Tripawed Chronicles, part 2
On Friday, my dad came over in the afternoon. Rakesh had just woken up and I was still a little freaked about the Friday situation (how I could help him adapt, how hard life is for him, how guilty I feel for doing this to him), and honestly, it was a great relief to have my dad around. I told him about how Friday refused to use the ramp, and he suggested that we try to train him. I was dubious, but figured I may as well try. So we got out a couple of treats, and held Friday's harness, and got him to walk up the ramp - following the treat in a carrot-and-stick sort of way. He went up, rested for a while, then also came back down. We let him rest for a while, and then did it a second time. My dad pointed out that Friday was just scared, trying something new, and once he got familiar with it, he was fine.
He's happy being outside, so as soon as the sun comes out and the grass dries up (maybe in an hour or so) we're going to spend as much time outside as possible (perhaps it would be better to run errands now rather than later...hmmm...).
Yesterday, as a neighbor was walking by with their dog, Friday got up from the one remaining shady spot on our lawn (so much less since the oak is gone), and walked across the lawn for a friendly sniff. His tail wagged and he stayed there until they walked away (after we stood and talked for a few minutes). It was the first time we saw him more like his old self and not just mopey. Perhaps it's just that the narcotic patch is wearing off, but it was nice to see.
I actually left him alone for a couple of hours yesterday, and it was so hard to do. I had a couple of social obligations (funny how that phrase makes it sound like I was forced to hang out with friends and that I didn't in fact thoroughly enjoy myself, which I did, as I do wherever I go). I have to confess it was liberating. He was fine. He really was. It really reminded me of when my boys were babies and I would leave them and go out to the bookstore or some long-denied "me time". Of course, I will argue that it's not the same; the boys were always left with someone, whereas I left the dog alone. But I have always been such a sucker for Friday, to a level that I never have been with the boys. I spoil him, whereas I'm so worried about having to counteract the spoiling of the grandparents that I don't let them get away with anything (to be clear, I have mellowed a bit over the years and accept the spoiling; it is the right of the grandparents to spoil and of the boys to be spoiled. It is the reason we live in Cleveland. But it just makes it my job and primary responsibility to make sure that I keep them grounded and unspoiled. You may have your own opinion about whether that is actually happening or not, and you are welcome to it.
Anyhow, back to Friday. I left him alone yesterday evening, and it was hard for me to do. He still hasn't eaten his breakfast, and so of course I blame my departure. Never mind that he did this all the time when he had four legs. Never mind that he didn't always follow me around into whatever room I was in. When he does it now, he's suffering, it's my fault, I'm a bad owner. Yes, the rational side of me knows better, and I know we did right by him, and in a short while, he's going to be able to climb any stairs. Already he can climb the front stairs and back stairs without any help from me (my hand is on the harness just in case, but I do no lifting). He's still working on going downstairs (or again, maybe I'm just pulling too much and not letting him learn, but I really don't want him to slip and clock his head or otherwise seriously injure himself).
His main struggle now is the hardwood floor and, of course, the stairs leading to the second floor, which are also hardwood. My thought is we need to put on a carpet runner or something. Rakesh thought we could instead find some of those socks with rubber soles and put them on Friday (instead of completely redecorating, which would of course take longer). I don't know. My first thought is that I really don't want to humiliate the dog further by putting little booties on him (hasn't he been through enough?). And I don't see how a pair of Robeez (or whatever brand Rakesh is thinking of) will have any better traction than the soles of a dog's feet. It might actually be more slippery. The more I think about it, the more I believe it's just going to be a matter of time and that he'll figure out the slippery steps just like he's figured out everything else. Maybe we'll just skip the Murphy's Oil Soap for the slick shine until he does. For that matter, maybe we should let the boys eat on the steps and they'll get nice and sticky with whatever they spill.
Friday has never liked enclosed spaces, so I hate to see him unable to go anywhere he wants. When we first moved to Grand Rapids, it was a week before the movers arrived with our stuff, which included his crate, so he got to taste some freedom (and we got to get some nights free of the incessant whimpering when he did sleep in his crate back in St. Louis). And he did great. Other than licking my sister's face in the morning as she awoke on the living room floor (not sure why she picked her and not Rakesh or me, come to think of it), the sleeping arrangement was finally peaceful. Any time we tried to limit his access to areas of the house, the house paid for it. The first night, we closed him in one bedroom while we went out for dinner. We came back to a scratched up door and bent blinds that we had to fix when we moved out (why not anytime in the three years we lived there, I have no idea). When we tried keeping him in the basement, the gate and wall got all scratched up. Of course, while he was teething over that first year, the molding throughout the house didn't look too great, and the legs of our old futon frame gained an undesired weathered look. And when we experimenting, again, with crating him while we were at work (since we had learned that dogs are safer in case of a house fire if they are in their crate, since they can be easily located), he tried to squeeze out, through a 2" x 2" opening, got bit by a bug, and swelled up. You would think he would have learned his lesson, but no. Every time we tried to crate him, it was the same thing. So we stopped trying. I know that some dogs see their crate as a safe place, a haven, a place to escape from whatever was bugging them. But Friday never felt that. To him, a crate was a prison. And I wasn't up to forcing his imprisonment.
Of course, once we relented and let him have free reign throughout the house, he proceeded to spend the entire day in one spot, right in the hallway, where he could keep an eye on both the front door and the back door without having to move.
I loved Grand Rapids. I loved walking around the neighborhood in East Grand Rapids, looking at houses similar to those in Cleveland Heights. I loved our green boat, that little piece of junk that broke down our first time on Reed's Lake and we had to get towed back to shore by a jet ski; that I could drive while Rakesh water-skiied; behind which I tried for three years to learn to water ski and finally did - elsewhere - in the summer of 2000 (and never since), but where I gained proficiency at putting on water skis in the water.
Friday would ride with us, and we would let him out and toss toys for him to fetch. He loved that lake. Even off the shore, after we learned that we should just throw sticks, because we didn't want to go into the lake after toys that he wouldn't see land and thus not chase, we found that if we threw a stick in the general direction of some swimming ducks, he would notice the ducks and swim after them. It was hilarious, because any time he would get close, the ducks would just fly forward a little bit and land again well out of reach, and Friday would turn and go after another one. We let him do this because he never caught one, and watching the ducks, we knew he wouldn't either.
Speaking of animal foes of Friday, there was this one squirrel in our yard that used to sit on the tree lawn and chirp at Friday. We would tie him to a tie-out in the front yard that stopped just before the sidewalk. That squirrel knew it, and would seriously torment him. And I believe it's the same squirrel that would have a glowing orange stomach in late October from munching on the neighborhood pumpkins.
We would take him out to Saugatuck with us, where he loved the sand dunes and swimming in the lake. He loved hiking. I can't wait to take him out to have all this fun again. For now, though, the sun has dried out the lawn, and it's time for Friday to enjoy the great outdoors, where he's happiest.
He's happy being outside, so as soon as the sun comes out and the grass dries up (maybe in an hour or so) we're going to spend as much time outside as possible (perhaps it would be better to run errands now rather than later...hmmm...).
Yesterday, as a neighbor was walking by with their dog, Friday got up from the one remaining shady spot on our lawn (so much less since the oak is gone), and walked across the lawn for a friendly sniff. His tail wagged and he stayed there until they walked away (after we stood and talked for a few minutes). It was the first time we saw him more like his old self and not just mopey. Perhaps it's just that the narcotic patch is wearing off, but it was nice to see.
I actually left him alone for a couple of hours yesterday, and it was so hard to do. I had a couple of social obligations (funny how that phrase makes it sound like I was forced to hang out with friends and that I didn't in fact thoroughly enjoy myself, which I did, as I do wherever I go). I have to confess it was liberating. He was fine. He really was. It really reminded me of when my boys were babies and I would leave them and go out to the bookstore or some long-denied "me time". Of course, I will argue that it's not the same; the boys were always left with someone, whereas I left the dog alone. But I have always been such a sucker for Friday, to a level that I never have been with the boys. I spoil him, whereas I'm so worried about having to counteract the spoiling of the grandparents that I don't let them get away with anything (to be clear, I have mellowed a bit over the years and accept the spoiling; it is the right of the grandparents to spoil and of the boys to be spoiled. It is the reason we live in Cleveland. But it just makes it my job and primary responsibility to make sure that I keep them grounded and unspoiled. You may have your own opinion about whether that is actually happening or not, and you are welcome to it.
Anyhow, back to Friday. I left him alone yesterday evening, and it was hard for me to do. He still hasn't eaten his breakfast, and so of course I blame my departure. Never mind that he did this all the time when he had four legs. Never mind that he didn't always follow me around into whatever room I was in. When he does it now, he's suffering, it's my fault, I'm a bad owner. Yes, the rational side of me knows better, and I know we did right by him, and in a short while, he's going to be able to climb any stairs. Already he can climb the front stairs and back stairs without any help from me (my hand is on the harness just in case, but I do no lifting). He's still working on going downstairs (or again, maybe I'm just pulling too much and not letting him learn, but I really don't want him to slip and clock his head or otherwise seriously injure himself).
His main struggle now is the hardwood floor and, of course, the stairs leading to the second floor, which are also hardwood. My thought is we need to put on a carpet runner or something. Rakesh thought we could instead find some of those socks with rubber soles and put them on Friday (instead of completely redecorating, which would of course take longer). I don't know. My first thought is that I really don't want to humiliate the dog further by putting little booties on him (hasn't he been through enough?). And I don't see how a pair of Robeez (or whatever brand Rakesh is thinking of) will have any better traction than the soles of a dog's feet. It might actually be more slippery. The more I think about it, the more I believe it's just going to be a matter of time and that he'll figure out the slippery steps just like he's figured out everything else. Maybe we'll just skip the Murphy's Oil Soap for the slick shine until he does. For that matter, maybe we should let the boys eat on the steps and they'll get nice and sticky with whatever they spill.
Friday has never liked enclosed spaces, so I hate to see him unable to go anywhere he wants. When we first moved to Grand Rapids, it was a week before the movers arrived with our stuff, which included his crate, so he got to taste some freedom (and we got to get some nights free of the incessant whimpering when he did sleep in his crate back in St. Louis). And he did great. Other than licking my sister's face in the morning as she awoke on the living room floor (not sure why she picked her and not Rakesh or me, come to think of it), the sleeping arrangement was finally peaceful. Any time we tried to limit his access to areas of the house, the house paid for it. The first night, we closed him in one bedroom while we went out for dinner. We came back to a scratched up door and bent blinds that we had to fix when we moved out (why not anytime in the three years we lived there, I have no idea). When we tried keeping him in the basement, the gate and wall got all scratched up. Of course, while he was teething over that first year, the molding throughout the house didn't look too great, and the legs of our old futon frame gained an undesired weathered look. And when we experimenting, again, with crating him while we were at work (since we had learned that dogs are safer in case of a house fire if they are in their crate, since they can be easily located), he tried to squeeze out, through a 2" x 2" opening, got bit by a bug, and swelled up. You would think he would have learned his lesson, but no. Every time we tried to crate him, it was the same thing. So we stopped trying. I know that some dogs see their crate as a safe place, a haven, a place to escape from whatever was bugging them. But Friday never felt that. To him, a crate was a prison. And I wasn't up to forcing his imprisonment.
Of course, once we relented and let him have free reign throughout the house, he proceeded to spend the entire day in one spot, right in the hallway, where he could keep an eye on both the front door and the back door without having to move.
I loved Grand Rapids. I loved walking around the neighborhood in East Grand Rapids, looking at houses similar to those in Cleveland Heights. I loved our green boat, that little piece of junk that broke down our first time on Reed's Lake and we had to get towed back to shore by a jet ski; that I could drive while Rakesh water-skiied; behind which I tried for three years to learn to water ski and finally did - elsewhere - in the summer of 2000 (and never since), but where I gained proficiency at putting on water skis in the water.
Friday would ride with us, and we would let him out and toss toys for him to fetch. He loved that lake. Even off the shore, after we learned that we should just throw sticks, because we didn't want to go into the lake after toys that he wouldn't see land and thus not chase, we found that if we threw a stick in the general direction of some swimming ducks, he would notice the ducks and swim after them. It was hilarious, because any time he would get close, the ducks would just fly forward a little bit and land again well out of reach, and Friday would turn and go after another one. We let him do this because he never caught one, and watching the ducks, we knew he wouldn't either.
Speaking of animal foes of Friday, there was this one squirrel in our yard that used to sit on the tree lawn and chirp at Friday. We would tie him to a tie-out in the front yard that stopped just before the sidewalk. That squirrel knew it, and would seriously torment him. And I believe it's the same squirrel that would have a glowing orange stomach in late October from munching on the neighborhood pumpkins.
We would take him out to Saugatuck with us, where he loved the sand dunes and swimming in the lake. He loved hiking. I can't wait to take him out to have all this fun again. For now, though, the sun has dried out the lawn, and it's time for Friday to enjoy the great outdoors, where he's happiest.
posted by BrainHickey | 11:07 AM
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