Just Another Fiasco

Life with Rocky is fine, for the most part. He's settling in nicely and he is turning into a rather sweet buddy that I absolutely adore. He does have some quirks, though. Serious quirks, the biggest of which is coming when called.

He doesn't. I was warned by his last owners that this was a problem, so there is no surprise.

This isn't really a problem in the house, because all I have to do is make food sounds to get his attention. But we recently installed a fence for the yard and now he's all about going outside. All the time. Outside. If you stand up to do ANYTHING, he's up and under foot, in case you're going to head outside. Getting him to come back inside is when shit gets real. You can call him until you're blue in the face and he'll just ignore the hell out of you.

Unfortunately there was a place under the deck where the dogs could go to escape the yard. We knew this and had planned on getting lattice installed as soon as possible, but until then, we had to do double duty when the hounds were out and about. One of us would stand inside the yard keeping them away from the deck, while the other would stand outside the yard to stop them if they decided to try it anyway. Technically, one person could do it, but getting them into the house was where it got tricky.

One morning, Tammie let me sleep in and she took the dogs out by herself. They took full advantage of the lack of coverage, sending her on a wild goof chase (no, that's not a typo). She suddenly found herself on an early morning romp in muck boots and bathrobe, calling for a dog that simply acted like "nope, that's not my name right now" and just kept on running. She caught up to him at the corner and carried him back home. It was a long walk and she was not thrilled. Fortunately, Douglas was a good dog and kept close to home, returning when she did.

Later that day, we installed the lattice under the deck and the escape route was cut off. The yard was secure and the dogs were delighted with their new running area. We are thrilled we don't have to stand guard in inclement weather until they are ready to come back into the house. Rocky loves being outside and icky weather doesn't bother him one bit. Little turd.

So, with the yard secure, I decided I needed to do some work in it while Tammie was running the shop. It was time to start pulling up the goat head stickers so we don't have to pull them out of the dogs' feet. The tools I needed were in the shed, which is located in the back yard. To get there I used the gate. I thought it would be ok. I was wrong.

He shoved past me and bolted.

I've never seen a dog move so fast. He knew exactly what he was doing and that he was in trouble for doing it. He was around the house and headed toward the road with me huffing and chuffing after him. I'm not good with running, especially in my muck boots. Or in any footwear, for that matter. I just don't run. It's been like that all my life. But there's a fairly busy road not too far from us, and I feared he would head right for it, so off I went. Around the house, down the driveway, down the road, chugging along, calling his name. I know he heard me. He turned around and looked at me as he kept trotting along, the breeze ruffling the fur around his ears.

Rocky got to the corner and ducked around the neighbor's hedge where I finally caught up to him. I can't say I surprised him, he MUST have heard my labored breathing. Hell, the deaf guy across the street could hear my asthmatic lungs screaming for air. But he was just standing there, waiting. I called his name, gently, softly, with love.

He looked up at me, and I swear, I SWEAR he smirked then WALKED ACROSS THE STREET. He stood and sniffed a spot long enough for me to get to him, scoop him up, and begin our long painful trek back home. Unfortunately, I'd neglected to close the gate, so I had to lug him up to the porch. The whole way, he was grunting as if HE was doing all the hard work. Oh, poor baby.

Unfortunately, the exertion was more than my creaky old body could handle in one day and I was down for the count. Both shoulders, my hips, my pubic bone (seriously, this body should NEVER run! shit falls apart when I try it) and a possible cracked bone in my left foot were the result. Everything hurt. It was worse the next day. My pedometer (on my phone, which was in my shirt pocket) said I'd run almost half a mile. That's a lie. I'm very jiggly and every step had things bouncing quite a bit. My phone was proud of how far I'd gone and I really didn't want to disappoint it, so I just let it be. Anyway, it felt more like five miles than a half, and I was lugging a dog for half the distance, so I'm good with calling it a half mile.

As for the goat head stickers, we're going a different route. A combination of landscaping cloth, cardboard, and some mulch should do the trick. And the dogs will love it.

Dinner Time for Doggos

We recently acquired a new member of the household, a darling terrier mix named Rocky. He’s a funny little dude, and for the most part, I adore him. There are moments, however, when the adoration is a bit on the thin side. For instance, when we’ve been out on a potty run at night, in the rain and wind, and it takes him forever to find the perfect place to poop. Or we’ve taken a nice long walk and sniffed everything and peed on everything else, and we go home and poop on the carpet.

I’m really not ok with that, but he’s still new to us (he’s three years old) so I’m hoping things will sort themselves out soon.

But one thing is for sure, and that is how picky he is about food. According to his second owner (we're his third family), his first owners fed him people food, table scraps. Not ok. His second family did their best to get him interested in dog food, but he would hold out for steak. They did not give him steak.

Finally, he arrived at our house, which came complete with a dog sibling. Immediately food became something of an even bigger issue.

Doug, our darling Chihuahua, LOVES food and will eat it all day long given the chance. We don’t give him that chance, as he has a weight problem (he takes after me). So, with picky Rocky not finishing his food (or even starting it at times) Doug likes to saunter over and polish off his second meal. This led to us keeping a watch over meal time and putting Rocky’s dish of unfinished food out of Doug’s reach.

But something had to be done to get Rocky to eat and finish his food in a timely manner. I tried scattering his kibble, which sort of worked, but Doug thought it was manna from heaven and joined in the fray. I tried pretending to mix people food in it, but he was not that easily fooled.

I finally found something that will get Rocky to eat, and that is mixing a little soft dog food in with the kibble. He thinks he’s getting people food and he’ll scarf it right down. We had taken Doug off that particular mix due to his weight, but we can’t give it to one without the other knowing, so I just give him less of both and it’s all good. Except he thinks it isn’t enough.

One evening I was watching the kitchen drama. I had to wait to finish preparing the people dinner because I needed to use a noisy appliance and that throws everyone off their feed, which is just not what I wanted to deal with that evening. As I watched, Doug finished his food quickly and stood in the middle of the kitchen, staring at Rocky as he daintily picked at his meal.

Every so often, Doug would take a step forward and I would say, “Doug, no. You leave him alone.” Doug would stop and stare for a few minutes, before taking another step forward. “Doug! I said no!” But I said it while giggling.

He turned around and looked at me, then back at Rocky (who was still eating) and he stood for a brief moment before he BARKED! as though someone or some THING was at the back door. Rocky started to go check it out and Doug darted toward the now abandoned dish.

“DOUG! Don’t you dare!”

Rocky went back to his dish with a look that burned off most of Doug’s fur before resuming his dinner. Doug, knowing he was beaten, moved away and sat at the edge of the kitchen, still staring at Rocky.

Finally, the slowest eater in the world finished his food and left the kitchen. Doug, sensing all was well with the universe, headed for the dish.

“Doug, leave it alone. I don’t spit in your dish after you’ve eaten, so you don’t need to lick his.” He stopped, looked at me then turned away. “Doug…” I waited to see what he was going to do. He went for the water dish, then veered off and headed right for Rocky’s bowl. Every step, his ears got lower, then his head, as if he was hiding from me. I couldn’t even yell at him because I was laughing too hard.

So, Rocky finished his dinner, and Doug did the dishes.