Skip to main content

Why Stacey Shouldn't Get a Puppy

It's been awhile since I've blogged about Wally - our little black havoc wreaker shown above wreaking havoc on the deck after the first snow storm. I was reminded of this yesterday when I went to get all of my hairs cut. Stacey has been my stylist for about eight years and while I love the styles she gives I love our conversations even more!

Stacey lost her dog Phoebe a few weeks ago and as anyone that has read this blog knows, I can relate all to well after losing our Sandy in August. So, while getting my new style we talked about Phoebe and what a wonderful dog she was and how sad it was at the end when she couldn't even go up and down the stairs. And then, Stacey commented that she didn't think she'd get another dog because of all the posts about Wally and the challenges I've encountered with raising a puppy. I guess Wally wreaked even more havoc and he wasn't even there!

So, this is for Stacey - more reasons not to get a puppy.

Wally gets into everything! If he doesn't hear the door to the laundry room, or powder room or 'children's wing' close soundly he's on his way to doggy nirvana finding all kinds of things he's not supposed to have. Like shoes, dirty laundry (especially socks and underwear). I had a friend over recently and Wally came prancing out of the laundry room proudly bearing one of Delaney's bras and a sock. When I leave him in his kennel, I give him a Kong filled with peanut butter and a few morsels of food. Apparently, I didn't return the peanut butter jar to the pantry because he jumped up to the counter and grabbed the jar - he chewed the top off and had his nose in the jar before it was discovered. Wally may be the only mutt in the world with his own private jar of peanut butter! Right now, he is outside chewing on and completely destroying a wooden bird house. Since it's the bird house that housed a snake and his/her eggs two summers ago, I'm not particularly attached to the bird house - and heck you have to pick your battles.

Boredom spells trouble for Wally (and all puppies). Combined with a perceived lack of attention and I know that I'll soon disciplining the little mischief maker. There are times when I just want to sit and write or read or nap but Wally has other ideas, especially if he's not had enough exercise. I've tried to put him in the kennel but the blood hound in him has him howling in just a few minutes and well, I'm not likely to focus on much when he's raising a raucous!

Two weeks ago, he started crying in the middle of the night - something he hasn't done since the first week we had him. I put him outside and then back in his kennel. That first night, it happened three times. (Please note, that John 'slept' through it all - just like when the kids were little!) It didn't seem that he needed to go outside; as a matter of fact the second and third times he just tried to sneak to the couch. So the second night, I decided to get him the first time and then ignore him after that - like the Ferber method we used with the kids. He cried, he barked, he howled and I didn't sleep much but I also didn't go out to check on him. Big mistake because he had thrown up all over his kennel and pillow and the floor outside his kennel. What a neglectful owner I am! When it continued through that Sunday morning, I called the vet and took Wally into the office. He received shots to stop the nausea, indigestion and antibiotics - the vet said he likely just got into something and will need to get it out of his system. He gave me some meds to take home that he said might make Wally sleepy. I asked for extras! And then he gave me the invoice for the emergency visit. And I felt sick.

Now, I can't write about Wally truthfully without adding how much I love this little pup. He's my shadow and will cuddle with me on the floor or couch. He loves to go on errands with me and he's quite entertaining! He chases his tail and when he got new tags on his collar he tried in vain to get those as well. When I talk to him, he cocks his head as if he's really trying to understand. He loves to play with other dogs at the dog park and especially play with Murphy the big lab down the street who comes to the door to get Wally to play! And he loves me too - even when I'm trying like heck to ignore the little bugger. And that makes everything else worthwhile!

But puppies aren't for everyone - and after you've had the perfect dog like Phoebe you forget how much training is involved to get them to be perfect dogs. It takes a lot of work. And they're not like grandchildren that you can, when tired, return to their parents. There is no break. And you can't just pick up and leave for a weekend without finding a place for your puppy.
So Stacey - did I give you enough fodder for not getting a puppy?

Comments

It's not a popularity contest, but ...

Ten Year

When I was in junior high school, I staged a sit-in and learned about 'ten year'. This will come as a total surprise to most of you readers - I was not a perfectly well behaved child. I know, I know - you're shocked, amazed, in wonder how I could have turned out to be so well-behaved despite the oats sown in my youth.  And the sit-in is a perfect example of how I marched to the beat of my own drummer. Miss Brown was an English teacher - and not a very popular one. She would invoke the yardstick on wayward student's hands and scowl the moment we walked into the classroom. We weren't very kind to Miss Brown but then she wasn't very kind to us, either. Personally, the hardest part of having Miss Brown as an English teacher is that she nearly ruined my love of my favorite topic in school. It was the year we were to learn grammar (have I ever mentioned that as a writer I detest grammar?). I think some new way of teaching English was introduced and in all l...

Blubbering Idiot

While doing crunches this morning, I turned on the TV to keep my mind off the exercise I was about to do and the movie "Gran Torino" was playing. It was nearly 3/4 of the way done. Perfect, I thought, I can watch the end of one of my newest favorite movies. Fifteen minutes later, I'm a puddle of tears on the floor. The end of that movie dissolves me to tears every time - and I think I've seen it now about six or seven times. When Clint Eastwood's character goes about his last day - including a lame confession with the priest - locking 'Toad' in the basement, I begin to get weepy. SCENE SPOILER ALERT ! But when he is shot down and is splayed as though crucified on the cross, I become a blubbering idiot. So much softness and sacrifice in one so tough and gruff - it highlights the intensity of his sacrifice for his new family next door. I only need watch the last few minutes of "Gran Torino" to get the full emotional effect. The same can be said...

Hair today gone tomorrow

Before you all begin to think I’m breezing completely through chemo, let me remind you of this:   For the most part I am bald. Or if not completely bald, fuzzy headed, and not in the way I think or am thinking, but in the appearance. A little like a hedgehog or a porcupine with bald patches. On Super Bowl Sunday while most of you were overeating or filling out those little squares to wager on the upcoming game, John and I were having a unique pre-game party. In front of our bathroom mirror with clippers and scissors. Preparing for the certainty of hair loss from my chemo, I decided to buzz my locks to lessen the shock and mess of of losing large chunks of my silver, shoulder-length hair. It was in all honesty one of the most poignant moments in our 30+  year marriage. I had originally asked my friend and former stylist if she could do it . But when I shared my plan with John, he said that he wanted to do it. Certainly that was not expected. So instead of watching th...