A Dachshund Conundrum

Tony is lucky he's cute.

Dachshunds are notorious for several things: They are difficult to house-train, they hate rain and they  are stubborn.

E.B. White wrote of his dachshund: “When I address Fred I never have to raise either my voice or my hopes. He even disobeys me when I instruct him in something that he wants to do.”

I have run headlong into all these traits in our dachshund mix rescue, Tony.

I did manage to house-train Tony, more or less. You know those dogs who, once house-trained, would rather bust than pee in the house? Not Tony. When left alone, uncrated, I’m pretty sure he rings the bells on our door (how he lets us know he needs to go out), and when no one appears, shrugs his little dachshund shoulders, figures “I did my part” and pees on the floor.

Another charming dachshund trait: He pees when he’s excited. That’s a totally different thing, I tell my skeptical husband. Tony can’t help that.

Tony does hate to go out in the rain. He won’t go out alone, and when I go with him, he used to stand, miserable, getting wet, not doing the business he badly needed to do. We could be in that stand-off for hours.

I decided I’d make that better. I’d teach him the command guide dogs are taught: “Get busy.” Yup, seeing guide dogs are taught to relieve themselves on command.

It was not an onerous lesson. I’d just say the command and give him a treat, once he went. He figured it out quickly. Now, he knew what to do to get to go back in AND he got a treat.

Well … being a stubborn dachshund, he has decided he doesn’t like being told what to do.

He now hates to go outside, period. ☹

My Husband Wrote a Haiku!

Happy homecoming
Alert and excited, woops!

Poor nozzle control 

:)

Tony's Bucket List

Tony's always thinking.

It boggles my mind to think there are people who believe animals’ souls are not as good as ours, that  they don’t have emotions like ours and even that they don't feel pain.

Take Tony. (Please ... ba da dum.)

He feels Christmas-morning-level joy and excitement at least three times a day: Breakfast, Dinner and Walk.

He tries to do right. When I tell my husband that, he sputters, "No, he doesn't! He doesn't try at all." (To be fair, this is usually after Tony has peed on my husband's shoe out of excitement. Totally not Tony’s fault.)

As for barking at passers-by, chewing up our dish towels, getting into the recyclable bin, leaping up to nip our butts: he's trying to do right, he's just not sure what that is.

After all, getting after the recyclable stuff has become Tony's official job. You know how you are supposed to clean those jars and cans? I defy you to find a better, easier, more thorough way to clean that peanut-butter jar than to give it to a dachshund. For Tony, it's better than a Kong, and when he's done, it'll be pristine.

Tony’s Bucket List
1. To be eating, always.
2. Barring that, to chew and shake things to make sure they're dead: toys, socks, dish towels, pizzle sticks. (What's a pizzle stick, you ask?)
3. To be in a lap.
4. To pee and/or poop in the garage.
5. To be in a car. Doesn't matter where, or if, it's going anywhere.
6. The holy grail: To pee or poop in my husband's fancy car.
7. To be outside … or maybe inside … or maybe outside … or maybe inside ….
9. To catch the neighborhood possum. (He thinks.)

10. To be the boss of all he surveys.

My Little Dog Has ADD

Evidence: his morning pee session

What’s Your Superpower?

He's lucky he's cute.

Tony hasn’t messed in the house for a long time.* 

Even so, his superpower remains: Given all the possible options, he will always pick the place I least want him to. If I put him out, he might pee right there on the welcome mat. (His oh-so-tragic facial expression says, “Oh, but it’s drizzling. I might get wet.”) Though he’s got the whole yard, his mission is to poop in the garage.

Some people can suck every bit of fun out of anything, through their worry, their rigid thinking, their control-freakiness, their incessant complaining. Alternatively, some people are crazy-making risk takers. (Have you noticed? They rarely get hurt. It’s the people who are with them, like you or me, who do.) Some people are just mean. Some people, God bless ‘em, just breathe loud or snap their gum or say “Ya know what I mean?” after every phrase.

But as my sister always says, perhaps pointedly, “It’s easy to see other people’s stuff but not your own.”

So, what’s my superpower?

Ach, I see myself in almost all the ones I’ve listed … except I’m not a risk-taker and haven’t ever peed on the welcome mat or pooped in the garage.

What’s your superpower?

*Yay! … Knock on wood … I doubt I will ever bet any money on Tony not peeing or pooping in the house, though I am, at this point, about 80% sure of him … If I do ever succeed at this, is there any way I could put “Housetraining willful little dog” on my resume? ‘Cuz it’s one of the harder things I’ve ever undertaken.

My Life is Shit

These two produce an inordinate amount of poop.

When we decided to get our second dog, Tony, I did not think of how I was going to have double the dog shit in our tiny yard, nor did I think house-training him would be a big deal.

Where we are with the house training: I am inordinately proud of myself for teaching Tony to ring the bells I hung on the doors when he wants to go out.

Honestly, though, that was easy, took about a day for him to get it.

The hard part: convincing Tony that, yes, it is important to never pee or poop in the house.

Also, he abuses those bells, sometimes ringing them every few minutes, and for a wide variety of reasons, such as he’d like to lay out in the sun.

Which is fine, except we have discovered that it is impossible to make our driveway gate “Tony-proof.” He can get under it when it’s closed. However, we can’t make that gap any smaller or it won’t open.

(Contemplating an “invisible fence,” if you’ve got any advice about that.)

So, for weeks, I have been at the other end of the leash, poop bag in hand, every time Tony (and Lola, who always comes along) has pooped or peed.

There are times in life when biology is much more front and center than usual. 

I told this to my husband, a gastroenterologist. “Yeah, tell me about it,” he said.

I am reminded of bringing home new babies with all that entails, from spitting up (etc.) for the baby to let-down (etc.) for the mom.

Working on getting Tony's and Lola's biology back to humming along without quite so much of my involvement.

To Neuter or Not to Neuter

My husband and daughter were discussing who could be fiercer, him or me. 

My husband’s clincher: “Your mother’s bringing Tony to have his balls cut off – and she likes Tony.”

It’s true: Last week, I brought our new dog Tony to be neutered

Originally, I was going to write about how men do seem to feel some … ummm … resistance to the idea.

I’ve been surprised by the number of men I’ve met who don’t get their male dogs altered. Some owners will neuter but then have false balls implanted so the dog doesn’t look neutered. (Some wives will do that without telling their husbands.)

But in preparation for writing this blog post (after getting Tony fixed), I started Googling – and I fell into a wormhole.

All my life, I’ve heard that responsible pet owners neuter and spay their animals. Millions of unwanted animals are killed every year. Indeed, shelter euthanasia is the #1 cause of death for American companion animals.

But there are people against it. According to my Google surfing, these people tend to take their animals to holistic vets, feed them only raw food (which, and I’ve seen this myself, is a raging controversy), and are concerned about vaccinating.

The arguments rage. Some pro-neutering articles (like this one and this one) point out that the risk of certain cancers, which they say are deadly, are greatly reduced or eliminated by neutering. Anti-neuter people (including this vet and this vet) say those diseases aren’t deadly, but there are other deadly ones for which the risk goes up. Pro-neuter people point out that most dog bites are from unaltered animals; some anti-neuter people argue the opposite might be true.

This article nicely sums up much of the contradictory information. And here’s another.

Yikes.

A Two-Dog Day

Travelling in the car is a bit
more of a production, too.

I’m just getting used to having two dogs, but here’s what I’ve discovered so far. 

I’m trying to house-train our newest, Tony, so he is either in his crate or I am on him like white on rice, going on frequent bathroom trips in addition to being ever-ready to scoop him up and run for the door, trailing pee and yelling “No, no, no! No pee in the house!”

The vet, who I am beginning to realize was being a wee bit disingenuous, said, “It’s easy. As soon as he’s gone without an accident in the house for a week, you’re done.”

Well, let’s just say, we’ve had to reset that clock a few times. (It’s like “Groundhog Day” around here but with pee and poop involved.)

Technically, Tony and I should be connected by a short leash at all times. When my husband asked me why we were not, I pointed out that my sanity is worth something too.

I amuse myself on our frequent outings by pretending to be the grandfather from “Moonstruck,” muttering, “Ciao, bella! Andiamo! Bella luna!” The dogs don’t seem to mind, though the neighbors are probably wondering.

And those neighbors also probably hear my heartfelt cheers several times a day – “Good boy! Yay! So smart!” – when Tony does his business outside. I’ve even started to cheer 9-year-old Lola since she seems to think it’s unfair – those sad eyes – when I cheer for Tony but not for her.

I’ve discovered we’ve got a bit of work to do on walks outside our yard. Lola pulls on her leash like she’s running the Iditarod and likes to argue with me on street corners about which way we should go. Tony, meanwhile, loses his mind every time he sees another dog.

We are a work in progress.

Dog Stars, Or What Have I Done?

Lola and Tony

Tony was left in a motel lobby, by someone hoping some suckers nice people would take him in. 

I thought, no big deal. After all, we already have a dog.

Is Lola, our 9-year-old standard poodle, perfectly behaved? No. She jumps on visitors, particularly ones that don’t want to be jumped on. She dumps over the garbage.

But she is now the reasonable one, next to Tony.

That’s not really true. He is a cute, sweet boy.

But he is so different from Lola.

Lola was a distinct choice. We read up on poodles. They are famous for being smart and high-energy. (Actually, after Lola outsmarted me a few times, I began to wonder whether a dumb, low-energy dog might not have its own advantages.) Poodles are very social; they make eye contact with people. They walk with a spring in their step that’s called “the poodle prance.” I read that I shouldn’t be surprised if my poodle does not ever want to be out in the yard by herself. Meet Lola. Lola (“poodle” comes from the German for “puddle”) strides through every puddle she comes across.

I’ve now been reading about Tony, who appears to be mostly dachshund

Ut oh.

Dachshunds are notoriously difficult to housebreak. Bred to go after badgers, they are brave to the point of foolhardiness. Tony has appointed himself guard dog already. As hounds, dachshunds are obsessed with food. Tony’s strategy is “eat first, decide if it’s food later.” He eats leaves, twigs, dirt, wood chips. And they hate getting their feet wet. The first rainy day, Tony peeked out the door, then turned tail to run back inside. Forced to come out, he ran to the dry ground under our eaves – and refused to pee.

Wish me luck.

P.S. Here’s what EB White had to say about his dachshund, Fred: “Being the owner of dachshunds, to me a book on dog discipline becomes a volume of inspired humor. Every sentence is a riot … I would rather train a striped zebra to balance an Indian club than induce a dachshund to heed my slightest command … Of all the dogs whom I have served I’ve never known one who understood so much of what I say or held it in such deep contempt. When I address Fred I never have to raise either my voice or my hopes. He even disobeys me when I instruct him in something that he wants to do.”