The Self of My To-Do List

If I were the self depicted in my to-do lists, I’d have already done a morning yoga class rather than be sitting here at mid-day in thermal-underwear pajamas, my husband’s cast-off flannel, tartan-plaid robe and fuzzy slippers with pom poms.

My dog would be well-trained and well-behaved, wouldn’t pee in excitement when people came over, wouldn’t pull like a maniac on his leash, wouldn’t bark and growl at passing small children and strollers. He’d be an agility dog and a therapy dog.

I’d have taught myself French long ago and be fluent in it.

Ditto Spanish.

Also guitar.

And piano.

I’d do triathlons, be able to do all the poses of yoga and weigh quite a bit less.

My house would be organized. At the very least, I’d change all the burned-out lightbulbs I’ve been ignoring. And my closets would be so organized, like the ones in magazines, that they’d look like little shrines.

I’d have a kitchen garden. Also, I’d know all the names of the things growing in my yard and they’d all be flowering, which is good, because I’d also have a hive of bees. Well-behaved bees.

I’d have more dogs, all rescues, and they’d be well-behaved too.

I’d be wildly successful in some sort of creative field. I might be a little famous, in a beloved, low-key kind of way, and I’d have made gobs of money. I’d have a pied-à-terre in New York. (I have one picked out: a certain teeny-tiny room on the top floor, in the corner, of the Beacon Hotel). I’d also have a summer house at which I would, indeed, spend the entire summer.

Too bad my to-do list is complete fiction. ☹

And P.S., I thought I was being so efficient this morning, but turns out it’s “fall back.”

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.

Why Get A Dog

Missy's available, along with a lot of other adorable dogs

and cats, at Friends for Life. 

I have a snoring puppy in my lap.

My daughter and I found her, running scared and skinny, in the street. She is now registered with Friends for Life, a fabulous animal rescue, and we are her foster family.

I have been thinking about people and dogs.

First, don't even get me started on the piece of shit who dumped our puppy off to die alone.

And I understand people sometimes have practical considerations: they live in an apartment and need someone small or they have a child and need someone super-calm.

But so many have crap ideas. They want a "guard dog." A surprising number think a dog should live outside, loose or maybe on a short chain its whole life. Many think having a dog is like owning a doll.

Never had a dog before? Here’s what you need to know:

They do not make your life easier. You will need to run home to let them out. You will be out in the weather with them, even when you don’t feel like it. You need to teach them manners, which, no matter what the TV shows say, is an imperfect process. Even guide dogs, the most highly trained dogs on the planet, have been known to make messes where they shouldn’t. Dogs chew things, tip over garbage cans, tremble under (or preferably in) your bed during thunderstorms. They have personalities and their own ideas.

Don’t get a dog to intimidate people.

Don’t get one to match your decor.

Or to teach your children how onerous it is to be responsible for someone else.

Dogs are innocent beings who just want to love you with their whole heart.

If you think you can hold up your end in that relationship, then get a dog.

Do You Need A Little Cuteness and Sweetness in Your Life?

We found this little girl running down the middle of a busy street here in Houston on Wednesday.

We've been looking for her owner -- flyers in the area, at nearby veterinary clinics, online lost pet sites. She had no collar and is not chipped. It's not looking good. We haven't heard a peep.

So, on to Plan B: finding her a home. (We can't keep her. We already have two.)

Here's what I know about her, courtesy of our vet: She is in good health. She is 6-8 months old and is fully grown. She weighs 22 pounds and might, he thinks, get to 30 as she fills out. (He gave her her first round of vaccinations.)

She is as sweet as pie. She is not house-broken. However, she doesn't mess in the crate, including overnight, and seems very smart, attentive and eager to please. I don't think she'd be hard to train. She is affectionate and playful.

Were you thinking of getting a puppy? Know someone who is? Looking for a Christmas gift for that special someone? :o) Want to provide a Christmas miracle for a sweet puppy? Let me know. :o)

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.” 

The Scoop on Picking Up Poop

© Diana Thomson

OK, so most of us know, even if we don’t like and even if we don’t do it, that dog owners are supposed to pick up after their animals.

And for those who don’t, some places are looking into ways to catch them, like by testing the DNA of poops and tracing them back to the dogs’owners.

However simple the concept of cleaning up after your dog seems, some people don’t get it. Take, for instance, one of my mother’s neighbors. He carries bags, brightly colored ones, no less, he deposits his dog’s poops in them, but then he ties up the bag and leaves it on whoever’s lawn the dog pooped on. See? That misses the whole point. You’d think this didn’t have to be spelled out, but apparently it does: No one else should have to deal with your dog’s poops.

In my own neighborhood, via Nextdoor, which I think of as the “Nosy Neighbor Network,” even as I use it myself, there was a long-running debate about whether it was OK to toss your dog’s poop in your neighbor’s garbage can while you are out walking. The majority opinion was no, though I enjoyed one opposition post: “Oh, the horror, to have your garbage can smell like … garbage!”

My husband and I differ in how we handle the poop bag once it is, err, filled. I wrap the bag up into a small package and hold it, hidden, in my hand. One drawback: yup, your hand might smell more like poop if you do it this way. My husband, in contrast, holds the bag by the handles and even swings it as he walks and talks to people. I think, no one wants to see that.

And that’s all the scoop I have on that.

Walking with Lola the Dog

Did somebody say "walk"?
 

Lola loves walks, grabbing her leash and running to the gate when it’s time.

They are her walks, I figure, so I let her choose where we go. (OK, if I didn’t, we’d have embarrassing arguments at street corners, arguments I often lose.)

In Inside A Dog, Alexandra Horowitz explains, unlike us, dogs’ primary sense is smell, not sight. Sometimes, Lola will smell something in the ground that makes her normally upright tail fall limp; she will even refuse to walk past the spot. Creepy. Are bodies buried there?

Lola keeps up her end of the doggy smell conversation, carefully placing her pee and poop, the latter sadly an exercise in futility since I pick it up. Lola also loves an audience. That’s why, when we walk past restaurants with outdoor dining, I have to pull her along, hissing, “Don’t you dare, Lola!” ‘Cause she totally would.

Lola always wants to walk on a nearby shopping street, not on quiet residential streets. Her favorite spot is a frozen-yogurt shop because she gets lots of attention from little people covered in yogurt who don’t mind getting licked. And, operating under the theory of “If I act like I know what I’m doing, people will think it’s OK,” she will try to duck into other businesses. One store owner actually asked us if we’d come in and hang out, since the charismatic Lola often attracts a crowd.

We have to deal with cats who come out to play mind games on Lola, whom they absolutely know is on a leash.

And yesterday, we had to get close, but not too close, to one of those arm-wavy inflatable things (called an AirDancer, by the way) and watch it for a long time.

Then Lola went home for a nap.

Dog Poop

© Diana Thomson

Someday, archeologists are going to excavate our landfills and find millions of little plastic bags,
each one containing a single dog shit. (Also, millions of disposable diapers, each containing a single baby shit.)

What are they going to think?

If they surmise that we were fascinated by shit, they wouldn’t be entirely wrong, at least about some of us.

Three generations of my family play a game that could be called “Make the other person look at the pooping dog.” You are out somewhere with a companion. You see a dog shitting. You figure out a way to fool your companion into looking at the pooping dog. (“What kind of flower is that?” you might ask, pointing.) The goal is to get the other person to look in a way they can’t deny: they stopped and turned around, for instance.

My mother is the reigning champ at this game. One memorable day, she cried, “Look! A mother deer with two fawns!” My sister and I ran to the window … only to see our dog taking a dump in the yard.

This game is not easy. It takes a dog only seconds to shit; you’ve got to act fast. (And it is much less easy once people have learned that you are a weirdo who will do something like this.)

But we are not alone. Here, from a professional photographer, are “Dramatic Portraits of Dogs Pooping.” And here’s where you can order your 2014 “pooping dog” calendar. And this news story is about a researcher who recorded thousands of dog shits, to show that dogs – when they are fussing around with where to place their shits – may be trying to line them up with the magnetic forces of the earth. (Thanks, Yoram and Melissa.)

Dog Years

If you put a hat (or a tiara) on Lola's head and tell her she's pretty,
she will wear it -- even though she has her doubts.

The other day, Lola the dog started behaving: she didn’t tip over the garbage, didn’t steal food, didn’t
jump on visitors, didn’t pull on her leash like she was hauling a sledge.

I brought her to the vet.

She didn’t leap out of the car and drag me to the vet’s door. (She loves the vet.) I had to coax her. She didn’t jump up to see the receptionist over the counter, and because she didn’t do that, she didn’t see the bowl of treats up there and try to stick her face into it.

If you saw her, though, you wouldn’t think she was sick. Her tail waved. She climbed onto the examining table because she knew that’s what happened next. She licked the vet’s cheek as the vet listened to her heart.

You would think she was a calm, well-behaved dog.

“This isn’t like her,” I explained.

Turns out Lola was ill, mildly so. She felt better a few hours after taking her first dose of antibiotics.

“Thank God!” my high-school daughter texted me. She had been texting me all day, to find out what the vet had said. “I thought Lola was going to die.”

Me too.

Your mind goes that way with dogs, doesn’t it? You are always aware that they aren’t going to live as long as you are. They go from puppy to full-size in two years. Lola, a black standard poodle, started to experience “fade,” gray hairs interspersed in the inky black, by the time she was three. At six, her chin is all gray.

Happy to report that Lola’s her old, bouncy self. She just went outside to dig in the flowerbeds.