This Dog's Life

Now that G has been a member of the household for more than 72 hours, I thought I'd share some of my observations. Being new to this whole dog ownership thing, some of these will seem kind of 'duh' to those of you who have or had dogs. Oh well.

1) He is still camera shy, but my father-in-law tipped me off that if I took pictures outside when the red light flash doesn't work, I'll have better luck. And, he was right. There's a pic of my new man at the end of this post.

2) He farts daily. The silent but deadly kind, and uniquely doggie. I don't think I need to state that we have plenty of gas in the house already and don't really need anymore. Just when I begin to articulate this particular thought out loud, he gives me that How-Could-You-Not-Love-Me look and all is forgiven.

3) He's not above pooping in the street. That was yesterday's revelation.

4) While he's partial to ladies, he loves anyone with two legs. Men, kids, ladies. He must. get. to. them. And, they must pet him. We think he'll make a wonderful therapy pet.

5) He's not much into retrieving. He will happily chase after the ball, but then he'll toy with it and ultimately hide it somewhere in the yard. I'm still searching for the tell-tale day-glo green peeking out of the bushes.

6) He loves to go through any and all bushes, plants, planters, etc. He is particularly partial to monkey grass and boxwoods. He has transported quite an array of fauna into the house via his coat this way.

7) He sighs. A lot. As if the burden of being a dog is sometimes too much. Life is rough, buddy, and if I had to lay around all day with regular breaks to go run in the sunshine and roll around in the grass, with catered meals everyday, I'd be sighing too.

8) One brushing will yield enough fur to constitute a tribble. And there's still more fur. I have tumbleweeds of fur floating around my hardwood floors.

9) He will try to cram all 73.8 pounds of himself into impossibly tight places, usually during a thunderstorm, despite the fact that we got him a perfectly lovely crate and covered it so that it's nice and dark and enclosed and give him Quiet Moments tablets. He still prefers to cram himself under my desk.

10) He must roll in the grass at least once a day and pause in mid roll to give me that, oh don't you pity me look. And then he sneezes.

11) He has the most wonderful habit of laying down next to the bed and throwing his weight against the sides so you can feel the gentle thump as he eases down next to you while you sleep. And then he sighs.

12) He has discovered the forbidden joy of kitty kibble. I was struggling to open a can of green beans with which I was going to supplement his diet, since he's a bit on the pudgy side. While I was doing this, G mysteriously disappeared. I went around the corner and there he was, head fully engrossed in kitty bowl chowing kitty food while kitty looked on. Now, the kitty who's food was being purloined himself has been guilty of stealing food from others, namely his brother. So, I could not help but feel a little poetic justice while reminding G sternly that we do not eat the kitty's food. So, now Fluffy eats his dinner in the laundry room to prevent the Bad One from stealing it. The Bad One now eats in the guest bathroom to prevent G from stealing it. I don't think G will have any worries since Mr. X and I are not into dog food, or green beans for that matter.

Despite (or in spite of) all of this, how could you not want to take this home?

I wasn't able to resist either.

He's Just Not that Into You

I've been having a hard time convincing the kitties that their new doggy brother, G, is frankly just not that into them. They have put on quite the show for him, too: hissing, doing the Halloween cat, glowering at him. But, bless his Golden little heart, he could care less. He gives them a wide berth and heads in search of his peeps for a head scratch and general adoration.

The kitties, however, watch him like a hawk. Their eyes narrow whenever he lumbers near them and they peer imperiously from up on high at this shaggy four-legged creature in their midst. When they do deign to come down from their perch in search of sustinance, they mew at him as if to say, "I know what you are and I'm not going to let you get anywhere near me." G, for his part, just kind of looks at them, maybe takes a tentative sniff and then looks at me as if to say, "what is their problem?" Oh, G, I could write a book on that one.

G, however, is not a push over by any means. The other morning I was sprawled over the bed since Mr. X had since departed for work and I was enjoying my extra 20 minutes of bed dominance. G was issuing large sighs at the foot the bed but then made a loud, "rrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmmphhh" noise while quickly getting to this feet. My first thought on hearing this was, "This is not good."

I got out of bed to inspect that all limbs and fur were intact on both sides of the Animal Kingdom. Everyone appeared to be intact, although the kitties were standing in the doorway, backs arched with large puffed tails and very, very wide eyes. I knew pretty quickly what had transpired. They tried to sneak up on G and he had very plainly stated that this was not allowed. The kitties retreated to the safety of the top of the kitchen cabinets and G just went about his day. They must have either forgiven him or were driven past their fear by hunger, because they began to mouthily indicate that it was time for dinner as usual and ate with gusto.

I suspect in a few weeks, G will be as much of a novelty to them as we are: not much more than furniture upon which they may drape themselves or otherwise climb over. It's not such a bad life, G.

image: applesticker

Animalia

I learned a valuable lesson yesterday about what not to do while you are at work. I work from home, and yesterday the mail brought not one but two boxes from my mom. They are in the process of selling their house so she's constantly finding things that she hasn't seen for a while and asking me if I want them. That's how I now have two silver candlesticks, some dishes and a New Yorker dated on the day I was born.

I was on the phone with the Boss Man discussing an esoteric topic and opening said boxes at the same time. I'm a multi-tasker, what can I say? What I hadn't anticipated was that she would use the dreaded packing peanuts. Of course, it made sense with the delicate plates. But, I also didn't anticipate that one of the kitties, the Bad One, would find these little peanuts irresistable and would start trying to EAT them. So, now, I'm on the phone with the Boss Man, pulling half-masticated soggy packing peanuts out of the greedy little jaws of the Bad One while desperately trying to repack the rest of them before he could use his little Hungry-Hippo head to snatch some more out of the box. Lesson learned.

In case you try to argue what my father does all the time, "But honey, he's hungry!", here's a picture of his fat little behind:

We have now taken to separating him from his brother at feeding time now because he added to his rear end by eating his brother's food after shoving Fluffy out of the way before Fluffy was finished. Despite this new "diet", I swear he's getting fatter. I think he actually has feline pica given his penchant for packing tape, cardboard boxes and paper. Never fear, we keep it all out of his little jaws and he hasn't had any digestive problems so far.

No, I think he gets his extra nutrition from eating scraps out of the sink. I admit it, that Mr. X and I are pretty sloppy housekeepers, but now that we've caught him head first in the sink, we've started moving dishes straight to the dishwasher.
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On the pooch-hunt front (ooh! I rhymed!), I've come to realize that in the process of finding The One, I'm going to need some help. What this means is I'm going to have to go with an adoption agency that takes those extra steps to helping match the right person with the right dog. At your average shelter, you kind of go window shopping, for the lack of a better term, and you try the animal on for size (and vice versa) and then, assuming you pass whatever check they have, you are officially a pet owner!

When we adopted Fluffy and the Bad One as kittens, they let us out of there with two adorable kittens (who were little balls of 8-week old fluff, they were so freakin' adorable) after no more than paying some money and signing a contract. Now that I look back, I realize how trusting they were - that they trusted that we would take good care of these little guys. Which, I am very proud to say, we have. But still.

I also want to be able to be a little more picky about the temperment of the pooch - I don't particularly care about the breed, something medium sized and good natured. But, we really don't want a barker. Working from home means I'm on the phone a lot and I can't have a dog barking in the background. Nyerhe!

Recently, I've been looking at a local Golden Retriever rescue group who pretty much do everything except finger print you. I'm leaning toward this organization because they make the effort to match the dog to the person and vice versa. And, Goldens are such wonderful pooches. We wouldn't want one on the big side - I think about 50lbs is our limit, but we have a beautiful backyard that is already fenced for their frolicking pleasure and the city just opened a new dog park near us (yay!).

We have decided to put off the serious looking until after Paris. It wouldn't be fair to the pooch to get him/her and then leave for 10 days.