The boy and his dog moved in on July 1st. Not-so-coincidentally, I left on July 1st for a long weekend with an old high school friend. I had a ball and came back on the 4th relaxed and refreshed. I came back to a house full of three dogs and a boy and boxes everywhere. But in the spirit of "it's only for a month" I decided to just accept the situation for what it is, and relax. The boy, apparently, didn't get that memo.
And part of me doesn't blame him. Even though it's "our" house for now, it really is "his" house moving forward. He's excited to move his stuff in and make it "homey." No matter how many times I tell him there is no way for this tiny house to look neat and tidy with two people's-worth of stuff in it, he keeps "tidying." And so I sigh, box up another area of my stuff and lug it downstairs.
It's only for a month.
The dogs have adjusted admirably. It helps that after years of resisting* Tyson is now on doggie prozac. Whole. New. Dog. We can leave and he just curls up and sleeps until we get home. No freaking out, no whining... I tell you, it's a miracle. We haven't tried crating him, but without the cat around (who's living the life of luxury in my office right now) there really is no need. He's almost the perfect dog.** Casey is obviously the top of the hierarchy, and the only problem that Blue and Tyson have is that Blue doesn't realize he's temporary and thus isn't really second on the list of command (even though he's lived there longer than Tyson.) So Blue tends to get snippy when Tyson takes the place that he usually lies. It's a fleeting disagreement, but still a sign that for everyone's sanity, I must purge a dog from my house soon. Also a sign? Fitting two pit bulls and the boy in bed with me is just short of comfortable. Especially since Blue will just jump on the bed and literally sleep wherever he lands. No matter what is beneath him. Yay.
Speaking of Blue, he's absolutely shredded the mattress he had in his crate. I think he's protesting the loss of his home where he was free to roam all day long and go outside whenever he pleased. I've told him he's going home soon, but bless his vacant brown eyes, I'm not sure he understands.
Blue goes home July 15th.
My parents seem anxious to be reunited with their dog, even though they're sad to be losing their free, built-in babysitter. When I begin school, it just won't be feasible to pick up Blue and keep him for long periods of time. So in preparation for that, my parents have been doing research on kennels in the city where they live.
They've visited five so far.
And they must visit in person. My mother (who is not a dog person, let us all remember this) wants to see the places herself to deem them worthy of keeping her dog for extended periods of time. One was rejected because it didn't have air conditioning. One is a concern because they have a doggie day care during the day (my mother is concerned that Blue will be picked on because he's so "mild-mannered.) My mom jokes that she and my dad didn't even put this much legwork into selecting colleges for my brother and I. She's not kidding. And even though I'm amused, I'm glad Blue is so loved. What a match made in heaven.
*"Society is over-medicated, Emily," "I am not medicating my dog, Emily," "He doesn't need medication, he's fine."
**It did hurt me to type that. Indeed it did.
Showing posts with label Tyson. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tyson. Show all posts
Thursday, July 07, 2011
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Listening Skillz
I have to move again. I would say I'm not looking forward to it because I don't like change, but I'm actually split right down the middle. This move is symbolic of SO MANY life changes coming up that I am equally terrified and elated to make this move. If you add in that the new house is just like the one I'm in now - shabby chic - without the "shabby" and maybe it's 51% elated and 49% terrified.
There are some hurdles to get through first, though. Some readers of this blog have been around since the boy and I lived together so they remember the days when this blog was funny. HAVE I GOT NEWS FOR THEM!
When I found my tiny house in my new city, I had the following telephone conversation with the boy on May 2nd:
E: Guess what?
B: What?
E: I found a house in Lafayette!
B: Really? That's great news!
E: I know, right? I haven't seen it yet. I'll go see it on May 14th. If it looks as good as the pictures and the neighborhood is nice, I'll definitely snatch it up. The rent is only $5 more per month than what I'm paying now, can you believe it?
B: Awesome.
In retrospect, I'm pretty sure the boy stopped listening after I said "I found a house in Lafayette." Because he put in his two month notice at his apartment complex that day. Which means he has to be out of his apartment on July 1st.
Did I mention that the boy is taking over the lease for my current house? Ah. Well, he is. Which is helpful because I can leave some stuff in the basement, or move it slowly over the course of three months instead of worrying about moving everything in one day. Nice, right?
Oh, and when I went to see the house on May 14th (it was indeed as adorable as the pictures) I found out that it wasn't availabe until August 1st. Which is perfect for my school schedule. So I agreed to this move in date, signed necessary papers, and put down my deposit.
Because I didn't know that the boy had put in his two months notice on May 2nd.
That tidbit of information was shared with me on the ride back to Lafayette.
Oh yes. The boy was present for me signing all the papers and agreeing to a move in date of August 1st. All the while knowing that he didn't have anywhere to live after July 1st unless it was the house that I'm currently in. The "shabby-chic" house that is no more than 750 square feet. The house that I would not be vacating until August 1st as it turns out.
As you can imagine, I was thrilled to get this news. Live with Tyson again? Sure! Why not? It wasn't that traumatic the first time. It wasn't like that devil dog was one of the reasons why I moved out or anything. Psh. This will be fine.
Even with Blue back until July 15th.
So, just to recap, the boy, Casey, Tyson, Blue and I will all be living in a 750 square foot house. Together. At the same time. All of us.
Laney will be on her own with a very generous friend of mine. Because when I found out this totally awesome information about cohabitation round 2, my only rule was that Tyson and Laney would not live together again. We can not crate Tyson, and there are no extra roomsfor him to tear up beyond recognition to keep him in, so I was not about to leave both Tyson and Laney roming free without supervision. No way. So the boy was charged with finding a temporary home for Laney. Which, to his credit, he did.
So mark your calendars. July 1st. Plenty of amusing blogs coming your way, I'm sure. After all, what could possibly go wrong with making three pit bulls and two humans live together in 750 square feet? Nothing, right? Awesome. I should contact Fox. Surely this deserves its own reality TV show.
There are some hurdles to get through first, though. Some readers of this blog have been around since the boy and I lived together so they remember the days when this blog was funny. HAVE I GOT NEWS FOR THEM!
When I found my tiny house in my new city, I had the following telephone conversation with the boy on May 2nd:
E: Guess what?
B: What?
E: I found a house in Lafayette!
B: Really? That's great news!
E: I know, right? I haven't seen it yet. I'll go see it on May 14th. If it looks as good as the pictures and the neighborhood is nice, I'll definitely snatch it up. The rent is only $5 more per month than what I'm paying now, can you believe it?
B: Awesome.
In retrospect, I'm pretty sure the boy stopped listening after I said "I found a house in Lafayette." Because he put in his two month notice at his apartment complex that day. Which means he has to be out of his apartment on July 1st.
Did I mention that the boy is taking over the lease for my current house? Ah. Well, he is. Which is helpful because I can leave some stuff in the basement, or move it slowly over the course of three months instead of worrying about moving everything in one day. Nice, right?
Oh, and when I went to see the house on May 14th (it was indeed as adorable as the pictures) I found out that it wasn't availabe until August 1st. Which is perfect for my school schedule. So I agreed to this move in date, signed necessary papers, and put down my deposit.
Because I didn't know that the boy had put in his two months notice on May 2nd.
That tidbit of information was shared with me on the ride back to Lafayette.
Oh yes. The boy was present for me signing all the papers and agreeing to a move in date of August 1st. All the while knowing that he didn't have anywhere to live after July 1st unless it was the house that I'm currently in. The "shabby-chic" house that is no more than 750 square feet. The house that I would not be vacating until August 1st as it turns out.
As you can imagine, I was thrilled to get this news. Live with Tyson again? Sure! Why not? It wasn't that traumatic the first time. It wasn't like that devil dog was one of the reasons why I moved out or anything. Psh. This will be fine.
Even with Blue back until July 15th.
So, just to recap, the boy, Casey, Tyson, Blue and I will all be living in a 750 square foot house. Together. At the same time. All of us.
Laney will be on her own with a very generous friend of mine. Because when I found out this totally awesome information about cohabitation round 2, my only rule was that Tyson and Laney would not live together again. We can not crate Tyson, and there are no extra rooms
So mark your calendars. July 1st. Plenty of amusing blogs coming your way, I'm sure. After all, what could possibly go wrong with making three pit bulls and two humans live together in 750 square feet? Nothing, right? Awesome. I should contact Fox. Surely this deserves its own reality TV show.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
And They Said it Couldn't be Done.
So Memorial Day weekend was fun. After taking the appropriate time to think about the reason for the extra day off
work and thank our troops for protecting us, Casey, Tyson, the boy and I went on several adventures. Adventures that left my dog like this 24 hours after the long weekend ended.
We started by going to visit the boy's parents. Where we had beer. Quite a bit of beer, come to think of it. Which is probably where this whole idea was born. You see, I spent the week before Memorial Day weekend referring to our trip to visit the boy's parents as the weekend of "six dogs, five people."
Six dog, five people, you ask? You mean the dogs outnumbered the people?! INSANITY!
I know, right?
Since I have become a pit bull advocate, I have adopted out six pit bulls - seven if you count my own. That's not a huge number by any means, but it's a number that I'm proud of because the now pit bull owners either did not previously have dogs, or hadn't ever considered owning one of this much maligned breed. And now? Some of them own two. Which is how we ended up in the weekend of "six dogs, five people" where all the dogs were pit bulls. And since all of the dogs (that outnumbered the people) were getting along famously, and since they were all pit bulls, I got the crazy idea that we should line the dogs up according to size, make them all sit, and then take a picture.
To which the boy's dad said, "That will never work."
Now, let me give you a quick lesson in Emily-Psychology 101, dear internet readers. If you want to absolutely ensure that Emily does something, make sure to say something to the effect of, "You can't do that," or "You'll never do that," or "That's impossible." Pretty much all I hear when you say that is "Challenge Extended*" If you want to make sure I'll die trying to prove you wrong, make sure there's plenty of beer involved.
And so, I set about to make my dream a reality. I had some help, as you can see. And, as you can see from the "setup"**
the dogs did not originally begin in the correct order. Since we needed one photographer, we only had four people to prep six dogs. Everyone was a good sport about saying "sit" and "stay" over and over and over in increasingly stern voices. (Commands that I'm not entirely convinced that every dog understood, but since everyone else was sitting, the rest probably figured, "Meh. Why not.") In the end, as I held my peanut butter-covered hands out in front of me and backed away slowly, we got the picture below. No Photoshop needed. Absolute Perfection.
Behold, "Obedience." In order from left to right we have Izzie, Fatty, Lilly, Casey, Tyson and Odie. We had some difficulty deciding if Fatty was bigger than Izzie. I think we decided that he's bigger, although maybe not taller? And Odie is MUCH bigger than Tyson, but unfortunately his hip dysplasia makes him sit on his haunches, which makes him look not only shorter, but like we beat him into submission to get him in the picture. (We didn't.) My dog is the only one with her tongue out. (there's a joke in there somewhere, yes?)
Oh, and I was also proven right. Again.
Seriously, can you believe they're all looking at the camera? Seriously? Click on the picture and zoom in on it. It's ridiculous how cute they all are.***
*Why yes, I watch How I Met Your Mother. Barney Stinson is my hero. High Five!
**As much as I would like to say that I am not the gigantic butt in the middle of the picture, we all know that would be a lie. Le Sigh.
***But do NOT click on the picture with my gigantic butt in it. No one needs to see that.
work and thank our troops for protecting us, Casey, Tyson, the boy and I went on several adventures. Adventures that left my dog like this 24 hours after the long weekend ended.We started by going to visit the boy's parents. Where we had beer. Quite a bit of beer, come to think of it. Which is probably where this whole idea was born. You see, I spent the week before Memorial Day weekend referring to our trip to visit the boy's parents as the weekend of "six dogs, five people."
Six dog, five people, you ask? You mean the dogs outnumbered the people?! INSANITY!
I know, right?
Since I have become a pit bull advocate, I have adopted out six pit bulls - seven if you count my own. That's not a huge number by any means, but it's a number that I'm proud of because the now pit bull owners either did not previously have dogs, or hadn't ever considered owning one of this much maligned breed. And now? Some of them own two. Which is how we ended up in the weekend of "six dogs, five people" where all the dogs were pit bulls. And since all of the dogs (that outnumbered the people) were getting along famously, and since they were all pit bulls, I got the crazy idea that we should line the dogs up according to size, make them all sit, and then take a picture.
To which the boy's dad said, "That will never work."
Now, let me give you a quick lesson in Emily-Psychology 101, dear internet readers. If you want to absolutely ensure that Emily does something, make sure to say something to the effect of, "You can't do that," or "You'll never do that," or "That's impossible." Pretty much all I hear when you say that is "Challenge Extended*" If you want to make sure I'll die trying to prove you wrong, make sure there's plenty of beer involved.
And so, I set about to make my dream a reality. I had some help, as you can see. And, as you can see from the "setup"**
the dogs did not originally begin in the correct order. Since we needed one photographer, we only had four people to prep six dogs. Everyone was a good sport about saying "sit" and "stay" over and over and over in increasingly stern voices. (Commands that I'm not entirely convinced that every dog understood, but since everyone else was sitting, the rest probably figured, "Meh. Why not.") In the end, as I held my peanut butter-covered hands out in front of me and backed away slowly, we got the picture below. No Photoshop needed. Absolute Perfection.Behold, "Obedience." In order from left to right we have Izzie, Fatty, Lilly, Casey, Tyson and Odie. We had some difficulty deciding if Fatty was bigger than Izzie. I think we decided that he's bigger, although maybe not taller? And Odie is MUCH bigger than Tyson, but unfortunately his hip dysplasia makes him sit on his haunches, which makes him look not only shorter, but like we beat him into submission to get him in the picture. (We didn't.) My dog is the only one with her tongue out. (there's a joke in there somewhere, yes?)
Oh, and I was also proven right. Again.
Seriously, can you believe they're all looking at the camera? Seriously? Click on the picture and zoom in on it. It's ridiculous how cute they all are.***
*Why yes, I watch How I Met Your Mother. Barney Stinson is my hero. High Five!
**As much as I would like to say that I am not the gigantic butt in the middle of the picture, we all know that would be a lie. Le Sigh.
***But do NOT click on the picture with my gigantic butt in it. No one needs to see that.
Wednesday, July 08, 2009
A Sticking Point
This past weekend the boy and I were trapped in a car together for over six hours. It lead to some interesting conversation.* This is noteworthy not because interesting conversation is usually lacking in our relationship, but more because I thought we had already extensively covered every topic of conversation under the sun. I stand corrected.
We discussed our relationship quite a bit. It was old ground that had already been covered...from our inability to live together (with Satan) and his future career ideas. At one point it came up that I did not want an engagement before I was done with vet school. That gave the boy at LEAST five more years to decide whether or not I was the girl for him.** He asked what would happen if I didn't get into vet school?
"Well, in that case I would kill myself, so there's nothing to worry about."***
"We are certainly non-traditional. That would put us at, what, at least ten years of dating before making it official?"
"Wow... Well, we could always be like Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell and never get married."
"We can't be like them. Goldie Hawn is a hippie. You're nowhere near being a hippie."
"My dad thinks I am!! Besides, I know I'm not a hippie, but you TOTALLY are. We both know I'm too type A and traditional to be a hippie."
"Traditional?"
"Yeah. I just hide it well. For example, assuming you do propose, I expect you to talk to my dad beforehand."
"I am so NOT asking your dad's permission."
"Um, then I'm not marrying you."
"You're serious?"
"As a heart attack."
"What, you're going pause a moment after I ask you to marry me, and instead of saying yes, you're going to ask whether or not I've spoken to your dad yet?"
"No. I would probably say yes, and then after freaking out, ask you whether or not you spoke to my dad. If you hadn't, I would return the ring."
"Give me a break."
"You've always known I'm a daddy's girl. Don't act all surprised. Besides, I don't expect you to ask permission, per se. Just talk to him. Take him out to dinner. Get him a scotch. You just need his blessing. It's a respect thing."
"Look, I have all the respect in the WORLD for your dad. But I'm not going to ask his permission. I thought that when I spoke to him it would go something like this...."
At that point the boy launched into an eloquent speech that had no hesitations, no repeats and clearly had been thought out and carefully considered.**** I was surprised and touched.***** At the end I said, "What are you talking about? That's perfect. Complete crap, but perfect! Exactly what you should say."
"I know it's not true yet. But someday. Hopefully someday soon. Besides, I have a lot of respect for your dad, and I think he likes me too.****** I don't think he would say no."
".... Well, he probably won't. Of course, if "soon" is within the next five years, he's been given very specific instructions to tell you to bug off."
"Bitch."
"Yeah, I wouldn't recommend calling me that in front of my dad. It might hurt your chances."
*as well as some napping and a lot of Stephen King literature in AudioBook form.
**he said he had already decided. Cute, right? I countered with "I know. Actually, what I'm doing is giving Tyson more time to pass on."
***Melodramatic? Me?
****It was also completely fabricated and bore no semblance of reality.
*****Until I remembered that it was complete bull.
******He does. Now my mom on the other hand....
We discussed our relationship quite a bit. It was old ground that had already been covered...from our inability to live together (with Satan) and his future career ideas. At one point it came up that I did not want an engagement before I was done with vet school. That gave the boy at LEAST five more years to decide whether or not I was the girl for him.** He asked what would happen if I didn't get into vet school?
"Well, in that case I would kill myself, so there's nothing to worry about."***
"We are certainly non-traditional. That would put us at, what, at least ten years of dating before making it official?"
"Wow... Well, we could always be like Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell and never get married."
"We can't be like them. Goldie Hawn is a hippie. You're nowhere near being a hippie."
"My dad thinks I am!! Besides, I know I'm not a hippie, but you TOTALLY are. We both know I'm too type A and traditional to be a hippie."
"Traditional?"
"Yeah. I just hide it well. For example, assuming you do propose, I expect you to talk to my dad beforehand."
"I am so NOT asking your dad's permission."
"Um, then I'm not marrying you."
"You're serious?"
"As a heart attack."
"What, you're going pause a moment after I ask you to marry me, and instead of saying yes, you're going to ask whether or not I've spoken to your dad yet?"
"No. I would probably say yes, and then after freaking out, ask you whether or not you spoke to my dad. If you hadn't, I would return the ring."
"Give me a break."
"You've always known I'm a daddy's girl. Don't act all surprised. Besides, I don't expect you to ask permission, per se. Just talk to him. Take him out to dinner. Get him a scotch. You just need his blessing. It's a respect thing."
"Look, I have all the respect in the WORLD for your dad. But I'm not going to ask his permission. I thought that when I spoke to him it would go something like this...."
At that point the boy launched into an eloquent speech that had no hesitations, no repeats and clearly had been thought out and carefully considered.**** I was surprised and touched.***** At the end I said, "What are you talking about? That's perfect. Complete crap, but perfect! Exactly what you should say."
"I know it's not true yet. But someday. Hopefully someday soon. Besides, I have a lot of respect for your dad, and I think he likes me too.****** I don't think he would say no."
".... Well, he probably won't. Of course, if "soon" is within the next five years, he's been given very specific instructions to tell you to bug off."
"Bitch."
"Yeah, I wouldn't recommend calling me that in front of my dad. It might hurt your chances."
*as well as some napping and a lot of Stephen King literature in AudioBook form.
**he said he had already decided. Cute, right? I countered with "I know. Actually, what I'm doing is giving Tyson more time to pass on."
***Melodramatic? Me?
****It was also completely fabricated and bore no semblance of reality.
*****Until I remembered that it was complete bull.
******He does. Now my mom on the other hand....
Friday, May 08, 2009
Missing you (since you've been gone)
The boy is off on a two day backpacking/hiking trip with a mutual friend (whom I shall dub 'Curly.') A mutual friend who (as his wife pointed out) shares a surprising number of traits with the boy. As such, I'm sure they're currently reveling in their unshowered, damp, two day hiking had-to-carry-all-supplies-on-their-back manliness. And as much as I miss the boy, I am not at all disappointed that I didn't go wasn't invited.
Not one little bit.
See, when the boy and I met, I was 100% honest with him. Every word I said to him in that first conversation has stood the test of time.* One of the things that I mentioned was that I "love to do things outdoors, but I'm not so much a camper." To which the boy responded, "Really? I love to camp."
Then I went and did this madness. All of a sudden, the boy figured that perhaps the door to camping had been opened a crack.
It hasn't. Truly.
When the boy and I started hanging out with Curly and his wife (who is a super cool awesome person, btw) the boys began discussing the possibility of a camping trip for the four of us. Uh oh. The more we hung out, the more the idea appealed to them. My response was, "Sure! If you guys plan the trip, I am SO THERE!" Since Curly's wife is no more looking forward to the camping than I am (and immediately grasped the implications of having the boys plan the trip) she agreed.
Did I mention that Curly and the boy are very similar? Nothing has been planned. It's been a couple of years now. I felt pretty safe.
Then Curly had to go and propose a two day hiking extravaganza. And, much to my surprise, it actually happened.**
In the days leading up to this hiking trip, the boy was very very excited. As he gathered up everything he would need (and didn't already have,) he made a list.
Food
Sleeping bag
Emily's Camera
Water Filter
Poop Shovel
I'm sorry, what?
Yeah - apparently a poop shovel was needed. You know, so that a hole can be dug to poop in, and the poop can then be buried.
I'm sorry, what?
The boy was about to explain to me again, when I interrupted to tell him that I completely understood, and that there was no way I was ever (EVER) going to do that. I mean, I know that I've backpacked. And I've camped. And that I was traumatized by having to poop in a glorified hole in the ground while doing so.*** But I didn't actually have to dig the hole!
The boy showed a rare flash of emotion and got a bit upset. "Well, you know this means that we can never go on a backpacking trip together!"
"FINE BY ME!"
After all, I think that if you got a girl who previously thought "roughing it" was Motel 6 to agree to camping, it falls under "compromise." Trying to get her to agree to dig a hole in the ground and then defecate into it....well, that's just madness.
*Which is more than I can say for some people. Ahem. "I'm a morning person" indeed.
**And Curly and the boy are, like, friends now. Like, friends independent of the four of us. Which is weird. Because previously, Curly's wife and I were friends independent of the group, but the boys just came to dinner when they were told. And now they're all hanging out and camping and... DEAR GOD I'M GOING TO HAVE TO CAMP! Which I've actually made my peace with.**** Until the boy told me about the new tent he had purchased. The tent that is big enough for him, myself, and "our dogs." (cue the ominous music) I'm sorry, what? Not only do I have to camp, I have to camp with my nemesis? When did I sign on for this??
***Because sometimes people turn thirty. And sometimes when they turn thirty, they do crazy, insane, out of their mind things that they would never normally do. And sometimes those things are incredibly poorly thought out, but turn into once-in-a-lifetime breathtaking adventures. But they were still insanity. This should never, ever, be forgotten.
****Beer. There will be lots of beer. Enough beer so that the gigantic bugs disappear and are definitely not within a one mile radius of me.
Not one little bit.
See, when the boy and I met, I was 100% honest with him. Every word I said to him in that first conversation has stood the test of time.* One of the things that I mentioned was that I "love to do things outdoors, but I'm not so much a camper." To which the boy responded, "Really? I love to camp."
Then I went and did this madness. All of a sudden, the boy figured that perhaps the door to camping had been opened a crack.
It hasn't. Truly.
When the boy and I started hanging out with Curly and his wife (who is a super cool awesome person, btw) the boys began discussing the possibility of a camping trip for the four of us. Uh oh. The more we hung out, the more the idea appealed to them. My response was, "Sure! If you guys plan the trip, I am SO THERE!" Since Curly's wife is no more looking forward to the camping than I am (and immediately grasped the implications of having the boys plan the trip) she agreed.
Did I mention that Curly and the boy are very similar? Nothing has been planned. It's been a couple of years now. I felt pretty safe.
Then Curly had to go and propose a two day hiking extravaganza. And, much to my surprise, it actually happened.**
In the days leading up to this hiking trip, the boy was very very excited. As he gathered up everything he would need (and didn't already have,) he made a list.
Food
Sleeping bag
Emily's Camera
Water Filter
Poop Shovel
I'm sorry, what?
Yeah - apparently a poop shovel was needed. You know, so that a hole can be dug to poop in, and the poop can then be buried.
I'm sorry, what?
The boy was about to explain to me again, when I interrupted to tell him that I completely understood, and that there was no way I was ever (EVER) going to do that. I mean, I know that I've backpacked. And I've camped. And that I was traumatized by having to poop in a glorified hole in the ground while doing so.*** But I didn't actually have to dig the hole!
The boy showed a rare flash of emotion and got a bit upset. "Well, you know this means that we can never go on a backpacking trip together!"
"FINE BY ME!"
After all, I think that if you got a girl who previously thought "roughing it" was Motel 6 to agree to camping, it falls under "compromise." Trying to get her to agree to dig a hole in the ground and then defecate into it....well, that's just madness.
*Which is more than I can say for some people. Ahem. "I'm a morning person" indeed.
**And Curly and the boy are, like, friends now. Like, friends independent of the four of us. Which is weird. Because previously, Curly's wife and I were friends independent of the group, but the boys just came to dinner when they were told. And now they're all hanging out and camping and... DEAR GOD I'M GOING TO HAVE TO CAMP! Which I've actually made my peace with.**** Until the boy told me about the new tent he had purchased. The tent that is big enough for him, myself, and "our dogs." (cue the ominous music) I'm sorry, what? Not only do I have to camp, I have to camp with my nemesis? When did I sign on for this??
***Because sometimes people turn thirty. And sometimes when they turn thirty, they do crazy, insane, out of their mind things that they would never normally do. And sometimes those things are incredibly poorly thought out, but turn into once-in-a-lifetime breathtaking adventures. But they were still insanity. This should never, ever, be forgotten.
****Beer. There will be lots of beer. Enough beer so that the gigantic bugs disappear and are definitely not within a one mile radius of me.
Friday, June 27, 2008
The Weekend!
So....Tyson still lives. When it came right down to it, the boy just couldn't do it. We got the name of another behaviorist, and the boy will see if this guy has any new tricks up his sleeve that we can try with Tyson.
Thanks so much for all of your suggestions and commiserations. Interestingly, the vet that we go to doesn't much like to prescribe medication for behavioral issues (and this is very in line with our point of view as well) but he seemed to like the suggestion given by the vet tech for a medicine that can be administered to Tyson before any scheduled changes to the normal routine. (Like, say, a dinner date, or weekend at the parent's house...) I saw this suggestion from commenters and I was impressed. I had never even considered such an idea. That's why I'm glad we had people who weren't so close to the situation who could think outside the box, per se.
I also saw suggestions to re-home Tyson, and if you don't know Tyson personally, I can completely understand that this would be the first thought to pop into your head. I am a strong proponent of rehoming your animal before giving them up to a shelter or taking the "easy" way out. However, I also got this suggestion from the behaviorist that we used to work with, and I found it completely irresponsible. She knows Tyson and his issues intimately.
Tyson has severe separation anxiety and the boy is his one and only (to put it lightly.) It's not as though the boy and I are novices with pit bulls, or with dealing with Tyson's issues. I just can't imagine how guilty I would feel dropping this dog and all of his issues on someone new, even if they say they're ready to handle it - it will be SO MUCH worse in the beginning because Tyson will not only be in an entirely new situation, but he will also not be with the boy. I thought about this one for a long long time, and the list of criteria for a potential new owner for Tyson would have to be:
Young (Tyson is STRONG and needs exercise)
Stay at home (or work from home)
Experience with pit bulls
Willing to exercise Tyson regularly (or have a lot of land to let him roam on walks)
Willing to take on the expense of a dog who may require medication his entire life
Have no other dogs (unless very very submissive.)
Have no cats
Most people who have the experience to work with Tyson are regulars in rescue or animal behavior. Most of them don't only have one animal.... (I guess I'm a case in point...) I just feel like the boy really IS Tyson's last chance.
(Tyson was actually slated to be put down by the rescue I work for because he couldn't be fostered (due to the crating/dominance issue) but I opened my big mouth and said, "Oh! My boyfriend lives in a house and he could probably foster him!" So basically, this is all my fault. I think that what got to me back then was the fact that even though Tyson was big, goofy, and couldn't be crated, his tail was bleeding from the tip when we got him. Why? Because even though he had been in a crate at the shelter and when he was being transported to us, his damn tail never stopped wagging, and he banged it up so much it was bleeding. I need to get over this soft-hearted thing. It only gets me into trouble.)
Given that difficult and traumatic decision yesterday and the fact that I've been trying to be there for the boy as much as possible, I am SO ready for the weekend. Not that it will be relaxing. My parents are coming into town, and my dad almost made me cry when he offered to help me clean out my spider and large insect (seriously - you have no idea. I originally thought this one brown thing was a mouse...nope - large brown bug. I almost fainted. The only thing that kept me holding on to consciousness was the fact that if I fainted, I would be on the ground where all the spiders and insects were living. ewwwww) infested garage so that I can park my car in it. Apparently the garage hasn't been used for years. Stupid Curvy. (My dad didn't even laugh when I told him I didn't know whether or not the electricity in the garage worked because the socket for the lighbulb was well inside the garage and beyond where the sunlight entered when I opened the door, so there was no way in HELL I was going in there to test it out. He just understood that I can handle a lot, but bugs just aren't my forte... He said we'll figure it out when he gets here (which I translate to mean that he'll handle it and I'll help as much as I can...) Why oh why can't I meet a guy like my dad??) I set off a bug bomb last night, but I'm afraid to open the door and see what happened. The boy asked me what I was afraid of. Well, basically, I'm (irrationally, I know) afraid that the bug bomb had no effect, and that it just made the spiders and large unidentified insects angry...so if I open the door, well, they'll attack me.
Shut it. You all have phobias too.
So, facing the prospect of large bugs, and certain lawn care (my dad is bringing me an edger. I'm ashamed to say that I didn't know what that was when he originally mentioned it. I planned to mow. And now apparently I have to edge. Great. Just one more thing to keep in the garage.) this weekend doesn't seem all that appealing, though it will be fabulous to see my folks. Today started off quietly, and I was just pushing through a Friday at work, when I heard this song on the radio:
It makes me so happy! I swear I've had it on repeat for the last hour. Added to that, a friend sent me a random email basically saying that they were proud of me for the cohabitation hiatus, and he knows how difficult that must have been for me, but I did the right thing.
That, my friends, is why I ALWAYS give compliments when I think of them. You never know when a little word of kindness that crosses your mind and is expressed can make someone else's day.
So with Tyson alive and kicking, and facing certain trauma from the garage this weekend, I'm in a remarkably good mood! I'm even happy enough to drop $139.99 on this window a/c unit and then try to install it myself. Wish me luck! (I'm not even going to read the email response from the old behaviorist after I called her suggestion irresponsible. It will just mess up my chi. :-)
Thanks so much for all of your suggestions and commiserations. Interestingly, the vet that we go to doesn't much like to prescribe medication for behavioral issues (and this is very in line with our point of view as well) but he seemed to like the suggestion given by the vet tech for a medicine that can be administered to Tyson before any scheduled changes to the normal routine. (Like, say, a dinner date, or weekend at the parent's house...) I saw this suggestion from commenters and I was impressed. I had never even considered such an idea. That's why I'm glad we had people who weren't so close to the situation who could think outside the box, per se.
I also saw suggestions to re-home Tyson, and if you don't know Tyson personally, I can completely understand that this would be the first thought to pop into your head. I am a strong proponent of rehoming your animal before giving them up to a shelter or taking the "easy" way out. However, I also got this suggestion from the behaviorist that we used to work with, and I found it completely irresponsible. She knows Tyson and his issues intimately.
Tyson has severe separation anxiety and the boy is his one and only (to put it lightly.) It's not as though the boy and I are novices with pit bulls, or with dealing with Tyson's issues. I just can't imagine how guilty I would feel dropping this dog and all of his issues on someone new, even if they say they're ready to handle it - it will be SO MUCH worse in the beginning because Tyson will not only be in an entirely new situation, but he will also not be with the boy. I thought about this one for a long long time, and the list of criteria for a potential new owner for Tyson would have to be:
Young (Tyson is STRONG and needs exercise)
Stay at home (or work from home)
Experience with pit bulls
Willing to exercise Tyson regularly (or have a lot of land to let him roam on walks)
Willing to take on the expense of a dog who may require medication his entire life
Have no other dogs (unless very very submissive.)
Have no cats
Most people who have the experience to work with Tyson are regulars in rescue or animal behavior. Most of them don't only have one animal.... (I guess I'm a case in point...) I just feel like the boy really IS Tyson's last chance.
(Tyson was actually slated to be put down by the rescue I work for because he couldn't be fostered (due to the crating/dominance issue) but I opened my big mouth and said, "Oh! My boyfriend lives in a house and he could probably foster him!" So basically, this is all my fault. I think that what got to me back then was the fact that even though Tyson was big, goofy, and couldn't be crated, his tail was bleeding from the tip when we got him. Why? Because even though he had been in a crate at the shelter and when he was being transported to us, his damn tail never stopped wagging, and he banged it up so much it was bleeding. I need to get over this soft-hearted thing. It only gets me into trouble.)
Given that difficult and traumatic decision yesterday and the fact that I've been trying to be there for the boy as much as possible, I am SO ready for the weekend. Not that it will be relaxing. My parents are coming into town, and my dad almost made me cry when he offered to help me clean out my spider and large insect (seriously - you have no idea. I originally thought this one brown thing was a mouse...nope - large brown bug. I almost fainted. The only thing that kept me holding on to consciousness was the fact that if I fainted, I would be on the ground where all the spiders and insects were living. ewwwww) infested garage so that I can park my car in it. Apparently the garage hasn't been used for years. Stupid Curvy. (My dad didn't even laugh when I told him I didn't know whether or not the electricity in the garage worked because the socket for the lighbulb was well inside the garage and beyond where the sunlight entered when I opened the door, so there was no way in HELL I was going in there to test it out. He just understood that I can handle a lot, but bugs just aren't my forte... He said we'll figure it out when he gets here (which I translate to mean that he'll handle it and I'll help as much as I can...) Why oh why can't I meet a guy like my dad??) I set off a bug bomb last night, but I'm afraid to open the door and see what happened. The boy asked me what I was afraid of. Well, basically, I'm (irrationally, I know) afraid that the bug bomb had no effect, and that it just made the spiders and large unidentified insects angry...so if I open the door, well, they'll attack me.
Shut it. You all have phobias too.
So, facing the prospect of large bugs, and certain lawn care (my dad is bringing me an edger. I'm ashamed to say that I didn't know what that was when he originally mentioned it. I planned to mow. And now apparently I have to edge. Great. Just one more thing to keep in the garage.) this weekend doesn't seem all that appealing, though it will be fabulous to see my folks. Today started off quietly, and I was just pushing through a Friday at work, when I heard this song on the radio:
It makes me so happy! I swear I've had it on repeat for the last hour. Added to that, a friend sent me a random email basically saying that they were proud of me for the cohabitation hiatus, and he knows how difficult that must have been for me, but I did the right thing.
That, my friends, is why I ALWAYS give compliments when I think of them. You never know when a little word of kindness that crosses your mind and is expressed can make someone else's day.
So with Tyson alive and kicking, and facing certain trauma from the garage this weekend, I'm in a remarkably good mood! I'm even happy enough to drop $139.99 on this window a/c unit and then try to install it myself. Wish me luck! (I'm not even going to read the email response from the old behaviorist after I called her suggestion irresponsible. It will just mess up my chi. :-)
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Tough Times
An issue has arisen in the house of boy.
A friend of his got married this past weekend, and he was a groomsman in the wedding. This meant he was out late on Friday night with the rehearsal dinner/bachelor party and then gone most of the day Saturday for the wedding.
This, of course, left his dog alone for quite a while in a new place.
The boy had been making headway in the crate training. After all, he didn't want the carpet in the new place to end up like it did in the last place. For short periods of time, Tyson had been left in the crate with some success.
But the boy got up late after the bachelor party, walked Tyson, and then started getting ready for the wedding. This was obviously a different routine that what Tyson had become accustomed to. (during the cohabitation experiment, if the routine was altered, Tyson would begin crying and digging at the door immediately....sometimes waking Emily up at 6:00am and almost losing his life in an unpleasant manner.) When the boy was leaving for the wedding, he noticed that Tyson already seemed anxious since his normal routine had been altered. When he left, Tyson began digging at the carpet immediately.
The boy returned to the apartment, and put Tyson into his velociraptor crate. (Go on. Click on the link. Take a refresher look at the crate in all of its glory. I'll wait.)
I would show you a picture of what the crate looks like now (not to mention what Tyson looks like now) but it's seriously horrifying to see. The upper right hand corner of the door of the crate is bent back, and the top lock is broken off. (Keep in mind that this is aluminum sheet metal!) Tyson has broken off his last remaining canine tooth and broken or split four nails from digging in the metal crate. His face is disfigured from the swelling that resulted from pushing his head against the sheet metal door to bend it back in an effort to escape from the crate. There are several scratches around his face from the metal door.
He is still limping today and has a visit with the vet tomorrow to see if he needs further medical attention.
I would normally joke about the craziness of the dog...but now I feel horrible for just assuming that the dog was being stubborn and not realizing that he really is mentally unstable. He hurt himself (and badly) trying to get out of the crate that he's learned to tolerate in small doses - simply because something misfires in his head and tells him that if he's left in the crate, something horrible will happen.
So the boy faces a horrible choice. Life his life completely around the schedule of a mentally unbalanced dog, or put his buddy to rest.
Me? I'm left angry at the person who did this to Tyson. The person who did something so horrible to Tyson that it left him scarred before the boy or I ever met him. I feel guilt that there's nothing more I can do to help him.
On the one hand, Tyson is a great dog when he's not separated from the boy for long periods of time. On the other hand, no one's life is so structured that there won't be sometimes when the dogs will only get a quick walk between outings or commitments. Should the boy have to live his life knowing that he can't be away from his dog for more than eight hours at a time?
One the one hand, Tyson isn't at all aggressive. On the other hand, he can't live with another alpha dog because, while he won't start anything, if another dog tries to exert dominance on Tyson...well, Tyson doesn't let them.
On the one hand, Tyson doesn't chew or destroy anything when left to his own devices in the apartment and on a set schedule. On the other hand, any variation to the schedule and he can be destructive - to both property and himself.
On the one hand, Tyson could be medicated. On the other hand, what will that do to his quality of life? Maybe there isn't a medication that will work. The first one that we tried had no effect.
It's a very difficult situation, and it couldn't have come at a worse time. Between our cohabitation hiatus, and this situation with Tyson, the boy feels understandably depressed. I'm doing the best I can to be there, but I'm at a loss as to what to do. There is no advice I can give - the boy has to do what he feels he needs to do. There is no comfort I can give if he has to give up his buddy. I can only take him to my vet and hold his hand. (and offer to let him cuddle with Blue and Casey to see if they can do something I can't.)
Just keep him in your thoughts, okay? And any advice you can give him (or me) would be much appreciated.
A friend of his got married this past weekend, and he was a groomsman in the wedding. This meant he was out late on Friday night with the rehearsal dinner/bachelor party and then gone most of the day Saturday for the wedding.
This, of course, left his dog alone for quite a while in a new place.
The boy had been making headway in the crate training. After all, he didn't want the carpet in the new place to end up like it did in the last place. For short periods of time, Tyson had been left in the crate with some success.
But the boy got up late after the bachelor party, walked Tyson, and then started getting ready for the wedding. This was obviously a different routine that what Tyson had become accustomed to. (during the cohabitation experiment, if the routine was altered, Tyson would begin crying and digging at the door immediately....sometimes waking Emily up at 6:00am and almost losing his life in an unpleasant manner.) When the boy was leaving for the wedding, he noticed that Tyson already seemed anxious since his normal routine had been altered. When he left, Tyson began digging at the carpet immediately.
The boy returned to the apartment, and put Tyson into his velociraptor crate. (Go on. Click on the link. Take a refresher look at the crate in all of its glory. I'll wait.)
I would show you a picture of what the crate looks like now (not to mention what Tyson looks like now) but it's seriously horrifying to see. The upper right hand corner of the door of the crate is bent back, and the top lock is broken off. (Keep in mind that this is aluminum sheet metal!) Tyson has broken off his last remaining canine tooth and broken or split four nails from digging in the metal crate. His face is disfigured from the swelling that resulted from pushing his head against the sheet metal door to bend it back in an effort to escape from the crate. There are several scratches around his face from the metal door.
He is still limping today and has a visit with the vet tomorrow to see if he needs further medical attention.
I would normally joke about the craziness of the dog...but now I feel horrible for just assuming that the dog was being stubborn and not realizing that he really is mentally unstable. He hurt himself (and badly) trying to get out of the crate that he's learned to tolerate in small doses - simply because something misfires in his head and tells him that if he's left in the crate, something horrible will happen.
So the boy faces a horrible choice. Life his life completely around the schedule of a mentally unbalanced dog, or put his buddy to rest.
Me? I'm left angry at the person who did this to Tyson. The person who did something so horrible to Tyson that it left him scarred before the boy or I ever met him. I feel guilt that there's nothing more I can do to help him.
On the one hand, Tyson is a great dog when he's not separated from the boy for long periods of time. On the other hand, no one's life is so structured that there won't be sometimes when the dogs will only get a quick walk between outings or commitments. Should the boy have to live his life knowing that he can't be away from his dog for more than eight hours at a time?
One the one hand, Tyson isn't at all aggressive. On the other hand, he can't live with another alpha dog because, while he won't start anything, if another dog tries to exert dominance on Tyson...well, Tyson doesn't let them.
On the one hand, Tyson doesn't chew or destroy anything when left to his own devices in the apartment and on a set schedule. On the other hand, any variation to the schedule and he can be destructive - to both property and himself.
On the one hand, Tyson could be medicated. On the other hand, what will that do to his quality of life? Maybe there isn't a medication that will work. The first one that we tried had no effect.
It's a very difficult situation, and it couldn't have come at a worse time. Between our cohabitation hiatus, and this situation with Tyson, the boy feels understandably depressed. I'm doing the best I can to be there, but I'm at a loss as to what to do. There is no advice I can give - the boy has to do what he feels he needs to do. There is no comfort I can give if he has to give up his buddy. I can only take him to my vet and hold his hand. (and offer to let him cuddle with Blue and Casey to see if they can do something I can't.)
Just keep him in your thoughts, okay? And any advice you can give him (or me) would be much appreciated.
Friday, February 15, 2008
A short break from Peru
Sometimes, I wonder how I got lucky enough to find this job? Meet Olive. 
She's visiting today until her forever family comes and picks her up this afternoon. The picture doesn't do her justice. She's SO cute. Luckily, I can love on her and call her cute and give her kisses...and then send her home at the end of the day. Three dogs are all I can handle right now. Promise. I look longingly back on the days when all I had was Casey. Sigh.
Also seen at work...the flowers on my desk. Well played, dear boyfriend. Given my disdain for the holiday, he didn't resort to the cliché of roses, but
(against my wishes) brought me flowers anyway. Apparently he's in on the secret that even the most cynical of hearts melts when confronted by flowers... Damn. Who told him? He even remembered to look for a boquet with Gerbera Daisies. I guess Valentine's Day brings out the best in all men?
Other random notes:
- I had a chem quiz yesterday that I'm fairly certain I aced. Woo to the Hoo! Unfortunately, in class immediately following, my professor mentioned quadratic equations. Do YOU remember quadratic equations? Me neither.
- I'm venturing out of my apartment tonight for dinner with friends, and Saturday night for game night with other friends. I feel like a normal person again. (though I'm sure my schoolwork will suffer.)
- I bought a book called "All About Us" and asked the boyfriend to fill it out with me if he absolutely felt he must get me something for Valentine's Day. He was as thrilled as you can imagine. (I wonder if the flowers were an attempt to get out of this?) Regardless, it's filled with interesting, thought provoking questions. As long as you're both honest, I recommend this book to anyone.
- It's COLD here. Like "dogs-run-out-to-do-their-business-then-turn-around-to-come-back-in" cold. I dislike cold. I need to move to California or something. Anyone want to pay my rent?
- The boyfriend's birthday is in a week and a half. Any suggestions for what I can get him?
- Tyson is currently on a regimen of drugs to help with his anxiety. I don't want to jinx it, but so far, it seems to be working. That's the good news. The bad news is that he's only on the drugs for 12 weeks. During that time, we're supposed to get him used to being in his crate (and NOT injuring himself). Fun.
- Starbucks is one of the most interesting places on the planet. Did you know that? When the ridiculously short hours for the library closest to my house end, I tend to move the studying to Starbucks. I've seen breakups, I've seen divorced parents doing the child swap, I've seen giggling high school girls (lots and lots of giggling high school girls)... I mean, you name it, I've seen it. I'll blog about this someday. Who knew?
She's visiting today until her forever family comes and picks her up this afternoon. The picture doesn't do her justice. She's SO cute. Luckily, I can love on her and call her cute and give her kisses...and then send her home at the end of the day. Three dogs are all I can handle right now. Promise. I look longingly back on the days when all I had was Casey. Sigh.Also seen at work...the flowers on my desk. Well played, dear boyfriend. Given my disdain for the holiday, he didn't resort to the cliché of roses, but
(against my wishes) brought me flowers anyway. Apparently he's in on the secret that even the most cynical of hearts melts when confronted by flowers... Damn. Who told him? He even remembered to look for a boquet with Gerbera Daisies. I guess Valentine's Day brings out the best in all men?Other random notes:
- I had a chem quiz yesterday that I'm fairly certain I aced. Woo to the Hoo! Unfortunately, in class immediately following, my professor mentioned quadratic equations. Do YOU remember quadratic equations? Me neither.
- I'm venturing out of my apartment tonight for dinner with friends, and Saturday night for game night with other friends. I feel like a normal person again. (though I'm sure my schoolwork will suffer.)
- I bought a book called "All About Us" and asked the boyfriend to fill it out with me if he absolutely felt he must get me something for Valentine's Day. He was as thrilled as you can imagine. (I wonder if the flowers were an attempt to get out of this?) Regardless, it's filled with interesting, thought provoking questions. As long as you're both honest, I recommend this book to anyone.
- It's COLD here. Like "dogs-run-out-to-do-their-business-then-turn-around-to-come-back-in" cold. I dislike cold. I need to move to California or something. Anyone want to pay my rent?
- The boyfriend's birthday is in a week and a half. Any suggestions for what I can get him?
- Tyson is currently on a regimen of drugs to help with his anxiety. I don't want to jinx it, but so far, it seems to be working. That's the good news. The bad news is that he's only on the drugs for 12 weeks. During that time, we're supposed to get him used to being in his crate (and NOT injuring himself). Fun.
- Starbucks is one of the most interesting places on the planet. Did you know that? When the ridiculously short hours for the library closest to my house end, I tend to move the studying to Starbucks. I've seen breakups, I've seen divorced parents doing the child swap, I've seen giggling high school girls (lots and lots of giggling high school girls)... I mean, you name it, I've seen it. I'll blog about this someday. Who knew?
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Making Progress...
So, I just found out that my digital camera can take video.
I mean, it's crappy video. And it has no sound. But it does show that we are making SOME progress with getting Tyson into his crate. What this video shows is Tyson in a sit/stay. Then the boyfriend calls to him and tells him to "kennel up."
You can CLEARLY (well, as clearly as the crappy resolution allows) see Tyson enter the crate of his own free will.
I'm so excited I can hardly contain myself. The next step is shutting the door and leaving him in there. Well, not for long...but you know. We'll start small. We'll eventually be at hours at a time.
I can't sit still, I'm so excited.
But if I want to be 100% honest with the internet audience (and honestly, how many people can possibly be reading this? so what is my real obligation to be honest??) um, we shut the door on him when he went into his crate voluntarily in this video, and it wasn't pretty.
So what you don't get to see is the whining, and the crying that came just after the camera stopped rolling, and we shut the door. I mean, he didn't even struggle to get out of the crate. It's like he knew it was futile. He just immediately went to howling. It was painful.
But - let's focus on the positives here. Did you watch the silent video? He went in the crate alone. No shoving, no cajoling, no wrestling. You've got to accentuate the positives, right? That is NOT deluding yourself. That is...um... seeing the glass as half full instead of half empty. :-)
I mean, it's crappy video. And it has no sound. But it does show that we are making SOME progress with getting Tyson into his crate. What this video shows is Tyson in a sit/stay. Then the boyfriend calls to him and tells him to "kennel up."
You can CLEARLY (well, as clearly as the crappy resolution allows) see Tyson enter the crate of his own free will.
I'm so excited I can hardly contain myself. The next step is shutting the door and leaving him in there. Well, not for long...but you know. We'll start small. We'll eventually be at hours at a time.
I can't sit still, I'm so excited.
But if I want to be 100% honest with the internet audience (and honestly, how many people can possibly be reading this? so what is my real obligation to be honest??) um, we shut the door on him when he went into his crate voluntarily in this video, and it wasn't pretty.
So what you don't get to see is the whining, and the crying that came just after the camera stopped rolling, and we shut the door. I mean, he didn't even struggle to get out of the crate. It's like he knew it was futile. He just immediately went to howling. It was painful.
But - let's focus on the positives here. Did you watch the silent video? He went in the crate alone. No shoving, no cajoling, no wrestling. You've got to accentuate the positives, right? That is NOT deluding yourself. That is...um... seeing the glass as half full instead of half empty. :-)
Sunday, November 04, 2007
Colts - 20, Patriots 24
Tonight - I got nothing. I just watched my team lose a comfortable lead in the fourth quarter to a hated rival. Boo. I don't have any creativity left. So instead I'll post a silly picture of my dogs in Colts gear.
This is why I don't have children. Because I would take embarrassing pictures of them all the time and they would grow up scarred for life.
This is why I don't have children. Because I would take embarrassing pictures of them all the time and they would grow up scarred for life.
Saturday, November 03, 2007
Success! (well...sorta.)
Contrary to what the last three days may lead you to believe, this blog is not always about Tyson. However, crate training is dominating my evenings lately, and it's much more interesting to read about than the Chemistry test I just took, right? By the way...
We did actually get him in the crate tonight.
But what you can't see here is that the boyfriend is feeding him snacks at a rate of approximately 15 per minute. I'm not exaggerating. I didn't even want to close the door on him yet. I'm still working on getting him to accept that the crate is a happy place - not a bad place. But I think the boyfriend needed encouragement that his dog WAS actually learning and NOT the devil incarnate. So we closed the door. And Tyson was in the kennel. And he didn't make a sound between the 500 treats he was given.
Oh, and when the door was opened, he ran out so fast that the boyfriend barely had time to back away and avoid getting run over. Does that seem like a dog on the verge of being crate trained to you?
Me neither.
And he still doesn't go in voluntarily. When I tell him to kennel up, he still looks at me like I'm an idiot. When I say it again, he looks doubtfully at the kennel and then back at me.
(this is obviously to let me know that he KNOWS what I want...he just doesn't want to do it. I think the bonus effect is that it makes me really really angry. I personally think the dog gets some sick pleasure from not listening to me.)
(Okay, so know that's not true. That's not how dogs think. But that's how I FEEL.)
In the meantime, as I keep saying "kennel up" to Tyson, Casey is patiently waiting to be recognized as a "good doggy." Please note the open door. She's in there voluntarily. She's such a good girl.
(Nope. No bias here. No favoritism. None at all.)
Unfortunately (for Tyson) his extreme love of food outweighs his extreme hatred of the kennel. So he'll eventually go in. But still in on his terms. So I get this.
or this
That's okay. For now, it's enough. I think we're now at Tyson 1, Emily 1/2
We did actually get him in the crate tonight.
But what you can't see here is that the boyfriend is feeding him snacks at a rate of approximately 15 per minute. I'm not exaggerating. I didn't even want to close the door on him yet. I'm still working on getting him to accept that the crate is a happy place - not a bad place. But I think the boyfriend needed encouragement that his dog WAS actually learning and NOT the devil incarnate. So we closed the door. And Tyson was in the kennel. And he didn't make a sound between the 500 treats he was given.Oh, and when the door was opened, he ran out so fast that the boyfriend barely had time to back away and avoid getting run over. Does that seem like a dog on the verge of being crate trained to you?
Me neither. And he still doesn't go in voluntarily. When I tell him to kennel up, he still looks at me like I'm an idiot. When I say it again, he looks doubtfully at the kennel and then back at me.
(this is obviously to let me know that he KNOWS what I want...he just doesn't want to do it. I think the bonus effect is that it makes me really really angry. I personally think the dog gets some sick pleasure from not listening to me.)
(Okay, so know that's not true. That's not how dogs think. But that's how I FEEL.)
In the meantime, as I keep saying "kennel up" to Tyson, Casey is patiently waiting to be recognized as a "good doggy." Please note the open door. She's in there voluntarily. She's such a good girl.
(Nope. No bias here. No favoritism. None at all.)
Unfortunately (for Tyson) his extreme love of food outweighs his extreme hatred of the kennel. So he'll eventually go in. But still in on his terms. So I get this.
or this
That's okay. For now, it's enough. I think we're now at Tyson 1, Emily 1/2
Friday, November 02, 2007
Is that a velociraptor in your living room?
So, Tyson's a stubborn ass, and I need a crate that can hold him. Luckily, the more I get involved with pit bull rescue, the more networking I happen to fall into.
This past weekend, at a march to raise awareness about bully breeds and breed specific legislation, I met a lady who trains dogs for police work. She also used to breed American Bulldogs for show. I had heard that she had a crate that was guaranteed to hold any dog, and I had heard that she would sell it for cheap.
The answer to my prayers, right? Um, kinda. Here's the crate
Is it just me, or does it bear a striking resemblance to one of the opening scenes of Jurassic Park? Every time I walk by it, I want to yell, "Shoot her! Shoooooot her!!"
But I guess beggars can't be choosers.
So the night after we brought the eyesore into the apartment, the boyfriend and I began training Tyson to actually get in the thing. Surprisingly, this proved sorta easy. You see, the one thing I have going for me in all of this is that Tyson is very food driven. I think he could eat 24 hours a day and still be hungry for more.
So I sliced up some summer sausage, and put my fingers through one of the air holes in the back of the kennel while saying, "kennel up Tyson."
Casey immediately ran into her kennel and sat - almost quivering with excitement. I could almost hear her thoughts. "Oh oh! I know! I know what this means! Look at me, mom!! Look at me!!" It broke my heart that I couldn't give her a piece. But she has a notoriously weak stomach, and besides, I had bigger fish to fry.
Tyson's first plan was to ram his head against my hand in the hopes that he would knock my fingers out from the air hole, and the piece of summer sausage onto the floor. His plan succeeded twice. Apparently he's not as dumb as he looks.
I started cutting bigger pieces, and bracing myself against his weight. As his plan became less successful, he looked doubtfully at the door of the crate.
"That's a good boy," I crooned. "Kennel up."
At this point, he ran into the kennel, snatched the sausage from my fingers, and backed out amidst much praise from the two humans who were watching the whole thing. The next piece of sausage went much the same way. And the next. And the next. Until Tyson would enter the crate on the "kennel up" command. I thought we had won. And then I saw this:
Jerk.
Apparently his definition of "in the crate" is different than my definition of "in the crate." We'll work on that next.
This past weekend, at a march to raise awareness about bully breeds and breed specific legislation, I met a lady who trains dogs for police work. She also used to breed American Bulldogs for show. I had heard that she had a crate that was guaranteed to hold any dog, and I had heard that she would sell it for cheap.
The answer to my prayers, right? Um, kinda. Here's the crate
Is it just me, or does it bear a striking resemblance to one of the opening scenes of Jurassic Park? Every time I walk by it, I want to yell, "Shoot her! Shoooooot her!!"
But I guess beggars can't be choosers.
So the night after we brought the eyesore into the apartment, the boyfriend and I began training Tyson to actually get in the thing. Surprisingly, this proved sorta easy. You see, the one thing I have going for me in all of this is that Tyson is very food driven. I think he could eat 24 hours a day and still be hungry for more.
So I sliced up some summer sausage, and put my fingers through one of the air holes in the back of the kennel while saying, "kennel up Tyson."
Casey immediately ran into her kennel and sat - almost quivering with excitement. I could almost hear her thoughts. "Oh oh! I know! I know what this means! Look at me, mom!! Look at me!!" It broke my heart that I couldn't give her a piece. But she has a notoriously weak stomach, and besides, I had bigger fish to fry.
Tyson's first plan was to ram his head against my hand in the hopes that he would knock my fingers out from the air hole, and the piece of summer sausage onto the floor. His plan succeeded twice. Apparently he's not as dumb as he looks.
I started cutting bigger pieces, and bracing myself against his weight. As his plan became less successful, he looked doubtfully at the door of the crate.
"That's a good boy," I crooned. "Kennel up."
At this point, he ran into the kennel, snatched the sausage from my fingers, and backed out amidst much praise from the two humans who were watching the whole thing. The next piece of sausage went much the same way. And the next. And the next. Until Tyson would enter the crate on the "kennel up" command. I thought we had won. And then I saw this:
Jerk.
Apparently his definition of "in the crate" is different than my definition of "in the crate." We'll work on that next.
Thursday, November 01, 2007
Adventures in Crate Training
Let me just begin by saying that I hate that dog.
The more that I live with Tyson, the more I come to understand his personality.
Casey is like the ADD validectorian of your high school. She really really really wants to please the teacher and get an A in her class. She's always paying attention, and she's learning as much as she can. When you want her to perform, she's going to do her best - as long as there is nothing bright and shiny, or loud, or unexpected....or...well, as long as there isn't ANYTHING to distract her.
Tyson is more like a student who really likes his teachers, and wants them to like him, but when it comes right down to it, he can beat the living shit out of them. So if he doesn't want to listen, he knows he doesn't really have to. And since he's more stubborn than 99% of the population, he's practically guaranteed to get his way.
Unfortunately he lives with me, and I'm part of the 1% who can trump him in the stubborn department. I may not be able to find my way out of the forest with a map, and I may not be able to say no to chips and queso, but I'm a stubborn ass when I want to be.
All this basically means that Tyson and I are squaring off for an epic battle.
To review - Casey is crate trained. She has been crated since she was the six week old puppy who came to live with me. This is her crate:
Crate training her wasn't easy, but even though I know she would never harm my cat, I'm of the opinion that dogs do not need free reign over a household. A) I don't have an unlimited furniture budget, B) even the best dogs get into trouble sometimes, and C) they're dogs. I hate people who tell me that it's less cruel to let the dog roam free in a house all day. It's not. They're still confined. It's just a bigger crate. They spend most of the time sleeping anyway. (And to those who say, "Well I wouldn't want to be in a crate all day." I say "I don't really want to sniff pee and roll in it either. That's what makes us different than dogs.")
Casey is used to her crate now. So much so that exceptions can be made and she can sleep out with me sometimes, or spend days at a time with me and never go into her crate. But when I say "kennel up" she's in her crate immediately.
Tyson is NOT crate trained. Before we knew that he was insane, the boyfriend purchased a crate for him that was identical to Casey's, put him in it, and proceeded to get ready for work. He had just gotten to the bathroom and picked up his toothbrush when he saw Tyson sitting by the bathroom door. We estimate that it took him 30 seconds to break the welds on the door and shove his way out of the crate.
The next step was an airline kennel. It looks like this:
This one took him a little longer. It took him about 5 minutes to break the door off of its hinges to get out. After that, we did what any rational couple would do. We put bungee cords around the crate to hold the door in place, and then took the added step of facing the door of the kennel towards the wall (once Tyson was in it of course) and put the sofa behind the kennel to keep it from moving when he started trying to fight his way out.
That held him. It wasn't pretty, but it held him. We had just gotten to the point where Tyson was throwing shit fits (literally) when the boyfriend threw in the towl. I don't really blame him. I mean, he lived alone, crating Tyson was a huge pain in the ass and required furniture movement on a regular basis, which was unrealistic. So while he lived alone, the boyfriend basically gave in and Tyson had run of the apartment. He "loaned" his sister his crate to use for her dog.
Then the boyfriend and I moved in together. And you all know what happened then. But you've never actually SEEN the damage inflicted by the devil dog. Here it is, my friends, in all of its gruesome glory.
The carpet was destroyed within hours of moving Tyson into the apartment. Now, to keep our carpet from facing more destruction, we have placed an ugly piece of plastic over the torn carpet. Here's what it looks like now:
Note the cracks. The damn dog is digging through the plastic. But I guess I should be grateful that the door actually holds him in, right?
Since the day we moved in together, I've been telling the boyfriend that Tyson would be crate trained. I had visions of my beautiful apartment with an actual functioning guest room. Of my perfectly trained dogs who would go to bed on command. It was all too feasible...all I needed was a crate that Tyson couldn't break out of. Then he would learn once and for all that the humans in the apartment are actually the alpha dogs and are to be obeyed at all times.
I should be careful what I wish for, right? This time, I got it, but it's got a few unexpected strings attached.
More to come, but for now, I think the score stands at Tyson 1, Emily 0.
The more that I live with Tyson, the more I come to understand his personality.
Casey is like the ADD validectorian of your high school. She really really really wants to please the teacher and get an A in her class. She's always paying attention, and she's learning as much as she can. When you want her to perform, she's going to do her best - as long as there is nothing bright and shiny, or loud, or unexpected....or...well, as long as there isn't ANYTHING to distract her.
Tyson is more like a student who really likes his teachers, and wants them to like him, but when it comes right down to it, he can beat the living shit out of them. So if he doesn't want to listen, he knows he doesn't really have to. And since he's more stubborn than 99% of the population, he's practically guaranteed to get his way.
Unfortunately he lives with me, and I'm part of the 1% who can trump him in the stubborn department. I may not be able to find my way out of the forest with a map, and I may not be able to say no to chips and queso, but I'm a stubborn ass when I want to be.
All this basically means that Tyson and I are squaring off for an epic battle.
To review - Casey is crate trained. She has been crated since she was the six week old puppy who came to live with me. This is her crate:
Crate training her wasn't easy, but even though I know she would never harm my cat, I'm of the opinion that dogs do not need free reign over a household. A) I don't have an unlimited furniture budget, B) even the best dogs get into trouble sometimes, and C) they're dogs. I hate people who tell me that it's less cruel to let the dog roam free in a house all day. It's not. They're still confined. It's just a bigger crate. They spend most of the time sleeping anyway. (And to those who say, "Well I wouldn't want to be in a crate all day." I say "I don't really want to sniff pee and roll in it either. That's what makes us different than dogs.")
Casey is used to her crate now. So much so that exceptions can be made and she can sleep out with me sometimes, or spend days at a time with me and never go into her crate. But when I say "kennel up" she's in her crate immediately.
Tyson is NOT crate trained. Before we knew that he was insane, the boyfriend purchased a crate for him that was identical to Casey's, put him in it, and proceeded to get ready for work. He had just gotten to the bathroom and picked up his toothbrush when he saw Tyson sitting by the bathroom door. We estimate that it took him 30 seconds to break the welds on the door and shove his way out of the crate.
The next step was an airline kennel. It looks like this:
This one took him a little longer. It took him about 5 minutes to break the door off of its hinges to get out. After that, we did what any rational couple would do. We put bungee cords around the crate to hold the door in place, and then took the added step of facing the door of the kennel towards the wall (once Tyson was in it of course) and put the sofa behind the kennel to keep it from moving when he started trying to fight his way out.
That held him. It wasn't pretty, but it held him. We had just gotten to the point where Tyson was throwing shit fits (literally) when the boyfriend threw in the towl. I don't really blame him. I mean, he lived alone, crating Tyson was a huge pain in the ass and required furniture movement on a regular basis, which was unrealistic. So while he lived alone, the boyfriend basically gave in and Tyson had run of the apartment. He "loaned" his sister his crate to use for her dog.
Then the boyfriend and I moved in together. And you all know what happened then. But you've never actually SEEN the damage inflicted by the devil dog. Here it is, my friends, in all of its gruesome glory.
The carpet was destroyed within hours of moving Tyson into the apartment. Now, to keep our carpet from facing more destruction, we have placed an ugly piece of plastic over the torn carpet. Here's what it looks like now:
Note the cracks. The damn dog is digging through the plastic. But I guess I should be grateful that the door actually holds him in, right?
Since the day we moved in together, I've been telling the boyfriend that Tyson would be crate trained. I had visions of my beautiful apartment with an actual functioning guest room. Of my perfectly trained dogs who would go to bed on command. It was all too feasible...all I needed was a crate that Tyson couldn't break out of. Then he would learn once and for all that the humans in the apartment are actually the alpha dogs and are to be obeyed at all times.
I should be careful what I wish for, right? This time, I got it, but it's got a few unexpected strings attached.
More to come, but for now, I think the score stands at Tyson 1, Emily 0.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
The small woman/big truck phenomenon
When I was an intern in college, one of my bosses was talking over lunch about how attractive he found small women driving big trucks. I was A) disturbed and B) intrigued. What was it about women driving big trucks that was so sexy?
I asked him again on my last day at that internship. (I couldn't get up the courage until then, when I never had to face him again ) He didn't really have a reason why it was so sexy, but he said that some women on motorcycles or driving tractors were included in the phenomenon.
Over the years, I've never really understood the phenomenon, or why it applies in some situations and not others, but I have seen it in effect. I've just come to think that a woman doing anything manly is sexy...within reason.*
Which brings me to the here and now. I've been making it a point to walk with Casey for about an hour a day for the last two weeks or so. I'm trying to get daycare costs down, and she's still got so much of the puppy energy that if she's not exercised for any decent amount of time, there is no peace in my apartment that night for me, the boyfriend or poor Tyson whose legs are being chewed and whose toys are being stolen. I slowly came to realize that walking Casey wasn't cutting it. So we went back to an old standard - rollerblading with Casey. Something we both enjoy and that has the side effect of exhausing Casey.
When I walk with Casey, we just walk out of the apartment complex and down the adjoining busy road to the major intersection about two miles away, and then back. The entire trek is about 4.3 miles. Casey finishes and is ready for more. Dear God.
But when we rollerblade, we go to a little-known trail tucked in a park. It's about 2.16 miles one way. On the way to the end, I make Casey run beside me as we "race." On the way back, I attach the leash to her regular collar and she tows me home. Not great exercise for me, but FABULOUS exercise for Casey. She's pooped when she gets home. Mission accomplished.
But I sort of missed the walking. It was better for me, but worse for Casey. What to do?
It slowly dawned on me that there are TWO dogs in my apartment. So now, I walk Tyson for an hour, and then do the rollerblading with Casey afterwards. (Where is the boyfriend during all of this, you wonder? Good question. Send him an e-mail and tell him to exercise his own damn dog.)
I'm sure some of my Tyson-loving friends will love to hear that walking Tyson is actually more enjoyable than walking Casey. There is a downside (of course.) Tyson is lazy. I mean l-a-z-y. At about mile 2, he's wanting to lie down in the grass. I have to drag his ass the rest of the way back to the apartment. When it gets really bad, I'll call the boyfriend and have him walk ahead of us the way back. I swear, Tyson would walk through fire to follow him anywhere - psycho.
But there are several up-sides to walking Tyson. A) Should I choose to walk early in the morning, no one is going to mess with me when I'm with Tyson. I mean, I live in a suburb in Indiana, but still...you can never be too careful. B) He's not afraid of the dark. Casey will definitely hesitate if she can't see where she's going. C) He stays right by my side. Casey has a tendency to wander as far as her 16 foot retractable leash will allow. D) When someone is approaching (person or dog) Tyson assumes this protective position in front of me where he's standing at attention with his ears raised - ready for anything. I have a feeling that in the same situation, Casey would be barking her fool head off and running in circles.
But the weirdest difference between walking Tyson and Casey is the attention that I get walking down the busy road.
It's weird, but I get a noticeably higher number of honks or "Hey baby!"s when I'm walking Tyson than when I'm walking Casey. (Side note: my response to any sort of harrassment from cars passing me on the road is to raise my middle finger at them...so if I know you, and you're just honking to say hello, I apologize in advance. I don't usually take the time to look.) At first I thought it was a fluke. You know, a day of the week sort of thing. But it happened again. And again. I started wearing cuter workout clothes when walking Casey, and just a t-shirt and shorts when walking Tyson. Didn't matter. I tried different times of the day. In the morning, I get no honks from walking either dog. At noon, an average of one when I'm with Casey and three when I'm walking with Tyson. After work, I get about five honks with Casey and approximately five thousand when I'm with Tyson.
I mentioned this to the boyfriend, and he didn't seem to think it was weird. So I guess it must fall under the small woman/big truck phenomenon, right? I mean, Tyson is a man's dog if there ever was one (in appearance anyway.) He weighs over half of what I weigh, and he's wearing this huge scary looking pinch collar (that you never have to use - unless you're dragging him home.) So since those honks aren't "Hey baby"ing for Tyson (I hope), I must assume that Tyson is the best accessory EVER to make a female more attractive to men.
(What sort of men....now that's a whole other question.)
But, it's easier than buying a truck that you know you don't want to drive. It's easier than driving a tractor down the side of the road, and how many of us really have the extra money for a motorcycle?? If you want to take part in the small woman/big truck phenomenon, Tyson is the way to go.
So I'm officially offering Tyson to all of my single female friends. Please, feel free to borrow him to take a walk sometime after 5:00pm. (The time when, apparently, men are most likely to want to pay attention to women with big dogs.) He's available any day, just be sure to call ahead so I don't double book. I'm assuming that if honks aren't what you're after, you can take him to a park and actually strike up conversations with men who stop you to tell you how awesome your dog is, and how sexy you look walking him. You don't even have to tell your new man that the dog isn't yours... If you decide that you want to keep him...well, I'm sure something can be arranged.
Tyson's getting to be a chunky monkey, so I'm sure he'll love you for the exercise. So you're both doing a good deed AND attracting more men. Hell, I should clone him and make an informercial! Forget Paris Hilton and her tiny chihuahua - get a huge pit bull and get more dates!**
Call now to reserve your appointment. Get more dates! 60% of the time, it works every time!
* I mean, I don't think a woman who pees standing up is sexy...
**Not responsible for the caliber of men or any stalkers you may attract.
I asked him again on my last day at that internship. (I couldn't get up the courage until then, when I never had to face him again ) He didn't really have a reason why it was so sexy, but he said that some women on motorcycles or driving tractors were included in the phenomenon.
Over the years, I've never really understood the phenomenon, or why it applies in some situations and not others, but I have seen it in effect. I've just come to think that a woman doing anything manly is sexy...within reason.*
Which brings me to the here and now. I've been making it a point to walk with Casey for about an hour a day for the last two weeks or so. I'm trying to get daycare costs down, and she's still got so much of the puppy energy that if she's not exercised for any decent amount of time, there is no peace in my apartment that night for me, the boyfriend or poor Tyson whose legs are being chewed and whose toys are being stolen. I slowly came to realize that walking Casey wasn't cutting it. So we went back to an old standard - rollerblading with Casey. Something we both enjoy and that has the side effect of exhausing Casey.
When I walk with Casey, we just walk out of the apartment complex and down the adjoining busy road to the major intersection about two miles away, and then back. The entire trek is about 4.3 miles. Casey finishes and is ready for more. Dear God.
But when we rollerblade, we go to a little-known trail tucked in a park. It's about 2.16 miles one way. On the way to the end, I make Casey run beside me as we "race." On the way back, I attach the leash to her regular collar and she tows me home. Not great exercise for me, but FABULOUS exercise for Casey. She's pooped when she gets home. Mission accomplished.
But I sort of missed the walking. It was better for me, but worse for Casey. What to do?
It slowly dawned on me that there are TWO dogs in my apartment. So now, I walk Tyson for an hour, and then do the rollerblading with Casey afterwards. (Where is the boyfriend during all of this, you wonder? Good question. Send him an e-mail and tell him to exercise his own damn dog.)
I'm sure some of my Tyson-loving friends will love to hear that walking Tyson is actually more enjoyable than walking Casey. There is a downside (of course.) Tyson is lazy. I mean l-a-z-y. At about mile 2, he's wanting to lie down in the grass. I have to drag his ass the rest of the way back to the apartment. When it gets really bad, I'll call the boyfriend and have him walk ahead of us the way back. I swear, Tyson would walk through fire to follow him anywhere - psycho.
But there are several up-sides to walking Tyson. A) Should I choose to walk early in the morning, no one is going to mess with me when I'm with Tyson. I mean, I live in a suburb in Indiana, but still...you can never be too careful. B) He's not afraid of the dark. Casey will definitely hesitate if she can't see where she's going. C) He stays right by my side. Casey has a tendency to wander as far as her 16 foot retractable leash will allow. D) When someone is approaching (person or dog) Tyson assumes this protective position in front of me where he's standing at attention with his ears raised - ready for anything. I have a feeling that in the same situation, Casey would be barking her fool head off and running in circles.
But the weirdest difference between walking Tyson and Casey is the attention that I get walking down the busy road.
It's weird, but I get a noticeably higher number of honks or "Hey baby!"s when I'm walking Tyson than when I'm walking Casey. (Side note: my response to any sort of harrassment from cars passing me on the road is to raise my middle finger at them...so if I know you, and you're just honking to say hello, I apologize in advance. I don't usually take the time to look.) At first I thought it was a fluke. You know, a day of the week sort of thing. But it happened again. And again. I started wearing cuter workout clothes when walking Casey, and just a t-shirt and shorts when walking Tyson. Didn't matter. I tried different times of the day. In the morning, I get no honks from walking either dog. At noon, an average of one when I'm with Casey and three when I'm walking with Tyson. After work, I get about five honks with Casey and approximately five thousand when I'm with Tyson.
I mentioned this to the boyfriend, and he didn't seem to think it was weird. So I guess it must fall under the small woman/big truck phenomenon, right? I mean, Tyson is a man's dog if there ever was one (in appearance anyway.) He weighs over half of what I weigh, and he's wearing this huge scary looking pinch collar (that you never have to use - unless you're dragging him home.) So since those honks aren't "Hey baby"ing for Tyson (I hope), I must assume that Tyson is the best accessory EVER to make a female more attractive to men.
(What sort of men....now that's a whole other question.)
But, it's easier than buying a truck that you know you don't want to drive. It's easier than driving a tractor down the side of the road, and how many of us really have the extra money for a motorcycle?? If you want to take part in the small woman/big truck phenomenon, Tyson is the way to go.
So I'm officially offering Tyson to all of my single female friends. Please, feel free to borrow him to take a walk sometime after 5:00pm. (The time when, apparently, men are most likely to want to pay attention to women with big dogs.) He's available any day, just be sure to call ahead so I don't double book. I'm assuming that if honks aren't what you're after, you can take him to a park and actually strike up conversations with men who stop you to tell you how awesome your dog is, and how sexy you look walking him. You don't even have to tell your new man that the dog isn't yours... If you decide that you want to keep him...well, I'm sure something can be arranged.
Tyson's getting to be a chunky monkey, so I'm sure he'll love you for the exercise. So you're both doing a good deed AND attracting more men. Hell, I should clone him and make an informercial! Forget Paris Hilton and her tiny chihuahua - get a huge pit bull and get more dates!**
Call now to reserve your appointment. Get more dates! 60% of the time, it works every time!
* I mean, I don't think a woman who pees standing up is sexy...
**Not responsible for the caliber of men or any stalkers you may attract.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Crankypants
After Thanksgiving spent in the 'ville (where I learned that Casey has an affinity for large piles of leaves) my family made the trek to Indianapolis on Sunday for the Colts/Eagles game at the Dome. We were unable to all sit together, so there were two seats together in nosebleed, four seats together in nosebleed, and two seats together in the really really good section. The boyfriend and I spent the first half of the game in the nosebleeds, and the second half in the really really good seats. Honestly? The nosebleeds were more fun. That's where the rowdy, drunk, true Colts fans are. Rich people are too refined to cheer.....
Since the game was moved to Sunday night under the NFL flexible scheduling, (and coming home to a sick puppy and a mess in her crate) I got very little sleep Sunday night. This led to crankypants Emily on Monday and Tuesday. I'm just now recovering and mending fences. I couldn't even indulge in comfort food like one friend suggested since we're going on a cruise on Saturday and I would like to look decent in a bathing suit....
By the way, if you were EVER considering taking two, week long vacations in two months, don't.
Since Casey was sick, she came to work with me on Monday and Tuesday. She was a pain in my rear both days. Even though she's over a year old now, she still has that puppy energy, and got into everything she could get into. I finally got peace when I gave her a cardboard box which she then proceeded to destroy with relish.
Last night was the breaking point, though....which made me re-examine my cohabitation situation, and to provide an update to my blog readers. (Side note: I got an interesting comment from a friend the other day. She said, "I have to say I enjoy your blogs because it reminds me how your mind works. It's pretty funny sometimes, other times it's down right hilarious (usually because it's you and not me)" So I thought an update on the situation in my apartment was due.)
Tyson sucks. The end.
Okay, so there's more than that, but that's the main idea. The boyfriend complains that Tyson and Casey are treated differently, and that's not fair. I say that all dogs are not created equal. I mean, it's like how one child might get a balcony room with a view, while another child gets a padded cell with no windows. It's not because anyone is treating them unfairly, it's just that circumstances demand that one child be protected from themself and others. That child is Tyson.
I haven't had a meal in peace since the boyfriend and I moved in together, unless you count meals outside the apartment, or when the boyfriend generously decides to leave and take Tyson with him. That's six months of non-peaceful meals. Usually, my meals are accompanied with a background music made up of whines, howls, and general squealing. It's moved beyond pathetic to obnoxious at this point. I mean, when I have guests over....Oh wait! I CAN'T have guests over. That's right. Tyson screams like a banshee and the guests would think I'm torturing the dog while we're eating dinner. My bad.
The problem is that I can't leave the dogs free while we're eating. Casey is an active begger (shoving her nose in your face or as close to your plate as possible) and Tyson, well, while we're eating, I can't really watch Tyson 100% of the time, and if he smells Laney...well....
The animal behaviorist? Yeah, her suggestions to turn on the TV, put a t-shirt that smells like the boyfriend in the room, and reward good behavior, were all used. They all failed. Now, Tyson gets to watch TV all day and run up my electric bill. All the while, the bottom half of the door gets narrower and narrower as I find more and more wood chips on the floor from his digging. There goes the boyfriend's deposit :-)
The thing is, I don't think Tyson's behavior is caused by anxiety any longer. I mean, it's been 6 months. At this point, he's GOT to know that he sometimes gets out of the room, sometimes he's in the room, and he's always going to get to be with Nathan... I mean, he no longer cries in the mornings. At least there was progress there. I get up in the morning, get ready for work, walk the dogs, put them away with treats, and then go to work. Not a peep from Tyson. So he KNOWS what's going on. In the evenings, he's just being an asshole. I think he's trying to drive me insane so that I'M the one in a padded cell, and he can have the boyfriend all to himself again. I actually had the following discussion with my boss's wife the other day. I was completely serious.
"So, my brother got Casey a huge rawhide for Christmas. The thing must be three feet long and a foot high on the ends. I don't know what we're going to do with it. She can't get her mouth around it to chew. Maybe I'll just saw it in half and give half to Tyson and the other half to Casey."
"Does Tyson really deserve a Christmas gift?"
"Actually, I was hoping he would choke on it."
Not that Laney has gotten much better.... The peeing on the boyfriend's clothing has ceased, basically because now the boyfriend piles his dirty clothing on his dresser, my dresser, the bathroom counter...anywhere but the hamper. However, she has designated the boyfriend's chair (in our bedroom) as her second litter box and peed on it at least 5 times.
That 'Nature's Miracle' stuff that is made especially for cat urine and eliminates all odors and costs about $12 per little spray bottle? Yeah, it's a crap. I may as well have purchased a very expensive spray bottle and filled it with water. The boyfriend and I moved the chair to the dumpster in our apartment complex, under the cover of darkness. The chair is officially dead. We have increased the "changing of the litter" to once every two days. Even with that change, she seems angry. Last night she pooped in her litter box and didn't cover it. When the smell hit me, it literally made my eyes water. I think that was a big "F you" from the cat for thowing away "her" chair.
She HAS gotten better around Tyson, however. It seems she has learned that Tyson's vision, much like the T-Rex, is based on motion. If she holds perfectly still, Tyson smells her, and can tell that there's something weird in the air, but can't find her. However, if her courage gives, and she bolts, he's after her like a shot. Last time he chased her, we finally caught up to them in Laney's bathroom. Both were in the bathtub, Laney was puffed up to about three times her usual size and growling, while Tyson was just staring at her in confusion...probably thinking, "Whoa, little deformed dog....why are you so angry?"
Otherwise, things are fabulous. I mean, apart from the basic differences between males and females. (which include putting dirty dishes in the sink, dirty clothes in the hamper, spending less than 45 minutes on the toilet [did you know this about men? What do they DO in the bathroom for all that time?], and making plans in advance.)
We're leaving on Saturday for a cruise. Casey's boarding reservation has been made for weeks now, after I compared costing on a couple of different options. I asked the boyfriend yesterday what was going on with Tyson. "I don't know." was my response. I have this nightmare vision of having to take Tyson on the cruise....
Well, at least then he could "accidentally" fall overboard.
Since the game was moved to Sunday night under the NFL flexible scheduling, (and coming home to a sick puppy and a mess in her crate) I got very little sleep Sunday night. This led to crankypants Emily on Monday and Tuesday. I'm just now recovering and mending fences. I couldn't even indulge in comfort food like one friend suggested since we're going on a cruise on Saturday and I would like to look decent in a bathing suit....
By the way, if you were EVER considering taking two, week long vacations in two months, don't.
Since Casey was sick, she came to work with me on Monday and Tuesday. She was a pain in my rear both days. Even though she's over a year old now, she still has that puppy energy, and got into everything she could get into. I finally got peace when I gave her a cardboard box which she then proceeded to destroy with relish.
Last night was the breaking point, though....which made me re-examine my cohabitation situation, and to provide an update to my blog readers. (Side note: I got an interesting comment from a friend the other day. She said, "I have to say I enjoy your blogs because it reminds me how your mind works. It's pretty funny sometimes, other times it's down right hilarious (usually because it's you and not me)" So I thought an update on the situation in my apartment was due.)
Tyson sucks. The end.
Okay, so there's more than that, but that's the main idea. The boyfriend complains that Tyson and Casey are treated differently, and that's not fair. I say that all dogs are not created equal. I mean, it's like how one child might get a balcony room with a view, while another child gets a padded cell with no windows. It's not because anyone is treating them unfairly, it's just that circumstances demand that one child be protected from themself and others. That child is Tyson.
I haven't had a meal in peace since the boyfriend and I moved in together, unless you count meals outside the apartment, or when the boyfriend generously decides to leave and take Tyson with him. That's six months of non-peaceful meals. Usually, my meals are accompanied with a background music made up of whines, howls, and general squealing. It's moved beyond pathetic to obnoxious at this point. I mean, when I have guests over....Oh wait! I CAN'T have guests over. That's right. Tyson screams like a banshee and the guests would think I'm torturing the dog while we're eating dinner. My bad.
The problem is that I can't leave the dogs free while we're eating. Casey is an active begger (shoving her nose in your face or as close to your plate as possible) and Tyson, well, while we're eating, I can't really watch Tyson 100% of the time, and if he smells Laney...well....
The animal behaviorist? Yeah, her suggestions to turn on the TV, put a t-shirt that smells like the boyfriend in the room, and reward good behavior, were all used. They all failed. Now, Tyson gets to watch TV all day and run up my electric bill. All the while, the bottom half of the door gets narrower and narrower as I find more and more wood chips on the floor from his digging. There goes the boyfriend's deposit :-)
The thing is, I don't think Tyson's behavior is caused by anxiety any longer. I mean, it's been 6 months. At this point, he's GOT to know that he sometimes gets out of the room, sometimes he's in the room, and he's always going to get to be with Nathan... I mean, he no longer cries in the mornings. At least there was progress there. I get up in the morning, get ready for work, walk the dogs, put them away with treats, and then go to work. Not a peep from Tyson. So he KNOWS what's going on. In the evenings, he's just being an asshole. I think he's trying to drive me insane so that I'M the one in a padded cell, and he can have the boyfriend all to himself again. I actually had the following discussion with my boss's wife the other day. I was completely serious.
"So, my brother got Casey a huge rawhide for Christmas. The thing must be three feet long and a foot high on the ends. I don't know what we're going to do with it. She can't get her mouth around it to chew. Maybe I'll just saw it in half and give half to Tyson and the other half to Casey."
"Does Tyson really deserve a Christmas gift?"
"Actually, I was hoping he would choke on it."
Not that Laney has gotten much better.... The peeing on the boyfriend's clothing has ceased, basically because now the boyfriend piles his dirty clothing on his dresser, my dresser, the bathroom counter...anywhere but the hamper. However, she has designated the boyfriend's chair (in our bedroom) as her second litter box and peed on it at least 5 times.
That 'Nature's Miracle' stuff that is made especially for cat urine and eliminates all odors and costs about $12 per little spray bottle? Yeah, it's a crap. I may as well have purchased a very expensive spray bottle and filled it with water. The boyfriend and I moved the chair to the dumpster in our apartment complex, under the cover of darkness. The chair is officially dead. We have increased the "changing of the litter" to once every two days. Even with that change, she seems angry. Last night she pooped in her litter box and didn't cover it. When the smell hit me, it literally made my eyes water. I think that was a big "F you" from the cat for thowing away "her" chair.
She HAS gotten better around Tyson, however. It seems she has learned that Tyson's vision, much like the T-Rex, is based on motion. If she holds perfectly still, Tyson smells her, and can tell that there's something weird in the air, but can't find her. However, if her courage gives, and she bolts, he's after her like a shot. Last time he chased her, we finally caught up to them in Laney's bathroom. Both were in the bathtub, Laney was puffed up to about three times her usual size and growling, while Tyson was just staring at her in confusion...probably thinking, "Whoa, little deformed dog....why are you so angry?"
Otherwise, things are fabulous. I mean, apart from the basic differences between males and females. (which include putting dirty dishes in the sink, dirty clothes in the hamper, spending less than 45 minutes on the toilet [did you know this about men? What do they DO in the bathroom for all that time?], and making plans in advance.)
We're leaving on Saturday for a cruise. Casey's boarding reservation has been made for weeks now, after I compared costing on a couple of different options. I asked the boyfriend yesterday what was going on with Tyson. "I don't know." was my response. I have this nightmare vision of having to take Tyson on the cruise....
Well, at least then he could "accidentally" fall overboard.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Cohabitation - Part III
Tyson.
Tyson Tyson Tyson.
Tyson is a great dog. He just doesn't have much going on upstairs. He LOVES the boyfriend with an obsession that's only been equaled when I watch Orlando Bloom onscreen. Tyson is a rescue - the boyfriend took him in when he was about 2 years old. We don't know what happened to him, but we DO know that he was found in Lake County near Chicago, and was probably bred for fighting. If you met Tyson, you would know his personality is super non-aggressive, which is probably why he was found wandering the streets. He's a fighting reject. In all probability his severe case of separation anxiety is due to being abandoned.
The important thing to get out of that description was the "severe case of separation anxiety" part.
To put it in layman's terms, when he's not with the boyfriend, he's FREAKING OUT. When we go out with Tyson, and the boyfriend has to go somewhere alone (convenience store, bathroom) Tyson will stand rigid and stare in the direction that the boyfriend has gone until he returns. Seriously. It's disturbing. In the boyfriend's apartment, Tyson was allowed to roam free while the boyfriend was gone and he was apparently okay with that - I guess he understood that the boyfriend would eventually return. In OUR apartment, he is confined to one room (the dog room/guest room was the plan) when we are gone. When we're home, both dogs are free. Apparently, Tyson doesn't like this arrangment.
So, let's talk about how I had beautiful, perfect, wonderful, white carpet in my new apartment for all of 48 hours. Then we brought Tyson in. The first day, when Tyson realized that he was confined in one room he began the freak out. To put it mildly, it sounded like we were pulling his legs off. One by one. Slowly. Casey (who doesn't make a sound in her crate) was freaked out by Tyson's freaking out, so she added her barking to the melee. It was fabulous. Did I mention that we're still in an apartment? Did I mention that Tyson can apparently freak out for 4 hours or more before he falls into an exhausted stupor? Did I mention that he started frantically digging at my perfect carpet in an effort to get out of the room, dug THROUGH the carpet, scratched all the paint off the bottom of the door, pulled out one of his nails in the process (!!!) and KEPT DIGGING!
This has been going on every day for a month now. The background music to my life is comprised of howling, scratching, frantic whining, and crying. It never ends. A couple of times, Tyson thought it would also be fun to pee all over the carpet to show us how incredibly freaked out he was. (I'm pretty certain we got the idea from the crying.) We have found a temporary solution to the carpet (otherwise, I'm convinced that Tyson would be in China by now) and we had an animal behaviorist come to see him (yes, Tyson needs a doggie shrink. I wish I were kidding) who had some interesting suggestions, but nothing has yielded the peace that I'm seeking in my apartment. Nothing. If Tyson's not free, it sounds like he's dying a horrible, painful, LONG death.
Why doesn't he get to roam free? Because I am A) not a fan of dog hair and slobber all over my furniture B) not going to let a dog dictate the rules, and C) fearing for my cat's life. What Tyson needs is to be crate-trained. Unfortunately, he is 85lbs of muscle, and he pretty much doesn't stay in a plastic or wire crate if he doesn't want to. When the boyfriend's not around, he doesn't want to. Tyson's just a great dog all around.
I have dreams of accidentally losing Tyson. You know, opening the door and having him slip by and run away? I dream, "Would the guilt be too much to bear if I could have a peaceful household?" Somehow, I don't think so.
To be fair, the boyfriend loves his dog. His dog loves him. Tyson is a great dog. He loves people, he's gentle, he's patient, he's laid back. When he's not confined, he's actually a better dog than Casey (who's still a puppy, mind you.) But that's as long as he's not confined. In the confined cases, he starts to sound like I'm slowly boiling him in oil. I wish I knew what happened to him in his past.
So we had to move Casey to another room. So much for my dog room/guest room idea. Now its Tyson's room. Until he's crate trained, I can use that room for nothing more than housing a dog who's practically foaming at the mouth, hyperventilating, and chewing bones faster than we can give them to him. Great.
This cohabitation thing is working out wonderfully. Seriously. I'm so glad I did it.
Oh yes, and my mother called yesterday to tell me that they're planning some remodeling in their house. First up, removing the carpet in their formal living room. Can I make certain to bring Tyson with me the next time I visit? She hears that he can help with that. Hardy har har har.
Tyson Tyson Tyson.
Tyson is a great dog. He just doesn't have much going on upstairs. He LOVES the boyfriend with an obsession that's only been equaled when I watch Orlando Bloom onscreen. Tyson is a rescue - the boyfriend took him in when he was about 2 years old. We don't know what happened to him, but we DO know that he was found in Lake County near Chicago, and was probably bred for fighting. If you met Tyson, you would know his personality is super non-aggressive, which is probably why he was found wandering the streets. He's a fighting reject. In all probability his severe case of separation anxiety is due to being abandoned.
The important thing to get out of that description was the "severe case of separation anxiety" part.
To put it in layman's terms, when he's not with the boyfriend, he's FREAKING OUT. When we go out with Tyson, and the boyfriend has to go somewhere alone (convenience store, bathroom) Tyson will stand rigid and stare in the direction that the boyfriend has gone until he returns. Seriously. It's disturbing. In the boyfriend's apartment, Tyson was allowed to roam free while the boyfriend was gone and he was apparently okay with that - I guess he understood that the boyfriend would eventually return. In OUR apartment, he is confined to one room (the dog room/guest room was the plan) when we are gone. When we're home, both dogs are free. Apparently, Tyson doesn't like this arrangment.
So, let's talk about how I had beautiful, perfect, wonderful, white carpet in my new apartment for all of 48 hours. Then we brought Tyson in. The first day, when Tyson realized that he was confined in one room he began the freak out. To put it mildly, it sounded like we were pulling his legs off. One by one. Slowly. Casey (who doesn't make a sound in her crate) was freaked out by Tyson's freaking out, so she added her barking to the melee. It was fabulous. Did I mention that we're still in an apartment? Did I mention that Tyson can apparently freak out for 4 hours or more before he falls into an exhausted stupor? Did I mention that he started frantically digging at my perfect carpet in an effort to get out of the room, dug THROUGH the carpet, scratched all the paint off the bottom of the door, pulled out one of his nails in the process (!!!) and KEPT DIGGING!
This has been going on every day for a month now. The background music to my life is comprised of howling, scratching, frantic whining, and crying. It never ends. A couple of times, Tyson thought it would also be fun to pee all over the carpet to show us how incredibly freaked out he was. (I'm pretty certain we got the idea from the crying.) We have found a temporary solution to the carpet (otherwise, I'm convinced that Tyson would be in China by now) and we had an animal behaviorist come to see him (yes, Tyson needs a doggie shrink. I wish I were kidding) who had some interesting suggestions, but nothing has yielded the peace that I'm seeking in my apartment. Nothing. If Tyson's not free, it sounds like he's dying a horrible, painful, LONG death.
Why doesn't he get to roam free? Because I am A) not a fan of dog hair and slobber all over my furniture B) not going to let a dog dictate the rules, and C) fearing for my cat's life. What Tyson needs is to be crate-trained. Unfortunately, he is 85lbs of muscle, and he pretty much doesn't stay in a plastic or wire crate if he doesn't want to. When the boyfriend's not around, he doesn't want to. Tyson's just a great dog all around.
I have dreams of accidentally losing Tyson. You know, opening the door and having him slip by and run away? I dream, "Would the guilt be too much to bear if I could have a peaceful household?" Somehow, I don't think so.
To be fair, the boyfriend loves his dog. His dog loves him. Tyson is a great dog. He loves people, he's gentle, he's patient, he's laid back. When he's not confined, he's actually a better dog than Casey (who's still a puppy, mind you.) But that's as long as he's not confined. In the confined cases, he starts to sound like I'm slowly boiling him in oil. I wish I knew what happened to him in his past.
So we had to move Casey to another room. So much for my dog room/guest room idea. Now its Tyson's room. Until he's crate trained, I can use that room for nothing more than housing a dog who's practically foaming at the mouth, hyperventilating, and chewing bones faster than we can give them to him. Great.
This cohabitation thing is working out wonderfully. Seriously. I'm so glad I did it.
Oh yes, and my mother called yesterday to tell me that they're planning some remodeling in their house. First up, removing the carpet in their formal living room. Can I make certain to bring Tyson with me the next time I visit? She hears that he can help with that. Hardy har har har.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
