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!

Dogs!

I have a friendly relationship with cats. We nod, acknowledging each others’ presence, and move on. Once in a while a cat will misread my intentions and proceed to rub up against my leg. I don’t shy away but it stops there. Any closer and my eyes will itch and the sneezing will begin. My sister has a neighbor cat, Maurice. Patsy and her husband swear Maurice is dog-like as he approaches with obvious happiness and curiosity, not with the stealth wariness I associate with many cats. Maurice is big and white with black spots. If he were a dog, he’d be a bull dog. His coloring is just right. He’d love to be friends with Roxie, my sister’s boxer, and she will have none of it. Maurice wants to love Roxie. Roxie wants to eat Maurice. I understand that people really love cats. Even though I had a cat for many years, a white and orange kitty named Marmalade, I could never get too close because of the allergy situation. So I don’t have the same affinity for cats as some, though I can understand when considering how I feel about dogs. I come from a long line of dog lovers. Roxie is but one dog in my life. For someone who doesn’t own a dog and hasn’t in decades (my kids say I should never own a dog or a houseplant? - nice), I claim close friendships with a lot of dogs.

First are my “grand-dogs” Apple, Oden, and now Hayden. Apple (named before Gwyneth Paltrow's Apple) is a petite black lab mix, very emotional, and belongs to my daughter Meghan. Oden is a gentle giant, a massive black lab with a big block head and belongs to daughter Katie and her husband Bill. Hayden is the newest member of the family. My son Joe adopted Hayden last week. He’s a 7 month old blood hound who looks like a Disney character! He’s all legs and ears with a forlorn face and a furrowed brow. He drools abundantly and lopes as he follows Joe everywhere. It’s only been a week but he’s already etched a place in our hearts. He’s also left giant paw prints on the seats and drool marks on the head rests of my almost-new car.

Jette is one of my all-time most favorite dogs, and belongs to my boyfriend Russ. She’s Apple’s sister, from the same litter. Their mother, Dakota, was one of the smartest dogs I ever knew. Dakota was a border collie, and their father was a yellow lab from downstairs that happened to break through a screen door, resulting in a litter of black lab-like dogs with the acuity of a border collie – adorable little bundles of black with eyes that don’t miss a thing and the ability to catch any ball! Jette “speaks” with intonation and Russ knows what she’s saying! He runs a vocabulary list by her every morning and she reacts to each word. It’s hysterical.

Roxie is my sister Patsy’s boxer, a tawny-coated petite pup with a black face. She’s almost two years old and just entering canine adolescence. Roxie follows Ali, their beloved boxer of twelve years. Ali is a hard act to follow and Roxie is her own dog.

Petey and Beasley are PBGVs, or Petite Bassett Griffon Vendenes, a small breed with the body of a basset hound and the face and fur of a terrier. Imagine that! They are owned by my sister Anne’s family. Beasley has the longest eye-lashes I’ve ever seen on a dog – so long that they have to get trimmed!

Leila is a gentle, blond, furry golden retriever who lives in Hatfield, Massachusetts, and is owned by my friend Jan. She’s got soulful brown eyes and a light brown nose. When I visit, Leila usually ends up finding me in the wee hours of the morning and hangs out with me until everyone is up. She’s a hugger.

Maggie and I were roommates at Patsy’s house for a while when my nephew Adam was waiting to close on his new house. Maggie is an English bulldog, and as a puppy she was adorable. Maggie and Roxie are great buds, and together they are a whirling mass of muscle, jaws, and playful growls! After playing together they both drop to the floor and fall sound asleep in exhaustion.

Such is my tribute to the dogs in my life, and fortunately I get to love them without the associated food or vet bills! I bake them treats for special occasions. Life always seems better when there’s a dog sleeping at your feet.

Photo of Maggie as a puppy by Patsy Britten

Tomorrow's blog: Cruise Food! (or croose food, or cruz fud, or cruise fuid, tell me to stop!)