We all know I’m a creature of habit and it’s safe to say that having an invalid dog has generated quite a few changes to a schedule that had been popping along happily for the last fifteen months. After three days, I think we finally hit on a new routine that might be manageable, especially tomorrow with me going back to work. The killer is that the two dogs have to be separated to do everything that they use to do together… eating, going out, hanging out in the living room, everything. The problem, of course, is that where feeding the dogs use to be a plural act, it’s now singular, in that I have to feed one dog, take them out, and crate them before repeating the process with the other. A twenty minute morning routine is now something closer to 45 minutes and creeps up towards an hour when it involves breaking out the ice packs. Of course I’ll keep doing it, knowing that the first two weeks of the healing process are the worst and it will get better over time. Even so, I’ll be much happier when I have a pair of dogs again instead of two dogs who just happen to be living in the same house. Until then it looks like I’ll be setting a 4AM alarm to get it done before heading to work. Yeah, tomorrow morning should be a real treat.
Tag Archives: dogs
Pack leader…
I am the pack leader. I set the rules, provide the food, and make sure we are sheltered from the weather every night. When they get snippy with each other, I restore order and tranquility. So riddle me this, if I’m the pack leader, what makes it ok to poke me in the forehead with your cold wet nose? I know I’m definitely not the one who decided it was ok to wake up and hit the ground running at 6AM on a Saturday morning… but still, here I sit thirty minuets later clicking away at the keyboard while the rest of my pack has curled up on their beds and gone back to sleep. Anyone who ever said that leadership was glamorous clearly never had a dog.
It’s a good think I like mornings… and an even better thing that I like standing on the porch with a cup of coffee steaming in my hand watching the night give way to morning, listening to the horses across the road waking up, and enjoying an hour or two of peace before the rest of the world catches up with me. Maybe the dogs did me a favor this morning after all.
Like caged animals…
In Memphis, the occasional leaving of the dogs at the kennel was pretty much unavoidable. Surprisingly, friends and neighbors are a little hesitant to take on two 70 pound dogs at a time. Since I made it back home I haven’t really had any reason to travel. When it has cropped up, I was going places where I could take them with. No problem there. I know I could theoretically take them up to the farm and they’d be more than welcome, but a three hour round trip drive in the wrong direction seems kinda dumb when I’m only going to be gone for 18 hours and the round trip travel time (assuming I go only in the correct direction) is less than three hours to begin with. Yeah, I think I confused myself with that math, too. The point is, turning a 3 hour drive into a 6 hour drive isn’t going to happen.
Anyway, tomorrow morning the kids are off for a 24-hour stay at one of the fabulous local kennels in Cecil County… and as usual, I’m guilt ridden at leaving them somewhere new. I don’t have much of a soft spot when it comes to people, but these dogs are a different story. If it weren’t for local health codes and army regulations, I’d pretty much keep them with me 24/7.
Even though I’m sure to be racked with guilt, I think I’ll still manage to enjoy some quality time in the land of Boardwalk Empire. I’m sure the my heathens will be in good hands while I’m gone… because if they aren’t, whoever’s responsible for the deficiency will find themselves without hands at all. That might be an exaggeration, but there’s a pretty good chance they could expect to receive a tire iron to the face if some ill fate befell the pups while I’m gone. Just thought I’d throw that out there.
The sounds they make…
I was sitting on the deck last night enjoying a beverage, a book and letting the dogs do whatever they needed to do before locking up for the night. Around 10:00, I heard the neighbor’s screen door slam followed by a chorus of girly screams. If I sit quietly and don’t move too much I know they won’t see me through the hedge. Although the hedge provides great camouflage, it lacks the sound deadening qualities I’d really appreciate more of in foliage.
From across the driveway, I heard a rather insistent “daddy… daddy… daddy… daddy daddy daddy daddy daddy daddy daddy daddy daddy daddy daddy daddy.” Each iteration raised in pitch just slightly until the end when I’m pretty sure only the dogs could make out the words. Sadly, his daughters’ attempt to get my neighbor’s undivided attention was less than successful. This led to a renewed chorus of “daddy look, daddy look, daddy look daddy look daddy look daddy look, look what I found look what I found look what I found look what I found look what I found daddy daddy daddy daddy daddy daddy daddy daddy daddy daddy daddy.” It’s possible that my ears were bleeding by that point.
Still, even with ice picks in my ears I was able to make out the most dire of their words… “Ohhhhhh… I want to play with the doggies” followed by shrieking that would make even the most dedicated banshee pause in respect for such superior sound generation. The jig was up. With a whistle, the dogs came running and we beat a hasty retreat. An hour later, with the TV on and at least one dog snoring in my ear, I could still hear them next door. I don’t know if they were successful in their efforts to raise the dead.
I’m sure the neighbor girls are perfectly good as far as children go, but the sounds they make cut through my head like the proverbial hot knife through butter. Sure, saying that out loud probably makes me a bad person, but on the list of things I’ve done that make me a bad person, it’s not even on the first page. If nothing else, I’m a man who recognizes his own limitations. Honest to God, if I could get a waiver, I’d move into one of those gated 55-and-over communities and call it a day. A small island off the coast of St. Wherever would be better, but I’m willing to take baby steps.
Traveling light…
It usually takes every bit of room in a crewmax pickup truck to move me and the dogs just about anywhere. In the intrest of having places to be and still not exact idea when the truck might have its airbags installed, we’re going to give it the good old college try in something a little smaller. The Chevy Impala is a fine car, I’m sure, but even with its respectable trunk I’m not sure it was designed with me in mind. I’ve been working on it most of the evening and think I finally have it down to what I’d consider the barest of essentials: A backpack of electronic “stuff”, a rolling garment bag, a medium tote of “dog stuff”, two large dogs, and me. Neither of my oversized crates will fit in the aforementioned trunk, so we’re going to see how the trip goes sans crates. Hopefully they will be at least marginally well behaved and don’t destroy anything while were there. If something goes badly wrong with this plan it’s possible that all three of us may be banned for life from the house where I grew up. I’m cautiously optimistic because they haven’t really destroyed anything in years now… but I’m equal parts horrified that they’ll see the new territory as a good excuse to, I don’t know, shred an entire living room set.
I’ve thrown over every bit of extraneous bit of clothing, equipment, and random odd and end that I can think of, but the dogs… the dogs are the wildcard in all of this. If there’s any mercy in the universe, they won’t make me regret gushing about how well mannered they are. Otherwise, I’ll be paying for this short trip for a very long time. For the record, I never intend to travel anywhere within driving distance without the truck again. Trying to economize on volume is just too nerve-wracking.
Mission to Mars…
Every time I start packing I’m reminded why I so often go out of my way to avoid trips that involve staying somewhere overnight. I’m easy enough to manage; a chance of clothes, a toothbrush, and a bag full of electronics and power cables. I can be packed and out the door in somewhere under 20 minutes. Throw the dogs into the equation and the logistical engineering required for even a one night trip is something that would make the planners of the manned mission to Mars feel inadequate. Food, crates, toys, water, dog-proofing the back seat, the dropcloth to catch massive amounts of travel-induced shedding and stray loss of cookies will get things started. Then it’s a matter of avoiding tripping over them while I get my own stuff backed and loaded since neither will get out of the line of sight once they’ve seen a suitcase come out. It’s even worse once I actually start putting things in the truck. Then there’s unpacking on the other end just to do it all in reverse order a day or two later. Lord knows I begrudge these dogs absolutely nothing, but sometimes they are a real pain in the ass. Still, for all the hassle I wouldn’t really dream of going away without the fuzzy little buggers. That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t love to come up with an easier way of getting their 300 pounds of gear from Point A to Point B without dragging it up out of the basement and getting it into the truck. So yeah, if anyone needs me for the next couple of hours before it gets dark I’ll be spending more time getting the dog’s stuff ready to go than it will actually take to make the trip. Oy vey. The things we do for our kids.
Adding it up…
Heavy rain + dogs = wet dogs + wood floor + shaking dry = skating rink + wet dogs banging into everything + dripping dry = entire house smelling like wet dog = not cool.
I always thought I’d like having wood floors, but I think I’ve been disabused of that notion. Carpet has its limitations, but in the end I can douse it with powder or Fabreze, run the Dyson over it and it’s good as new. Oddly, the wood floor only seems to encourage the wet dogs getting excited and sliding headlong into everything in the house. Letting the carpet suck up that wet dog funk and then covering it up seems much more practical, because let’s be honest, the chances of my mopping the entire house on a Tuesday night are slim to none. At least with carpet you can’t really see how bad things are. Ignorance is, indeed, bliss.
Their spidey senses are tingling…
Sometimes I wonder what’s going on in the dog’s minds. They definitely know something’s up. As soon as I get one of my suitcases out of the closet Maggie becomes a super needy attached to my feet version of herself and follows me from room to room for the rest of the night. Winston is more circumspect about the whole thing and sprawls out in front of the door figuring that way I can’t leave without him seeing it and still expending as little energy as possible. This makes Winston the easier of the two to deal with right up until the point where I need to start loading the truck – and yes, I’m one of those obnoxious pre-planners that loads everything the night before so the next morning involves only shower, coffee, load dogs, drive.
We’ve been through this experience more times than I can count but the response is always the same mixture of excitement and nervousness from the two furry beasts. What they could be nervous about at this point is utterly beyond me. Fortunately, they’ll both be asleep long before I merge onto 95 and won’t stir much until I start slowing down to pull off the interstate three and a half hours later. By then we’ll have arrived at somewhere vaguely familiar to them and the whole attached at my feet period can continue for the rest of the weekend and then reverse itself two days later on the return trip. After a good night’s rest they’ll be right back to their normal selves. They’re resilient little buggers like that. I wish I recovered from a trip that fast.
Dog’s life…
I’ve been a dog person basically forever. I had dogs as a kid, but they were mostly the outside chained to a box variety rather than the sleek, clean lay at your feet kind. One of the first things I did when I moved out on my own was get a dog… admittedly, a dog that would soon develop a brain tumor and go quite mad, so perhaps that’s not a great first foray into pet ownership. After that false start of my life as a dog owner, I had a long stretch of apartment living and a cat who was much more suited to the long hours I was working and commuting into the city every day. She never looked at you disapprovingly when you didn’t get home on time.
With the move to Memphis and a job that didn’t involve a ridiculously long commute and the overhanging threat of spur of the moment trips to whatever disaster ravaged part of the country was the hot topic of the week, the natural thing to do was get another dog. That’s where Winston came into the picture… because lets be honest, that’s a face you can’t say no to, right? If one dog is good, of course, then two dogs must be better. I had planning on bringing home a second dog after Christmas. Having a puppy amidst the chaos of the holiday and the accompanying 30 hours on the road didn’t seem like a great idea. That was before the flyer went up on the office wall. A local family had an “accidental” litter of labs, mama didn’t survive, they were being hand fed by the owners, and eating them out of house and home. If the pups weren’t taken by the end of the week, they’d be going to the shelter the following Monday. The Shelby County shelter isn’t one of the nice ones you hear about and since I like animals much more than I like people as a rule, I thought I’d just go have a look at the litter. Just a look. I don’t want a puppy until after Christmas after all. Of course I came out of the house with a 12 pound lab tucked in my coat. She was the only chocolate in the litter and stayed on my lap until we pulled into the garage. I wasn’t set up for a puppy, didn’t have the toys, gates, food – any of it – but that’s when Maggie made her arrival. A Lady Margaret to go along with Sir Winston.
That’s a long way of getting to my point, but it’s important to understand the context here. After another $250 vet bill yesterday, another round of ear drops, another follow up later in the month, sometimes I wonder why we put up with these animals that leave hair everywhere, occasionally poop in the floor, cost a small fortune in medical bills, and eat a holistic blend of all-natural, hypoallergenic food. I live here and pay the bills, but the place has mostly gone to the dogs. They might run me into the poorhouse, but these Memphis dogs are probably the best thing I’ll take away from my time here.
In appreciation of dogs…
The more time I spend around people, the more I like my dogs. There are plenty of people I like well enough, but after a day at the office, there’s nothing better than coming home to these two. They’re not going to want to talk or ask questions. They’re not going to need a PowerPoint on short notice. And they’re not going to call an impromptu meeting. They’re mostly going to be happy with the same dinner they’ve had every day for two years, hanging out on the patio, and an occasional scratch behind the ears. Dogs are decidedly uncomplicated like that. When the world where you spend eight hours a day is doing its level best to go sailing off the rails, they’re an amazing bit of dependable normalcy… and possibly the last bulwark between me and bludgeoning people into a coma with a three hole punch.
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