Worldless Wednesday

Status Report

When my little brother turned five years old, my mom brought home a puppy. It was a GSD mix, maybe some Doberman in there, maybe something bigger. She was one of the last puppies left in the cardboard box at the end of the day, so she ended up being my brother's birthday present. He named her Nibbles.

Nibbles went on to grow very large and somewhat vicious, ridiculously overprotective of "her" kids and "her" house and "her" yard. That's not the point. The point is, my last experience with the special mindset of a puppy was about three decades ago.

I realize that Monsoon is two and a half, so it's not as challenging as it could otherwise could be, but this dog is a baby. You know how I know? Because I was up at 3:30 this morning trying to get him to stop playing with his squeaky toys. See, when someone gets up in the middle of the night to use the washroom, Monsoon will dart out of the bedroom, down the hall to his toys, grab one and return to bed. He's so small and quick and hard to see at night that sometimes we aren't aware he's done this until we are drifting off again and it starts.

Squeak.

Squeak. Squeak.

Squeak squeak squeaksqueaksqueaksqueaksqueak!!

We had an urgent family situation arise this week that shunted aside all my plans to start working with Monsoon more in depth. He ended up having an extra week to get used to the house and I think it's served him well. He still has some anxieties and some idiosyncrasies that need a little help. For example, he loves his dad in the house and will walk with him happily, if dad leashes him and takes him out. If I leash him and take him out and dad walks up later, Monsoon acts as if he has no flipping clue who this man could be and hides behind my legs.

He hides behind my legs a lot.

He's picked up leash manners beautifully and will trot along on my left side with a slack leash. He responds to minor correction most of the time, although seeing squirrels or people or other dogs makes him forget everything. This week, as we resume normal operations around here, I hope to start working with a clicker. The first job is to find a treat sufficiently enticing, especially as Monsoon is shy about taking treats from the hand.

He is calming and settling, and his goofy baby antics lifted my heart more than once during this long strange week. I had hoped for time to write a longer update and share some of the ridiculous things Monsoon does that make me smile, but this was not the week for it. Next week promises to be a big slice of normal and I cannot wait.

As an aside, I did make a FaceBook page for this blog so that I'll have a place to stash some of my second-rate photos and inane one-line observations. ;) Feel free to join us there! And we're also joining the Blog Hop this weekend. If that's how you found us, welcome!

We’re participating in this Saturday’s Pet Blog Hop, hosted by Life With Dogs, Two Little Cavaliers and Confessions of the Plume.  If you’d like to participate, please follow the rules and follow your three hosts, add your blog to the Linky and copy and paste the html code into your html editor.  Thanks again to our hosts for putting on the hop!

Worldless Wednesday

I hope I don't become a collar addict. I can't afford it. ;)

Settling In

I think he's going to be fine. Pardon the shaky camera work and the laughter we couldn't stifle. He was even bold enough to try to entice the teenager to play!

I promise to update at length soon. There's so much to say about my wonderful new boy. I hope you're having a great weekend!

Welcome to The Saturday Pet Blogger Hop, sponsored by Life With Dogs, Two Little Cavaliers, and Confessions of the Plume.

Worldless Wednesday

Yes, yes. Lots of changes and excitement. Mm hm.

Life on Mars

It's a warm place, and there's a schedule. You know what's going to happen and when it's going to happen. There's comfort in the routine. Sometimes you get to run. Mostly you get to sleep. There's good eating and rubdowns, all on your terms.

Then it stops. No more running. A change in the schedule. Different people. They pull you from your crate, your little apartment, and put you in a truck. The truck goes forever and when they pull you out again it's a different planet. It's cold and there are more new people. The people give you pills and shots and a bath, and then it's a different crate. That's alright, because soon there is a new routine. At least it's still a kennel, even if the turnout is bizarre, all cold and icy and this snow stuff is garbage.

But you haven't been there long, only three weeks, when they pull you again. More shots and pills and suddenly you're waking up and something is gone. Something you liked, a part of you. Your belly is upset too, gurgly and unsettled and you know something is wrong even if you don't understand worms. It's all sore and weird and not even a whole day later they drag you out of the kennel, through the snow, and there's this woman.

She's okay. Words happen between you, even if not out loud. She touches gently. She asks, you answer. She's okay. She touches the good places, finds the itchy places that always need stritching.

You lean. You lean hard. When she gets down on your level and slides an arm around you, you push into it and sigh. You lean. You nudge. There's eye contact, and you nudge her again and sigh, a long one this time. Thanks, lady, for a moment of comfort and connection.

Then that lady puts you in a "van" and there's more driving and then there's a "car," which is worse than the van, and there's more driving.

House. She says that word when she leads you in. House. How much more will there be? There's a dog here, and she likes you well enough. That's good. And that Woman is here, the nice one hasn't left you. That's good. But so much else is wrong. So much else is terrifying.

This is the wrong crate, and the wrong food, and the wrong bed, and one of these people is freakishly small and loud. How much more are you supposed to just take? There's a noise. Bark! That shiny surface keeps showing you a dog like you but he looks scared and he has no scent. Bark! A new person came in the House. Bark! People are outside on the streets. Are they going to take you? Are they going to make you sore? Are they going to change something? Bark! 

There's a limit. Small Person hasn't touched you or yelled at you or anything, but the sight of him is too much so when he walks by your bed you tell him. You warn him, and Woman removes him for you. But then later he makes a noise down the hall and even though you can't even see him you are fed up. You scramble up and snarl and Bark! Enough!

Woman has you on a leash, because she always does when you aren't in a crate, so nothing comes of it. But the leash comes off and with soft words she makes you go into the crate. "It'll be okay, Monsoon."

Whatever "Monsoon" means. Now it's crate all the time, but when you get out there's walkies and sniffing. And after the smaller people are asleep at night, you can come out and play with toys. Toys! You want to tell everyone about toys! Toys are the best!

Now it doesn't matter as much if the Small Person is around. He can't get you. You can even sleep through his noises, except the loud ones. The Woman stays. You can see her. That's good, you like it when you can see her. Sometimes she leaves the room, but she comes back. Sometimes she leaves the house, but she comes back. That doesn't stop you from yelling for a while, but you settle. There's a soft bed in your new crate, and there's a stuffie to put your head on.

Maybe the sudden awful changes will slow down or stop. Maybe you can relax, in a while. Maybe you can settle, and learn this place and these people. There's toys, after all, and cookies. And glorious toys that SQUEAK.

It'll be okay. As long as everyone goes really, really, really slow.

Introducing...

Monsoon