This photo was not staged. Zeppelin arranged these toys into a neat, evenly spaced row all on his own. The only outside interference involved was keeping him from disrupting the order while the camera batteries charged.
Owning a dog is never for the faint of heart, nor for those with any sort of attachment to personal belongings. The puppy phase is generally the worst. There is likely an evolutionary reason for this. The ancestors of the modern Canis lupus familiaris may not have lasted long if they hadn't been so darned adorable while stealing scraps of mammoth steak from the table or peeing on the cave floor. Puppies are cute, and we are generally pretty forgiving of cute things and celebrities.
Of course, destruction of personal property isn't restricted to the first few months of a dog's life. Just as human toddlers have crayons on walls and teenagers have spray paint on the sides of buildings, the potential for damage increases with age, but the frequency generally decreases. That's why Dexter wasn't allowed free rein in the house until he was about 18 months old, and it's why we're only just testing the waters with Zeppelin now. His last major act of destruction was chewing the fringe off of our bedroom rug, and life has been pretty uneventful since then. He did gnaw the heel off of my brown leather sandal, but I also made the mistake of kicking the shoe off haphazardly and not realizing it had landed on his bed like a gift from the heavens. In a dog's mind, I was pretty much asking for it.
Generally, though, I had thought my stuff was pretty safe. Notice my careful use of the past tense there.
Now, I cannot be sure exactly which of the two dogs is responsible, and it's pointless to try to find out, since punishing or reprimanding a dog after the fact is not only ineffective but countereffective, but if I had to place money on it, I would have to go with Zeppelin. Dexter's afraid of our bed since he fell off of it in the middle of the night last week. Zeppelin treats it as his own, and when Capt Mike is away, he takes up approximately two thirds of it each night. The bottom two thirds. It's a bit uncomfortable, really. (Capt Mike will tell you "all the more reason not to have him up there in the first place", but what is the point of having puppies if not to cuddle them when your main cuddle supply is cut off by extended absence?) Anyway, the bottom two thirds of the bed is where Zeppelin stretches out, and also where I generally place items of clothing that I might be able to get another wear out of around the house, such as a really comfortable pair of jeans.
I should also mention that Zeppelin eats 7 cups of premium dog food each day now, four in the morning and three at dinner time, and really shouldn't get the munchies in the middle of the night. But apparently that was the case on Friday. I came home, fed the dogs, got into my jammies, and placed my jeans at the bottom of the bed to wear on Saturday morning for our daily walk in the P-A-R-K. I had a glass of wine, watched some TV, and put myself to bed, undisturbed until the morning. We woke up, went about our morning routines, and decided to get ready to go to the P-A-R-K, for which I would need my comfy jeans. My comfy jeans which felt mysteriously...gummy....especially where the waist band used to be. It seems that at some point during the night, someone (Zeppelin) either felt a bit peckish or fancied himself a bit of a Salvatore Parasuco and chewed the waistband off my jeans all the way down to the pocket rivets, ignoring only the area around the fly (though not entirely, because that was kind of damp too).
The jeans are now useless. Had he chewed up the bottoms, I could at least make a pair of shorts. As they are now, I could only possibly use them to fashion a pair of leg warmers or gaiters of some kind, both of which are a little too fashion forward for my taste. But if there is a silver lining to be had, I guess it's that I have an excuse to go shopping (not that a girl really needs one, but justification is always welcome).
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The day after I started at school, we received a letter from the city notifying us that someone had complained about Zeppelin's barking. None of our neighbours approached us to let us know there was a problem, they went directly to the by-law officer. We were understandably upset. We've ben trying to curb Zeppelin's barking for almost 1 year now, and had thought we were making some progress. However, my recent return to school has thrown a bit of a wrench in the works. I know he's barking to get attention. He's ticked off that I am not longer at his beck and call, and wants to have a human to play with.
Yesterday, Capt Mike called the city to tell them what measures we had already taken, and what measures we were planning on taking. It was a pretty fruitful conversation. Apparently, in our neighbours' eyes, we are neglectful dog owners who never take the dogs anywhere. We are also seen as completely unapproachable. Translation: we're being watched and talked about.
And so here I am drafting a letter to our neighbours to let them know that we have been made aware of the situation, and that we are working on a solution, and would be more than happy to work with them on finding that solution. Let me know what you think:
Dear neighbour,
My name is Zeppelin. I am a Weimaraner, and I live with Mike and Sarah at XXXXXXXXX. Recently the city contacted my owners to tell them that my barking was bugging some of the other residents of the neighbourhood.
I am a young hound, and my barking and howling has been a problem for a while. When I was a puppy, I used to bark just to hear the sound of my own voice (which I think is pretty great), so Mike and Sarah took me to puppy classes and did a lot of research to figure out how to get me to stop barking so much. They did a lot of training with me, and bought me a citronella collar that sprayed a lemony scent when it heard my bark. Unfortunately, I really like lemon, so I thought that was a reward. They also bought a sonic device that emits a high-pitched sound when I bark, but it bothers my friend Dexter a lot more than it bothers me, and they thought that was unfair to him. He hardly ever barks. They have tried to keep training me to only bark in certain situations, and they thought it was starting to pay off.
Now, when they are home, I only bark if I see something I don’t like. I really don’t like squirrels, or the bat that lives in my tree. A few weeks ago someone threw a golf ball into our yard. I really didn’t like that. It could have really hurt. Sometimes I will bark at you to get your attention because I would like to say “hi” and get a pat on the head. I really like pats on the head, unless they’re from a squirrel.
The city also told Mike and Sarah that some of you were concerned that Dexter and I were not getting enough attention or exercise. Sarah recently started going back to school in Kingston, and Mike works during the day, too. Dexter and I do spend a lot more time alone during the day than we used to, when Sarah would be at home to play with us all of the time. But we do have our own dog door, a big yard, and lots of toys to play with and water to drink. Every night when he gets home, Mike takes us to the dog park for at least 45 minutes. I get to run around in the forest, and Dexter gets to play soccer...those are our two most favourite things to do. We also get early morning walks before Sarah and Mike have to leave. The weekends are the best though. Sarah and Mike get to spend lots of time playing with us then.
Mike, Sarah, Dexter, and I are very sorry that my barking has disturbed you, and also that you felt you could not approach us directly to help work towards a solution. Mike and Sarah are both quite friendly, although they are a little more shy than I am. If you have any suggestions about ways you could stop my barking, please do let them know. A phone call or a note in our mailbox is all it takes. We would like to be good neighbours, and I think the bylaw officer would appreciate us working together, too.
Sincerely,
Zeppelin
Sarah
and Mike
xxx-yyy-zzzz
The Basra family of Surrey, B.C., are understandably devestated since the local police shot their pit-bull/mastif mix Mason while responding to a dropped 911 call.
Apparently, Mason was playing with members of the family in the back yard of their home when an officer opened the back gate to respond to a 911 call thought to have originated in the home's basement suite. (The entrance to the basement suite is not in the back yard.) Curious, Mason ran over to see who the visitor was, and was mortally wounded by a gun shot at a distance of less than 1 foot away.
There are conflicting reports about whether or not Mason was an agressive dog with a history of biting, or just a playful family pet alerted to a possible intruder. However, it is unlikely that the officer was aware of such a possible history at the time of the incident.
Now, if average Joe Canadian saw a large dog running towards him, I could understand him possibly being afraid. Joe doesn't know the dog. Joe is not necessarily trained to evaluate a situation and its possible dangers in a split second. Police Officers, however, should have slightly more situational awareness than Joe Canadian. They should, at the very least, have noticed that members of the family were present with the dog in the yard, and were not in any visible or audible distress.
I may be going out on the proverbial limb here, but had Mason been a standard poodle, a giant schnauzer, or a bernese mountain dog, I doubt that the officer would have reacted in the same way. You see, most people do not understand canine body language. Instead, they rely on anthropomorphism to discern whether a dog is "friendly" or "vicious". A friendly dog is big, fluffy, and cuddly looking, well groomed, and probably drools a little bit. A vicious dog is muscular and athletic, "scowls" as a result of its puggish jaw or underbite, and "foams at the mouth" instead of drools. Wagging tails are mistaken for dominance, play bows mistaken for posturing for a lunge at the throat.
In my opinion, Mason was the innocent victim of breedism. My heart goes out to the Basra family for their inconsolable loss.
Grandma and Grampa came this weekend to drop off Dexter and Zeppelin. I guess the two boys had a pretty good time these last two weeks, given the sadness in their faces as they saw dad's Buick pull out of our driveway this morning. I've never seen two more depressed-looking dogs.
I know it will take some time for them to adjust to being in their new environment, but it was absolutely heartbreaking to see them look out the window to say goodbye this morning.
Things that Zeppelin has eaten , destroyed, and (or) had to be chased around the dining room table with in the last 48 hours:
- 1 pair of headphones
- 1 stick of butter
- unknown quantity of mulch wood chips
- 2 tealight candles
- 3 "ouchless" hair elastics
- 1 oven mitt
- 1 "Avenue" brand gentle leader (belonging to Dexter)
- 1 Calvin Klein bra
Our trainer told us he would eventually go through a stage known as "reversion", but we had no idea that it would be this much of a nightmare. His appetite for destruction is insatiable. Apparently Weimaraners are known for their curious tastes, so at least it is reassuring that he's normal, and not suffering from pica. So far he hasn't destroyed anything irreplaceable, toxic, or carrying an electrical current, but over the next few weeks I foresee Capt Mike and I purchasing large quantities of Bitter Apple spray. I think I might even buy shares in Grannick's.
Capt Mike was upset that I didn't upload a picture of Zeppelin's face, so this is partly to placate him, and partly to show the world just how cute he is.
What's really unbelievable is that since Sunday, when this photo was taken, he has grown enough to no longer be able to fit between the rails on our deck!
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Over the weekend our little family grew by one. Capt Mike and I are now proud parents of a wee little weimaraner puppy, named Zeppelin.
He's still quite small, so Dexter is still more taken by the hose than by his new little brother. All in good time, though.
We got our first real snow for the season yesterday. It also coincided with the first real snow storm of the season, as well as the first "oh shit, I've forgotten how to drive in snow" day for many of Pembroke's residents. Luckily, Dexter and I finished running our errands before the roads got messy and the people all went crazy, so we were able to enjoy the snow for what it was: cold edible powder that's a lot of fun to pounce on.
I don't know what it is about snow that makes dogs go all wacky. My very first dog, Prinz, the world's greatest dog ever*, was absolutely snow crazy. Even when he was 14 years old, and arthritis was slowing him down, the snow still made him run around and act like a puppy. Without fail, winter rejuvenated him. I can tell that Dexter is going to be the same way. He's too short to see out of any of our windows, so he couldn't actually see the snow falling or accumulating. But somehow he could sense it. He knew, before we even got to the door, that when we got outside something special was waiting for him.
He had an absolute ball, chasing his frisbee in the snow, and snapping at the snow that I tossed up in the air. Snow in winter and the hose in summer are the only two things that will always elicit some sort of vocalization from him. He was yipping, and snapping, and grunting, and pouncing, and sneezing when it got up his nose. And he will carry on in this manner every day there's snow on the ground, from now until sometime in April.
*Dexter is a great dog, but he knows that Prinz will always be my first true love. Capt Mike is also okay with this fact.
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I woke up at 5:30 am yesterday morning to the sound of Dexter flopping into his bed and coughing. When I went to investigate what he was hacking on, I saw he'd vomited all over his bed. I went to get a towel to clean it up, and saw he'd done the same thing in three places on the living room carpet. When I went to the kitchen to get paper towels to clean that up, I saw he'd also thrown up in the den, and soiled the floor with the largest amount of feces I've ever seen in one place (and our cottage had an outhouse). I had a very sick puppy on my hands. After cleaning up while trying not to gag myself, I called the vet and took him into the emergency clinic. He was tail-wagging and alert, but still nauseated. You could tell by the amount he was drooling. They x-rayed him to see if he had an intestinal blockage, but couldn't see anything. They determined he was fairly dehydrated, and hooked him up to an IV to get fluids and salts into him. They've been keeping him there ever since to rule out parasites, pancreatities, a blockage that wasn't radio opaque, and poisoning.
The poor little guy has never spent a night away from home like that before. He's stayed with his "grandparents", but has never been in any sort of a kennel with no human company overnight. This morning he's off the IV, but is still suffering from nausea and diarrhea. They are reintroducing food, and will monitor to see if it stays with him. When I visited him, he was wiggly and waggy and happy to see me, but clearly confused about why I kept letting strangers poke and prod him.
I am going to visit him again at lunchtime, and hopefully will be able to take him home with me. It's so quiet here without him. Usually in the mornings he wakes me up before the alarm goes off, he gets a belly rub, and then we go for our walk. Afterwards, he eats his breakfast, I drink my coffee, and then I work while he plays with his squeaky toys in the living room. I feel kind of lost not hearing his claws on the hardwood, or his sqeauky shoe and jingly ball thumping on the floor. I really hope he comes home this afternoon.
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Well, day 1 is over and done with, and so far I haven't spent too much time curled up in a ball in a dark corner. Yesterday it was way too hot to do any curling up, so I and the neighbour went to our cardio class, and then Dexter and I watched Coronation St. and ate noodles and zucchini.
I am not sure if it was the heat or if he could tell that something was up, but Dexter was acting very strangely. I put the new bed I bought him in his crate, and when I went back into my room later in the evening, he had pulled the bed out of the crate to the middle of the room and was curled up inside the crate on the hard plastic floor. I am not sure if that's border collie for "I don't like the bed" or "I want to lie on something cool". I managed to coax him out of the crate and lie down on the bed, and tried to make it clear that it was a bed, and it was his bed, and I think he understood it. I will find out for sure when I get home tonight to see if the bed has been destroyed or not.
Later, just before bed, we went out for our last pee of the evening. There were two people sitting on the side porch of the building talking, and Dexter decided they were up to no good. He started growling softly (I don't think they could hear it, but I could), which he rarely does and always freaks me out, so I called him away from them and continued on our walk. He walked behind me, barking soft little woofs the whole way until I told him to go pee. Then he followed me back to the house, still woofing under his breath. When we got inside, he patrolled each room in the dark, then followed me into the bathroom where I was brushing my teeth, and curled up behind the toilet. I have no idea what all that is border collie for, but it was very strange. I managed to get him to come out of the bathroom with me and come to bed, but for the first half of the night, he refused to sleep on the bed or on his bed, and instead slept on the floor on my side of the bed. Sometime after midnight he crept onto Mike's pillow and fell asleep there.
Meanwhile, I was having a fairly fitful sleep interspersed with stress dreams. You know, the ones where you're back in high school for some unexplained reason and you realise you have an exam for a class you didn't even know you'd signed up for (French, in this case), and instead of writing the exam, you run around the campus trying to find the right person/administrator to get you out of having to write it in the first place?
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I know border collies are a smart breed, but this is getting ridiculous.
Tonight, Dexter decided he wanted to play fetch with me. But not the usual Foodgirl throws Dexter toy, and Dexter runs after it sort of fetch. He wanted me to do the fetching. He picked up his rubber jack toy, and dropped it at my feet. I tossed it to him. He caught it. The he "threw" it, a little further away, ran back to me, did a little "you know what I am trying to tell you" dance, and ran over to the jack, looked at it, then ran back to me and looked at me expectantly. Because he also thinks I'm kind of slow. I am pretty sure Timmy is not stuck in a well somewhere, nor was there any trouble at the ol' mill. He was trying to engage me in play.
Maybe next April he'll be smart enough to do my taxes.
No doubt inspired by his "cousin's" recent interest in the opposite sex, Dexter has gone and gotten himself a little crush. She's an older woman. Her name is Shadow, and she's a 6-year-old collie/retriever mix who just moved into the apartment next door. He met her last night, and has been going absolutely nutty ever since. Everytime he hears her in the hallway or smells her outside (and he's got a damn good nose and set of ears, as I would be otherwise oblivious), he starts whining to go outside to see her. He knew about her long before he ever saw her. Her musky, canine perfume must have been lingering in the entranceway of our building for the last couple of days.
Alas, I fear it is unrequited, as she hasn't shown the least bit of interest in him in the two encounters they have shared. Poor little guy.
Dexter and I have been on our own for the past little while. Capt. Mike is out in Alberta, training. He seems to be enjoying himself and keeping busy. So Dexter and I are forced to make our own fun.
Yesterday turned out to be a banner day for Dexter. I have been feeling guilty lately that I have been neglecting him. I haven't, I just feel like I have because for the first time in his short little life he is hearing the word "No" occasionally when he runs up to me with his rainbow sqeuaky ball in his mouth. Usually he knows to leave me alone when I am "at work", and that he has my full, undivided attention when I am not "at work". However, since I started my two correspondence courses, my free time has been eaten up with reading and doing assignments. And Dexter has had to amuse himself for longer periods than he's used to.
So yesterday was Dexter's day. It started with a short constitutional around the block after waking up at 7 am, just to get "things moving". I think his puppy kibble must be high in fibre, because I have never met a more regular creature.
Anyway, we then hopped in the car and drove down to Riverside Park to play some frisbee and sniff things. And go to the beach. Dexter LOVES the beach. Loves it to the point that he goes absolutely nutty in its presence. It started when he was just a puppy, and we took him for a hike in Gatineau Park. We hiked around Lac Meech, and found a little tiny beach just off the path we were on. It was a pretty windy day, so the water was quite rough. Dexter had never seen that much water before, and wasn't quite sure about the white caps. I think he thought the waves were alive, because the next thing we knew, he was running manically back and forth along the little beach, at full tilt, barking at the waves and snapping at them, like he was trying to herd them. He worked himself into a frenzy, and ran himself to the brink of exhaustion. Since then, he's shown the same enthusiasm every time he's been near the water, and yesterday was no exception. He ran and leaped and pounced and barked so much I could barely tear him away. Back and forth, back and forth for about half an hour.
After our beach adventure, we got back into the car and I went to get my hair cut, and then to run some errands while he napped in the back seat. Once my to do list had diminished a bit, it was time for a coffee run. Dexter loves going through the Tim Horton's drive thru. He likes to stick his head out of my window to say Hello to the girls working inside. And his behaviour is positivedly reinforced by the chorus of "Oh my gosh, he's so cute" from the women inside. I usually dont' use drive thrus, but it was Dexter's day, so I humoured him. We got an iced cap for me, and three plain Tim Bits for him, which we then took down to Pansy Patch park to enjoy our snack al fresco. We had the park to ourselves, as we often do, so we watched the rapids and the red and black squirrels chasing each other. Then one of us decided to roll in something unidentifiable, so it was time to go home and have a nice warm bath with the shampoo that smells like chamomile tea.
All in all, not a bad day for a puppy. I will be hard pressed to top it for his 1st birthday next month. I think that might warrant a special trip into Ottawa to the dog park and PetSmart though.
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This morning at 8 am, I had to drop Dexter off at the vet for a procedure. He's getting fixed. The ol' snip snip. I realise that this is the right thing to do as a responsible pet owner, but it breaks my heart to think of my poor little puppy being in any sort of pain. And he has no idea what's about to happen to him.
I know this morning his thought process probably went a little something like this:
Hey, Mike and Sarah are up at the same time! That must mean I get to play! They're so much fun! I love playing! Oh, hey, we're going in the car? Wow! A car ride! I love car rides. That must mean I'm in for a real treat! Woohoo! Hey, I've been here before. Wait a second...
I've left him at the vet's office with only his plastic nubby bone for company. We have to go and pick him up again by 6 pm. I hope he's okay, and doesn't hold it against us.
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There's a rottweiler who lives down the street from us. I've taken to nicknaming him Otis. It just seems to suit him. He's a young dog, probably only about 6-8 months or so, but very, very large. Anyway, Otis doesn't lead much of a life. I've never seen his owners walk him. I've never even seen his owners, actually. He spends his days chained to the front porch of their half of a duplex. The porch is about 1 metre square (9 sq. ft.), and his chain is about 6 feet long, allowing him to get off the porch just enough to reach the sidewalk, but no more. This area is covered with a thick layer of Otis' feces and urine-soaked snow. His owners never clean it up.
When Dexter and I first saw Otis, he came out from the porch wagging his stumpy little tail, and sniffing and whining curiously. Now when we walk past him, he stays on the porch, his hackles go up, and he growls.
I reported Otis to the Petawawa Humane Society. They don't answer their phones, so I left a detailed message with my name and number and where Otis lives. They've never called me back. Otis' confinement area is still covered with his own filth. He's getting bigger every day, and less trusting of the people walking past his domain every day. This is likely what his owners want. A big, mean, tough-guy dog to scare people away from their crappy stuff. Some day, Otis is going to snap and bite someone or some animal, and then suddenly the Humane Society and police will take an interest. His owners will defend him in a half-assed manner, but Otis will likely be carted away and put down. You see, in Ontario, rottweilers, pit bulls, bull terriers, even boxers, fall under the new One Strike and They're Out Law. And then his owners will go out and find another puppy to neglect and mistreat.
All I can do is keep calling the Humane Society to see if they're doing anything.
I have long suspected that Dexter throws parties while I am away at work. I will get home, and his crate will be totalled: the matress overturned and folded over top of him, a toy floating upside down in his water dish. But I came home to an altogether frightening scene last night. My puppy zonked out on the bed, drenched in perfume, with a half-chewed faux Prada sling-back heel next to him.
I panicked. He had somehow found one of those little perfume sample bottles they hand out at the drug store, and broken in open. Had he eaten any of the glass? Had he drunk himself silly with the alcohol? Why was he so sleepy and lethargic? I could barely stir him. I grabbed his vet file and leash, and carried him down to the car to go to the 24-hour animal hospital in the South end. The inside of the Sentra reeked of Givenchy's Organza by the time we got there, but he was starting to perk up. Feeling like the worst puppy-mum ever, I explained to the receptionist what had happened, and she ushered me in to see the vet. By this time, Dexter was his normal, perky, curious self, sniffing at every inch of tile and bouncing around showing off.
"Well, the perfume probably evaporated before he drank very much, and he was probably sleepy because he'd had such a fun time, and played himself out," was the Doctor's explanation. "But it's better to be safe than sorry. You did the right thing. He's just fine." I felt very relieved.
1 oz sample of French perfume: gift with purchase
Black leather sling backs from Pegabo: $95.00
Trip to emergency vet clinic after hours: $115.49.
Your puppy apparently experimenting with gender roles and turning out just fine: Priceless.
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Is this not the very image of innocence and sweetness?
So Dexter and I were walking down Pembroke St. to go to Tim Hortons (yes, there is no apostrophe) for some coffee and a plain Timbit. As usual, people were looking at Dexter and their hearts were melting because he's the most wonderful little doggie in the whole wide world. Anyway.... here's how the scene played out as we continued on our merry way:
Dexter: sniff sniff {sniffing sidewalk, then sniffing in the general direction of Crazy ol' f'er}
Crazy ol' f'er: Hey! {jerks knee up as if to kick at Dexter}
Saedigh: Whoa, hey!
COF: Keep that THING away from me!
S: What's you're problem?
COF: You need to keep control of that thing, or muzzle it. It almost bit my leg!
S: {people are starting to stare now} He was nowhere near your leg. Anyway, he's a puppy, and he doesn't bite, so just CHILL OUT.
Dexter just stood there with his tail between his legs the whole time, not understanding why the People were talking with Loud Voices. I walked away, and the COF walked away muttering like the COF he is. A$$hole.
I felt like telling him "Look, grandpa, my dog doesn't bite, but I do. Come near the two of us again and God help me I won't be responsible for my actions." A$$hole.
Ever since that idiot MPP decided to wage war against "pit bulls" (note: when asked to identify the pitbull from a composite of 15 images of different dog breeds, he couldn't), every COF in this province has decided that dogs are vicious, savage, dangerous "weapons" that should be controlled more strictly than sub-machine guns. I wonder how many unregistered "sporting rifles" the old codger has back home. If he's that uppity and high-strung, he's a hell of a lot more dangerous to society than a well-socialized 4 and 1/2 month old border collie puppy.
A$$hole.
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I don't want to become one of those people. You know. They get a dog, and then it's all about the dog, and they can only talk or blog about the dog. I mean, I still have opinions of my own that are entirely un-dog-related. I just don't have time for them anymore, because I am so busy picking up fecal matter.
Dexter has the runs. He was always a bit of a poop machine. I was beginning to wonder how he was managing to grow at all, given the fact that he eats exactly 4 and 1/3 cups of Eukanuba Medium Breed Puppy Food each day, and poos approximately 4 and 1/3 cups (I haven't actually measured it, I am guesstimating here) back out. But he's definitely growing - Capt. Mike can attest to that.
Unfortunately, the poo no longer has the consistency it once did. Sometimes it's lumpy. Sometime's it's a refried bean consistency. And sometimes it's soupy. This poses a number of problems: (1) Dexter needs to go outside more often, and it's October, and I live in Ottawa; (2) Runny, soupy poop is really hard to pick up with either a standard grocery bag or a specifically designed canine waste-disposal bag, colour blue; (3) It's really, really stinky.
I am trying to figure out what's causing it. I've taken away his more disgusting plush toy and will be washing it. I've limited treats to only when we're practicing our obedience homework. I've restricted access to all food not marketed specifically towards little brown puppies (read: I don't let him eat what we eat). And tomorrow, I am going to address the problem with his vet. I hope that there's some sort of puppy immodium out there, because both of us would like some relief. And soon.
Dexter is progressing quite well with his crate training. We had a little bit of a problem on Monday, as it was his first day in the crate for more than an hour on his own. When I came home at lunch to walk him and play with him, he was just fine, but when I tried to coax him back into the crate when lunch hour was over, he wouldn't budge. They recommend that you not force your puppy into the crate, so I didn't. I ended up staying with him for another two hours, and going for another 40-min walk with him. It's a shame you can't use the government's Family Related Leave for puppy training. I took the hours as "vacation" instead. It has occurred to me that I am really not using my "vacation" leave for relaxing, calming sorts of endeavours, i.e., climbing a mountain and alleviating a puppy's separation anxiety. Oh well.
When I finally did manage to get him back in his crate, I returned to the office to try and make up for some of the time I had spent away. I was still worried about him though. He is so small. And lonley. But when I got home, he was just dandy. I couldn't bear to leave him again that day though, so I called my gym and cancelled my appointment with my trainer. Instead, Dexter and I decided to explore the off-leash park in Rockliffe where all the rich doggies go. I brought his frisbee along (come on, you must have known I'd be teaching him how to play frisbee), and we had a lot of fun chasing after it through the long grass.
Yesterday, we went back to the off-leash again, and this time we met up with another doggie: Rembrandt, an oversized 4-year-old Golden. He was very friendly, a bit of a pushover, really, and spent a good 30 minutes letting Dexter try to "herd" him. When it was time to go back to the car, Dexter picked up his frisbee and carried it with him.
I decided to take a little detour on our way home. We headed over to PetSmart, to sign the little guy up for some puppy classes. On the way in the door, we ran into two other dogs. A very large 7-month-old Bernese and a weird-looking dog that the owner called a "Noodle". Dexter showed quite a bit of interest in the other puppy, and not so much in the noodle. We filled out a registration form to start classes on Tuesday, October 11, at 6:30 pm. The classes last for 8 weeks, so we will be done in time to move to Pembroke, when we can enroll in a more advanced class. I am quite sure that having already mastered so much (frisbee carrying, crate training, pooping outside, peeing outside almost all the time unless I lose track of time, and learning his name), that Dexter will be graduating with honours.
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Well, this past weekend has been pretty busy, thanks to a new addition to our family.
I have wanted a dog for a while. I have had particularly strong feelings about it since my adolescent companion Diva passed away over the summer. Capt. Mike took a little more convincing than I did though, as far as the benefits of waking up in the middle of the night to house train, etc. But he came around, and on Thursday he surprised me with a trip to Little Critters to pick up Dexter. Now, before you judge me for getting a dog from the pet store, you should know that Little Critters only sells pets that are raised locally by registered breeders. They give you the contact information of the breeder, and encourage you to visit them either before or after you purchase your pet. There are no puppy farms involved. Dexter's Mommy and Daddy live in Pembroke, and we will be visiting them soon. :-)
So, like I said, this past weekend was pretty hectic. Dexter is still learning to pee and poop outside (he's had a couple of accidents, but they were because we just didn't understand what he was trying to tell us). He's very well mannered, and hasn't made a sound since he got here, even during his bath the first night, or at the vet's the day after! He is learning very quickly, and can already recognise his new name and the words "No" and "Good boy". He's a runner, and has been on three long runs already (even one this morning at 6 am...I know the dedication involved in raising a healthy puppy). He is getting used to is crate, and today will be his second time in it when we are away from the apartment. He was in it yesterday for an hour, and was perfectly content to amuse himself with his toys and nap.
And now, introducing Dexter:
Hello Dexter!
Sittin' pretty after bath time