I'm worrying about doggy day care for Clifford right now. I have to go out of town for a long weekend. I don't want to impose on my friends any more, and he was too nervous at day care for me to be comfortable boarding him. I guess he has to go to my parents' house. They don't live very close by, so it's a lot of work for me to take him there. But my guy needs to go somewhere while I'm out of town.
Clifford had a lot of fun with his friend Woody on Friday. I took him over there, and they immediately began to wrestle. I love that he gets to have play dates. I then took him into the office. He was exhausted from his playdate and slept at my feet. He is a very lovable boy who barks at no one, but when my boss opened the door, he let out a big WOOF and a very fierce growl. I was on the phone with somebody so couldn't say anything but just laughed silently. My boss said, "What the hell?" He wasn't expecting a dog to be there, let alone the fierce creature Clifford was pretending to be.
I can't wait until the weather changes and we can go for walks or hikes. I'm feeling guilty that we don't walk, but it was 108 today. It's not much cooler now that the sun is down. It's supposed to get better by midweek.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Thursday, August 27, 2009
DNA Testing
Clifford is a very good boy of uncertain parentage. I got Clifford off Craig's List. I was browsing the pet ads on a whim, just seeing what people advertised in the pet ads, and found a listing for a 8-week-old St. Bernard mix puppy, very mellow, good with children and cats. I emailed the poster and she sent me some photos. She said that the mother was a Saint but the father was unknown--mama had gotten out of the yard one day and come back pregnant. I told her I'd meet her the next day to see him.
That night, I stressed. I thought, I do not need a puppy. I worried about my two Persian cats, Jasper and Petey. I worried about what it would do to my free time. I worried he would not have a good life with a single mother who works full time. I basically had myself convinced I did not want or need a dog.
Then fate intervened. As I sat on the couch with my cats worrying, I heard the unmistakable sounds of the ghettobird, or police helicopter, circling my neighborhood. It was shining its light right in my backyard, which is a bit nerve-wracking. I checked all the bushes from my post behind the blinds, and didn't see anyone lurking there. And in addition to the helicopter (which was circling, circling, circling), police cars started whizzing by my house regularly, and the end of the street was blockaded with police cars.
Even for my neighborhood, this was extreme. I went outside and asked the cops what was happening. They said a man had broken into the house of a woman down the street, and hid in her closet. In other words, a scary rapist had invaded my neighbor's house. Her 8-pound chihuahua alerted her than something was wrong, and she got her bear mace and investigated--finding the guy in her closet. She maced him, ran out of the house, and collapsed on her front lawn (she had maced herself in the process). But she got away from the guy. And unfortunately, despite the presence of a million cops who descended on the neighborhood, the guy got away.
And so I decided a dog was an excellent idea.
I met Clifford, who was about as cute as a puppy could be. He slept on my lap next to the steering wheel all the way home.
As Clifford grew up, he looked less and less like a Saint Bernard and frankly, more and more like a pit bull. It was embarrassing; I'd told everyone I had a Saint Bernard mix, and he looked absolutely nothing like one except maybe the coloring, sort of. Finally I caved and spent the $130 to have him DNA tested.
Saint Bernard? Pit bull? Beagle? Negative. The DNA test had found no predominant breed. Instead, it said he had at least 25% American bulldog, 25% boxer, and 25% shar-pei. He looks about as much like a shar-pei as my cats do, but that's what the test said. My vet actually wants to re-test him using a different company to compare results, and I'm all for that.
That night, I stressed. I thought, I do not need a puppy. I worried about my two Persian cats, Jasper and Petey. I worried about what it would do to my free time. I worried he would not have a good life with a single mother who works full time. I basically had myself convinced I did not want or need a dog.
Then fate intervened. As I sat on the couch with my cats worrying, I heard the unmistakable sounds of the ghettobird, or police helicopter, circling my neighborhood. It was shining its light right in my backyard, which is a bit nerve-wracking. I checked all the bushes from my post behind the blinds, and didn't see anyone lurking there. And in addition to the helicopter (which was circling, circling, circling), police cars started whizzing by my house regularly, and the end of the street was blockaded with police cars.
Even for my neighborhood, this was extreme. I went outside and asked the cops what was happening. They said a man had broken into the house of a woman down the street, and hid in her closet. In other words, a scary rapist had invaded my neighbor's house. Her 8-pound chihuahua alerted her than something was wrong, and she got her bear mace and investigated--finding the guy in her closet. She maced him, ran out of the house, and collapsed on her front lawn (she had maced herself in the process). But she got away from the guy. And unfortunately, despite the presence of a million cops who descended on the neighborhood, the guy got away.
And so I decided a dog was an excellent idea.
I met Clifford, who was about as cute as a puppy could be. He slept on my lap next to the steering wheel all the way home.
As Clifford grew up, he looked less and less like a Saint Bernard and frankly, more and more like a pit bull. It was embarrassing; I'd told everyone I had a Saint Bernard mix, and he looked absolutely nothing like one except maybe the coloring, sort of. Finally I caved and spent the $130 to have him DNA tested.
Saint Bernard? Pit bull? Beagle? Negative. The DNA test had found no predominant breed. Instead, it said he had at least 25% American bulldog, 25% boxer, and 25% shar-pei. He looks about as much like a shar-pei as my cats do, but that's what the test said. My vet actually wants to re-test him using a different company to compare results, and I'm all for that.
Doggy Day Care
Today was Clifford's first day at doggy day care. I was nervous; he was very nervous. Clifford is a gentle, loving boy who tends to fling himself onto his back in submission at the first sign of another dog. I was worried so many dogs in a pack would overwhelm him or worse, that the pack would sense weakness and jump him. Or hump him!
I dropped him off around 1:00 p.m. and went back to work. Well, I tried to work. The day care offers a webcam so that you can see what your dogs are up to online. Basically, I spent the rest of the day staring obsessively at the website trying to spot my dog. When I saw Clifford, he was usually glued to the "counselor" in the room, or person that stays with the dogs. Clifford says he is a people dog.
I called my trainer and asked her to check in on Clifford. She said she already had and that he was nervous but fine. She thought it would take a few sessions to get him to relax and play.
I like this day care. They have a number of different inside rooms and outdoor spaces. Today, because it was 111 degrees out, all the dogs were in a big pack in an inside space with periodic potty breaks. Most congregate in a solid pack of dogs. A few go to the corners and lie down. I checked in at one point and nearly every dog was lying down; I guess it was naptime. That lasted about a second and a half.
Around 4, I noticed Clifford was just sitting by himself looking nervous. I couldn't take it anymore. So I left work early and picked him up. It was a fun reunion; he was very very very happy to see me! Now he is lying on the floor looking completely exhausted.
Tomorrow Clifford goes to his friend Woody's house. Woody is a shepherd-mix puppy that Clifford met in puppy kindergarten. Woody's mother, Alice, likes for Clifford to come over, because then they both wear themselves out. I think they just chew on each other the whole time, and they seem to love it! I love that Clifford has a friend for play-dates, and I love that I have a new friend, Alice, from puppy kindergarten. Alice is retired, and lives with her husband, Woody, and her poodle Bob. On our last day of puppy kindergarten, we hung out in the park for an hour after class and just talked about our dogs and relaxed. It is great to have friends that are not just like myself (female lawyers in our thirties!).
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
