Bad Dog! BAD BAD DOG!

"BAD DOG! BAD BAD DOG!", I said as I walked through the door and saw the nightmare that would haunt me an entire eight hour span in which I should have been sleeping.

"Oh God. Those brownies had chocolate in them. He is going to be so sick. Oh God." And the tears began to well in my eyes.

You see, yesterday at work, a client sent in a wonderful box filled with chocolate chip cookies, Andes Mint Brownies, Blondies and Chocolate Caramel brownies. I, being the pig I am, decided to take what was not eaten at work home for Taylor and myself to enjoy after dinner.

When Taylor came by to head out to dinner, he peeked in the box. He just couldn't resist taking just a bite of that Andes Mint brownie. It was divine! He placed the rest back in the box on the living room coffee table. We headed out to dinner.

As we walked back in the door, bellies full from a great dinner, to my terror, I saw that my evil kiiiiiidy boy had knocked that box of brownies onto the floor and my dear sweet peter was eating part of the last two remaining brownies. There had previously been about 9 cookies/brownies left in the box and after dinner, only two remained.

Panic..oh the panic. I was panicking and frantic. I was emotional but was trying to hold it in. I knew I was going to be faced with a dilemma. I don't have the money for the emergency vet (and probably Bill Gates would have trouble affording it!) but if he had to go, I would find a way...somehow...

I estimated that it had been roughly two hours at most that he had ingested the chocolate. As I sat on the couch, thumbing through the yellow pages for emergency veternarian service, I felt something scratchy on my elbow. I lean into the folds of the pillows beside me to find that Peter had HIDDEN A BROWNIE in the pillows on the couch. I was in disbelief! At least that was one he hadn't eaten...because I was thinking there is not a chance in hell he would live after eating seven brownies!

I began rummaging through the throw pillows on the couch to find ANOTHER BROWNIE hidden behind FOUR PILLOWS. And then another, wrapped up under a blanket! HE HAD EATEN FOUR BROWNIES and HID THREE MORE FOR LATER!

This is the only point in which I laughed. I was terrified and angry with him, but that dog is a fighter. He knew his little stomach couldn't hold but four, but he damn sure wanted those other three for later. For all the things that he is not, I will tell you that he is smart and has his mother's sweet tooth.

After speaking with the emergency vet, I didn't know what to do. They wanted me to bring him in and have his stomach pumped, much like a human who has alcohol poisoning. It was at the critical time between two and four hours and this is the only time it would be effective treatment. What do I do?

I decided to watch him for the next two hours, if he got sick, I would rush him to the vet. If not, I knew I was in store for a long night! He apparead coherent but I knew he had a tummy ache. It was very similar to a child who moans and makes those little sick noises when it has diaherria or constepation...bless his sweet little heart. Taylor and I read online that in some cases dogs who ingest chocolate can go into a coma. That is what I feared most. I could clean the poop and vomit, but coma, seizures, I would not be able to deal with. As I finished my book (THE ALCHEMIST...GO GET IT RIGHT NOW!) I looked over at Peter, lithargic on the bed. I began violently shaking him, and....he woke up. He was in a sugar and caffeine high that his tiny body and petite frame had never experienced.

Since I realized he was alive, I let him lay back down in peace. Just had to check, ya know. Maybe an hour later, he stood up and whimpered while staring at his water bowl. I knew he needed to get down and get water. That is another symptom of ingestion of chocolate, frequent thirst. So I let him down, instructed him to drink some water ( which he did like a big boy!) and helped him back into bed. This cycle continued all night. I would shake him out of his sleep to know he was alive. He would wake me to let him down for water. Up and down, all night long.

I finally got two consecutive hours of sleep from about 5:00-7:00 during which I was dreaming of how I was going to make out the words amidst the uncontrollable tears to tell my boss that my dog was dead. It was the most aweful gutwrentching dream I can remember.

I arose in a cold sweat and looked to the end of the bed to see Peter curled up with eyes closed. My hands trembled as I reached to pet him, hoping that I would not find my biggest fear. Much to my delight, his little eyes popped open and his little tail began to wag. Not only was he alive, he was feeling better!

I looked to the floor to see that he did have an accident, but it was the greatest accident of my life. That meant that food was still passing through, so I knew he was going to be alright!

Anyone who knows me is fully aware of what my dog has meant to me. My eyes water just thinking about the day that he will not be around anymore. My dog has been with me through the roughest times in my life. God gave him to me two years ago and it was one of the greatest gifts I have ever been given. When you move to a big city, live alone and are trying to start a new life, the beginning, and even sometimes in between, life gets really lonely. I know my dog will always be there when I come home, over joyed that mommy has returned to him after being away for too long. I know he will always want to snuggle in the bed when it gets really cold. He will always be there licking my hand as I sit and cry. The point is, he is always there.

When I graduated from college, my parents were unsure as to what to give me for a graduation gift. I wanted a dog. I sought out the breeder, and with the help of someone who is now insignificant, I picked up the greatest gift I have ever received. You know, there are people in life that no matter how much disdain you have for them, how bad of a person that you think they are, the provide one ray of sunshine into your life, and for that reason alone, it is only disdain, it never turns to hate. I can disdain the circumstances in which I got my sweet puppy, but I can never truly hate the person that helped me find him, because of the sunshine my dog has brought into my life.

It is in times of strife that we can measure a man's (or dog's) character. My dog is just like his mommy...he is a fighter. He doesn't give up.

How to Raise an UNtrained Dog

How to Raise and Untrained Dog Current mood: cynical

So it is no suprise that raising dogs, just like raising children, are a reflection, to some extent of their owners/parents. I being the "parent" of a severly untrained dog, write this blog with indefinate amounts of experience on the subject.

A lot can be learned about one's self by the way they raise their animals/children and so, with that in mind, after once again spanking my at times very bad puppy, Peter James Stephenson, I contemplated why he is the way he is and what that says about me. Call it reading into the subject, if you wish, but I found it very insightful. Below are my findings:

KEYS TO RAISING A DISOBEDIENT DOG...

1. SET RULES, but DON'T FOLLOW THEM...

Of course, when I got my little Peter as a puppy, as I assume one would do for a child, I set my mind into rules and regulations, what I would do and not do, what I would allow my puppy to do and not do, and so forth. From day one, those plans were shot to hell. Originally, I resigned myself to the following rules:1. No dog on the couch. 2. No dog in the bed. 3. He will stay in his kennel when I am gone.4. I will not spank my dog, he will get time out.5. He will be housetrained in 2 months.6. He will never eat "people food"

And then we have how those plans were distroyed:
1. Peter thinks the couch belongs to him and you are invading his space by sitting on it.
2. Rule #1, except insert bed for couch.
3. Kennel? He doesn't know the meaning of the word.
4. He is spanked hard and OFTEN.
5. Housetrained to him means the house is pretty much his toilet...
6. If you are eating dinner, Peter finds it very rude, and often voices it aswell, if you dont' share.He annoys the shit out of you until you at least give him a taste.

What happened? Lost in translation were my initial rules and I am left with pretty much the exact opposite of what I had hoped. It is fairly clear that I am the one to blame. I am fairly sure you can assert that since Peter is approximately 7 lbs. it is I who should have whipped him into submission. But there is a deeper lying issue here, that being the fact that I can not stick to the plans and guidelines that I have set and that Rules for me, are meant to be broken, obviously...

The thing is this, in life, being the rebel, rule breaker is contageous. I am spreading this chaotic virus to my animals and one day possibly to my offspring. This is supposed to scare me into submission, but in appropriate rule breaking form, it doesn't.The key components to effectively setting rules and not following them are as follows:

a) CREATE A DIFFERENT EXCUSE FOR WRONG BEHAVIOR, DON'T REUSE OLD ONES

I have used pretty much every excuse in the book for why my dog consistently pees on my neighbors doormat, poops on surfaces that make it impossible to clean up and finds ways, working in cohorts with Black Kiiiiiiidy, to eat any possible food you have laying around, drink your beer, dig through the trash or eat underwear. It could be because YOUR dog peed there first, and he was just marking his territory, or it could be that he poops on the carpet because it feels better to his tender little booty hole, or he likes beer and YOUR food better than his own, he digs through the trash to eat the leftovers, YOU are so wasteful...and he is naturally drawn to underwear, he is a scent hound, that is what he does...You see, I have come up with legitimate excuses for all of his bad behavior and they are not recycled...I think the reason I do this is because subconsciously, I am taking up for someone/thing I care about. I don't want him to be in trouble or do bad things so if I find excuses for why he did them, they are not bad...WRONG way to be...WRONG.

b) WHINING ALWAYS WORKS...
Honestly, who wants to sit there while your dog is whining and crying? It prevents me from hearing the television, enjoying my meal and most importantly SLEEPING...therefore, I give in. I get his toy that he has thrown out of reach under the couch, I give him a taste of dinner and I let him get in the bed. WRONG, WRONG and WRONG. He has learned that whining gets him what he wants and he is not afraid to play that card. It really doesn't bother me to give into the whining...he is my "child"afterall and I want to spoil him, but spoiling him all the time makes him think that he is worthy to be spoiled by every person he meets and that is just not the case. Some don't have the affinity for my tiny furball of love and as such, he has little patience with them. This makes it very difficult to take him places because he EXPECTS to get his way.

2. Set a Routine, and change it frequently.

It is easy when life is going at a manageable pace to set routines and get your pet/child used to them. And then, all of the sudden, extra work, staying out late, spending the night away from home, waking up late for work, hanging out with friends, etc. conflict directly with that schedule...so you disregard the previous schedule and fly by the seat of your pants. That is my standard operating procedure, a contradiction...a following a rule that maintains not following rules...hmmm...that is deep. But honestly, it is life. I have never been one who follows routines, schedules yes, like be at work at 8:30 and leave at 5:30, when it comes to money, I am always on time, but in my personal life, I go with the flow, try to be flexible with the small things, and as such, my pets' schedule is the one that suffers. I don't forsee this changing in the near future or EVER for that matter.

3. TREATS! TREATS! TREATS!

Us girls can understand this one, I swear, think to yourself, how many times have you treated yourself and excused it with "I TREAT MYSELF FOR JUST BEING ME..." Oh, come on...I do it all the time. I tell myself that I deserve things, just because I exist...and apparently my dog has caught wind of that notion and has adopted it himself...with my help of course! We all like to treat ourselves, but I am speaking for those of us who go too far. With Peter, he things if he walks into a room, he gets a bone and then if he walks into another room, he deserves a new play toy, after all, he has graced us all with his presence. For that, I do assume full responsibility. He was an only child for so long and probably the guilt I have accrued from making him suffer the brunt of my ten in a row break up streak doesn't help, so it is my fault for praising every step those little paws make, but the truth is that he is mine. He is one of the only things in my life that I have chosen, paid for, nurtured and cared for the entirety of his two years in existence and the simple fact that he has survived it, well that is worthy enough for me of much praise and thanksgiving...He is in a constant state of TREAT as long as I am his mommy...which will be forever.

4. Expect correct behavior, and show no disappointment in mistakes.

What we expect and what actually happens is often as my sister puts it, Mars and Pluto. Of course I expect my dog not to run out in front of cars or to hold it until mommy can take him outside or to behave when company is visiting, but often I chase him around the yard because he doesn't want to come inside, I clean up pee and "turdies" when he makes mistakes in the house and I am constantly pulling him out of my company's face where he sits constantly nudging them with his ball anticipating that they will want to play throw and catch for hours on end. I am not sure that I will repremand him, so just expect these things when you come to visit.

My final thoughts are this, Yes, as a "parent", I screwed up my dog's head, taught him what to do and showed him that he didn't have to. I am in a constant state of learning and I pray to God that I can correct all of these blunders before I am cursed with wicked children.