said it, it made perfect sense to me.

When I say that he is my furkid - my substitute child - I guess it's not so much a joke, but a deep-seated reality.

And he knows something is going on because I've been ignoring him for the last four hours that we have been home and he has been very, very quiet, laying on his cushion and not a peep out of him.

My little boy has pushed Mama too damn far, and he bloody well knows it.

Being a Doggy Mama - The Sarcasm Walk

 

Well.

That wasn't what I'd call a nice walk.

I took Puppy Dog out about 40 minutes ago.  We headed off, with him on his extendable leash, sniffing things here and there.

He came and stood by my side at street junctions, and heeled as we crossed the road.

It was all good.

Then he decided to poop on a hedge.  It was about 1.5 feet tall, a little decorative hedge, about a foot across, around a tree.  Of course, the minute I tried to scoop the poop, it fell down into the hedge and, although my hand was protected by the bag, I got poop smears up my arm.

Delightful.

I decided to go up to the open park, which he loves.  I don't usually take him there, and you'll soon find out why.

Squirrel 1 - he listened to me when I said "Leave it!" and stood still.

But Squirrel 2 was obviously too much.  He sprinted off, ripping the leash out of my hand.  The kazing of the leash burnt my finger, my arm was wrenched out of its socket, and I broke a well-manicured-in-time-for-tomorrow's-job-interview nail.

Fabulous.

Oh, and let's not forget the couple sitting on a nearby bench who thought my scream and disobedient dog were hilarious.

So pleased, dear Sir and Madam, that I could be a source of amusement for you today.

I didn't run after him.  I didn't have to. 

He was stuck in place at the bottom of a large tree he couldn't climb, staring up at a squirrel he couldn't catch, quivering.

I got hold of him, held his snout, said "NO!" again and again, and put him on heel.

Walking with Puppy Dog on heel, when he doesn't want to do it, is difficult.  Eventually I had the leash locked on just the right length to keep him next to me, and I was holding it behind my back, with both hands, to keep hold of him, walking on my left.  When he pulled too much, I stopped and turned my left hip away from him, so he was yanked back into the right position next to me.

But he wasn't interested.  He was pulling, and choking himself.

And so, we waddled down the street:

Block no. 1: Pull. Cough! Cough! Pull. Yank. Pull. Cough! Cough! Pull. Yank.

Block no. 2: Pull. Cough! Cough! Pull. Yank. Pull. Cough! Cough! Pull. Yank.

We must've looked like two nutters dancing to an even nuttier soundtrack.

Then we passed a house with a big yard and a nice fence.  The dogs inside always bark, but I could see one of them and it seemed relaxed, lying down on the front lawn.  I was sure it could see Puppy Dog was on a short leash, and that he wasn't even looking at the dog, or stepping towards its fence.  So I relaxed.

Big mistake.

Just as we reach the end of the yard, the dog lurched forward, barking and growling.  Puppy Dog pulled towards him. 

Oh, joy!

Still holding the leash behind my back, I was almost pulled off-balance trying to hang on, and had visions of kissing the sidewalk.

But, somehow, I held on till the dogs took a breath, and I dragged Puppy Dog down the sidewalk away from the insane guard dog.

Block no. 3: Pull. Cough! Cough! Pull. Yank. Pull. Cough! Cough! Pull. Yank.

Eventually, in the middle of the fourth block, he stopped pulling.  Thank God.

So, on block 5, I let him have the run of the full leash - about 12 feet.

And on we went.

Then, suddenly, he squatted for what I call an "Auxiliary Poop." This is when he has dropped a big volume already but, for some reason, has to add an appendix to his oeuvre.  No problem, I'll just get my reserve bag---

No bag.

It must've fallen out of my pocket.

Oh, lovely!

So there I am, in a nice neighborhood, committing the ultimate dog owner crime.  I walk away from my dog's poop on the grass in front of someone's house.

Screw this, time to turn towards home.

And so we did.

Being a Doggy Mama - The yelp

 

There is nothing worse, to a parent, than hearing their child in pain.

I have been around babies and kids since I was 11.  My siblings are much older than me, so I have been Auntie to many a young thing.  In fact, a lot of them aren't that young anymore.

I've played games, run birthday parties, changed nappies - you name it (deciding to be childless was an informed decision).

I know that babies have different kinds of cries.  There's the hunger cry, the dirty nappy cry, the I'm-bored-I-don't-want-to-go-to-sleep cry.  They all sound different.

And then there's the I'm-in-real-pain cry.

This is why you'll be at a party with parents of young children and notice different scenarios. 

In the first, the child falls down, but isn't really injured.  The parent may wait for the child to toddle over to them and placate them with a high voiced "Did you go boom-si-daisy?  Aw.  Daddy kiss it better."

And then there's the second scenario, where you'll be chatting away, a cry rings out and suddenly, the person you were talking to is just, well, gone.  Parents responding to real cries can rival Olympic sprinters.  That cry is horrible, ear splitting and heart rending.

It's the same being a dog owner.

Nobody wants to hear their little poochie yelp.

And I've had two of those today.

We were walking in a local park, and Puppy Dog was off-leash.  Why was he off-leash? I hear you ask.  Well, because a lot of people walk their dogs off-leash in this park, even though it's illegal.  So I do, too.

We went into the park on-leash, and Puppy Dog smelt a dog around the corner.  I didn't see it.  First I knew was when the leash was tugged and my arm nearly came off.  I was dragged downhill and, thank God for the flash back to High School hurdles or I may never have made it over that log.

The dogs sniffed each other - the other dog was off-leash, and Puppy Dog moseyed on.  So I took him off-leash, for my own safety.  The trail is narrow and the sides are steep.

When we got to the part of the trail that crosses a road, I put him on leash again, and we went on our merry way.  Then along comes another dog, off-leash, and they become instant friends.  There follows much running and jumping and both of them get completely tied up in the leash.  So I took it off again.

We continued, and rounded another corner.

In front of us was a couple with a huge - massive - dog. 

The warning signs were there.  The horse-dog was on a tight leash, with one parent either side of it, both of them very close.

"Is he ok with other dogs?" I asked.

"No."

So I immediately told Puppy Dog to Come.

He ignored me, trotted up to the horse-dog and said hello.  Horse-dog lunged at him, Puppy Dog's Mohawk went up and it was on.  The poor guy was desperately hanging onto his dog and I was calling Puppy Dog frantically.

And then, the yelp.

Puppy Dog came running back to me and the couple quickly carried on past us.  I apologized to them, they did not apologize to me.  OK, so technically I am in the wrong with my dog off-leash, but a simple "Sorry" would've been nice.

We went home and everything seemed fine.

In case you are wondering, I put him back on-leash.

Flash forward to 8:30 pm when I get back from a networking event (yes, I'm still looking for a job...).  Puppy Dog greets me at the front door with his usual ebullience, and follows me through the house, where I open the back door so he can go out to pee.  I sit down and wait for him to come and greet me for real, and I rub his head.

Second yelp.

What a horrible sound.  It makes me shudder.

So I calm him, prod and poke and find blood in his ear. 

The annoying fact about furry things is that it can be very hard to find where the injury is.  I ran my fingers through his fur, cleaned out his ear, but I couldn't find the actual bite.

I put some ointment on where I think it was, and he licked me in gratitude.

Now he's playing the sick dog, lying on his cushion and not moving.

And I'm fretting.

I never ever want to hear that sound again.

But, considering he's such an active, crazy, energetic lump of brown fur, I probably will...

Being a Doggy Mama - Don't mess with the process

 

Dogs are like toddlers.  They sometimes get over-excited and have to be calmed down before they injure themselves, they sometimes rebel and need to be brought into line, and they sometimes like boundaries and routine.

A friend of ours inherited his dog when his dad died.  The dog is old and has certain ways she likes to do things.  

When our friend and his wife sit down to dinner... 

1. the dog has to be let out the back door, 


2. spend a few minutes in the yard, 


3. be let back in and 


4. be given a treat.  

In that order.  

Every night.  

Puppy Dog has his own routine.  I don't know if it started with his previous owners, came from his time in the pound or if he just invented.

1. He wakes us up in the morning,


2. one of us gets up and puts out his food so he can eat,


3. we open the back door so he can go out,


4. he does his business


5. he comes back in and comes into the bedroom


6. he jumps on the bed and lies with his pack 


7. he moves when we get up.

If, like this morning, we have to go the gym and we jump from No. 3 right to No. 7, he is pissed.  Then we had the audacity to go out the house and leave him behind!

Boy did we get the pouty lips when we got home!

Do not mess with the process!