Puppy Sitting

When Katie and Bill told me they were headed out of town with the boys this weekend, and asked if I'd be around to look after Oden and Freya, of course I agreed. I had no plans in particular, except to get ready for next weekend's departure to sunny F-L-A (!). So, when I took over care of the pups yesterday afternoon in their own home (since mine is not sufficiently puppy-proofed), I expected to be busy keeping up with a 4-month-old Bernese Mountain pup  (Freya) and figured Oden, the 8-year-old Black Lab, would be a spectator, pretty much. Which IS pretty much how it's been. Nothing is safe from the jaws and razor-sharp teeth of a 4-month-old puppy. It's been an aerobic exercise chasing her and removing items from her vice-like jaw, a jaw protected with razor-wire teeth. I have to figure out just where the gaps are, where I can jam my fingers in, without risk to my hands. Right now I'm sporting a slice on my thumb. There's a learning curve.

We started out well. I fed both dogs their dinners. Freya dined in her "yard," a six-foot square fencing system located near the kitchen, open on top, with a gate. The only thing she does in there is eat, or the occasional short locked-up stints if someone has to leave for a while. She has dinner in her space and Oden is free to eat without interruption, for which he is eternally grateful. There are the frequent trips outdoors for Freya to "do her thing" and she is, without going into graphic detail, quite productive. The problem is that she is equally productive on the other side of the door -- on the slate floor, or the hardwood floor, or just inside the door to go out. Luckily, the area rugs have not been a target. I've spent quite a bit of time on clean-up detail, spray bottle and towels in hand, especially last night when I was afraid to let the pooches out because I heard coyotes howling SO CLOSE to the house. That freaked me out. The score right now is (an estimation) outdoors: 20 / indoor floors: 5. I guess in statistical terms, that's not so bad.

Oden, his usual calm self, and Freya, a blur

The sun went down and it was lights out. With just the glow of the TV and my computer screen, Freya's circadian rhythms must have kicked in and told her it was time to sleep. She was out like a light by my feet, but I wasn't expecting the second, third, and eighth winds of energy that would keep us busy late into the night, with me diverting her attention to actual chew toys instead of my hands, feet, clothing, remote controls, ski boots, laundry. She's used to sleeping in a big, king-sized bed with Katie and Bill which started on day one a month ago and continues. However, I chose to sleep on the couch, so she nuzzled herself up between me and the back of the couch where she ever-so-lightly nibbled on my hair and t-shirt, with my constant reprimand, "No. Ouch. That hurts. No BITING! #@*% (good thing Henry and Peter weren't here for that teachable moment)! That cozy situation wasn't good enough for Freya, however, and she ended up, face-up, cheek-to-cheek, her body on my stomach where she fell sound asleep - until she sleep-rolled off onto the floor. This initiated confusion and then a ninth-wind of activity. We watched the sun come up.

"Help me!"

"Who, me? I didn't do it!"

What is it about puppies that they prefer a sock out of the clean laundry basket to a toy box full of squeaky, dog-intended things? Why do they prance around with Dad's size 13 (!) heavy leather shoe when there are all kinds of tug-of-war toys in their crates? Why do they prefer to go outside and eat snow (like her big "brother") when nothing seems less appetizing (to humans - wait, now I know why her bladder is bursting at the seams!).

Katie, Bill, and the boys will be home by lunch time. They promised, saying they were leaving Connecticut just after breakfast. I hope they got up early. Had an early breakfast. None of this long-lingering brunch nonsense. Freya and Oden miss them. And I want a shower!