Puppy love

The reason babies and puppies are so cute and endearing is so you won't leave them on the side of the mountain when the need for sleep and some order in your life becomes overwhelming.

Just like child birth and the exhausted, crazy days of life with a newborn become this foggy memory that seems to morph in to a vision of sweet smelling baby, tinged with the overwhelming feeling of love when they grasp your finger or snuggle against you to nap, so to do memories of puppy training.

My slippers have been gnawed, I have bitter apple spray at the ready for every cabinet corner, rug edge, chair leg within reach. I am sleeping in yoga pants with coat and shoes staged at the ready for the 3 or 4 am whimper that signals the potty trip outside. Yesterday I almost sent up fireworks to celebrate her first hint of telling me she had to go out. She went to the door, looked at me, and then started sniffing the rug as a good second choice. My faster than a speeding bullet reflexes let me scoop her up, rewarding her with a treat and lavishing her with praises as we made a dash to the "zone" before she opted for the rug. Because I want her to eat on schedule and not nosh, I am sitting on the little stool coaxing her to stay on task and finish her meal so I can set the timer and hustle her out for a good girl experience. What was I thinking when I said yes to the puppy.

 

But the good times are good. Playing fetch, watching her cull through her crate for the toy of the minute, being greeted anytime I leave the room by a wiggling puppy with toy dangling from her mouth eager to share it with me. She is warm and snuggly when she lays in my lap collapsing from crazy running around, she rewards me with newly learned skills, like "soft" when chewing on my fingers, or drop it when finding some small thing on the floor (accompanied with the bribe of a few kibble).

I am beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel when I have a puppy who sleeps through the night, is 90% housebroken, remembers her manners when comany comes. Ask me same time next year, I think we will have achieved success by then.

 

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It is not sacred

Today's Ask Amy had a question from a niece who inherited her aunt and uncle's stuff. They had no children or other relatives. The question was about a large painting taken from their 50th anniversary photo. The niece had no room for it, and no one to gift it to. What should she do? It felt wrong to throw it out.

The question got me thinking. We have just updated our wills and they are pretty vanilla. Who ever dies first is left with the task of figuring out what to do with the miscellania of our lives. I think I need to put a note in the box with the wills that says - I collected things I liked, framed pictures of family and events that were interesting to me. They are not sacred. You are not responsible for treating them as treasures. If something is interesting to you keep it, if there is a frame or container you can repurpose, use it. Feel no guilt sending things to goodwill, or a flea market or even burning them in the firepit. They have no cosmic purpose, they were simply interesting to me. My strange collection of crockery, dinner plates, and wine glasses were because I liked to have interesting things to use when we had company. They aren't "heirlooms - well except the Christmas and Thanksgiving plates, and even those were important at a specific point in time to me. Sell them at the estate sale.

So children cull through the detritus of my life, keep what pleases you, sell what is saleable, donate what has a useful second life, toss the rest. Feel no guilt about not wanting to add more stuff to your life just because it turns up in a cupboard in the house. Take it out, look at it, maybe share a laugh about a memory and then without guilt send it on to its next life. I love you all, remember me at my best, don't feel the need to turn my stuff into some sacred icon that has to be treasured.

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Princess Zena end of week one

I admit that when Zena arrived I had this crazy notion that I would blog about her progress, our trials and tribulations and the amazing progress she was making. Ok, honestly not so much. I am committed (or as my mother would have said should be committed) to getting her potty trained soon. It is the sweet spot of learning at 15 weeks. She can go several hours between potty breaks, if she bonds with me she will want to please me, or not. I have to make a sign that says "she does not pee in the house to make me want to shake her by her pointy ears". In truth she has not learned how to tell me she wants to go out yet. If I take her on a regular schedule she will faithfully go or "try". I can't tell which. But sometimes she has too much water, too much excitement and then we have an "accident". It isn't an accident, it is a training set back. I have to keep telling myself that she is only going outside IF I get her there on time. She doesn't have any way to tell me she wants to go out. AAGH! Where is Dawson when I need him.

Biting, chewing - how did I forget this part. My hands and arms look like I just finished some military survival course requiring crawling under barb wire. I can't wear anything I love since some time during the day it will be nipped, bit, grabbed or chewed. My neighbors must think I am advertising to be a bag lady, old work out pants, outrageous socks, who knows what top. All to protect my poor toes, arms, pant legs.

So is there any progress? She still gets over excited and bites. I yelp and curl my arms up. She comes back and we start soft mouth, depending on how tired she is or how wound up it goes well. Other times, I get up off the floor and move to my chair. I have taken the advice of the Puppy Trainers and am restricting her space when she is not in her crate to the kitchen. I pulled in a chair and barricaded the hall and area between the counter and the wall. Today was ok, I finished my book while she was napping in my lap (bonding time) but tomorrow I have to figure out how to watch tv on my ipad. I can't see it from my perch in the kitchen. Earlier this week before is created this smaller space she and I watched hours of HGTV. By the way I will never ever be able to sell my house based on what these house hunters are looking for. I started out watching cooking shows but after watching at least three hours of making ganache, I baked brownies with a plan to cover them in chocolate ganache. Not good for the waist line. So I switched to house hunting.

Back to Zena. I do love her - or at least I am committed to her. I totally forgot how long it takes to go from a puppy to a dog you trust and love. She is hard work. Hubby and I have fought more in the last week than In the last year. I have a plan on training, he loves to be the hero who comes in and liberates her from her crate and follows NO potty training rituals. He plays tug and then complains when she gets crazy and nips him. I plead it is just a few weeks, he says I am too rigid.

If you are thinking of starting with a puppy and you are the trainer - set aside a minimum of 3 months to do nothing else. A good puppy is a good dog, and loved and valued forever. A bad dog is a constant irritation. It takes a total commitment to help her learn the rules of the family, to want to please her family. If you don't have that time, and most of us don't, think carefully about what you are getting yourself on to. As one of my daughters is right in saying - begin knowing where you want to end. If you don't want to hand feed your princess puppy forever, get her started with a few kibble then let her feed herself. If you want her to be comfortable in her crate because you may be away for several hours before she is totally trustworthy, then sit with her and read during her crate time so she doesn't think it is punishment. But mostly above all else, know that for at least the first two months, success will because you are potty trained, or play trained, the best you can hope for is that in month 3 and 4 it is half you and half your Princess.

 

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Day 2 and 3

It was all going so well on Day 2, kept to a schedule until we had visits from friends to see the new puppy. Just like a baby our schedule got off, dinner was late and by 8pm we had two accidents. I went to bed frustrated, puppy went to bed afraid of the crazy woman who grabbed her up and took her outside.

We made concessions on the collar. She now is wearing Zed's old cat collar from when he was little so at least in the house I have something to grab. She is still wearing her harness for walks.

I forgot that puppies cannot play tug. They don't know when to stop and they haven't learned not to nip. My arms are a wreck.

Puppies do not come on command. They do not come when wheedling or bribing. In fact they are fast little wigglers. I can't wait for the gate to arrive so I can trap her in the kitchen during free time in the morning.

Final thought. 6:45 is early. It is cold and I look like the Shrew of Haridan pre-makeup and coiffure. And in my neighborhood it is the time many of my neighbors leave for work, snug in their warm cars, coffee in hand, make-up on ready for the day. Women understand this problem.

Day 3 through diligent training of me and a running list of times we made it through the day peeing and pooping outside. Zena not me. Working on the biting, wish Dawson was here. Trying yipping when she bites too hard and looking away for 10 seconds. Then coming back to play. Seems to be working somewhat. Made the mistake of lifting my arm to toss a toy, when she jumped for it she took a big nip. I will be wearing long sleeve fleece for a while.

 

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Zena the Warrior Princess

For several months we talked about if we wanted another dog. On spur of the moment movie and dinner nights I pointed out we couldn't do this if we had a puppy in training. On cold, wet rainy mornings when getting the paper at the end of the driveway required gear, I asked if he missed walking Zed rain or shine. But more he read the ads for puppies in the paper, and said how much he missed his puppy. After the holiday's he started in earnest. I said in Spring, we would ask our vet about a breeder who was trusted.

I said I would know when I was ready when puppies started being cute. And then Shelly our wonderful dog sitter, groomer, savior in time of emergencies sent us two pictures with a note, just thinking of you. The pictures were of Zed and her golden who passed away shortly before Zed started getting sick. They were out in her backyard on a light snow day, shoulder to shoulder patroling the fence. That afternoon we started looking at web sites. This one was too "not cute" and that one was expected to be too small. Then we read about a few breeders who had brought back German Yorkies who were traditionally larger 8- 10 lbs. Then while he was in his office "working" and I was finished the crossword puzzle we each were actually looking at Yorkies. And there she was. She had the perfect face, was 5 lbs at 14 weeks so could be expected to be 8 - 10 lbs when fully grown. She had most of her shots and had been sprayed. Even better she was about an hour and half away. She is too cute, a brindle, not show quality and it is too early to tell if she will have a soft or silky coat but she was it.

I got Bruce to call and of course they said others were coming to look and if we wanted a chance to have her they needed a deposit since I didn't think we could go until Saturday. As luck would have it, afternoon meetings got cancelled and we set out on a miserable, rainy foggy cold afternoon to drive up towards the mountains. I wanted to keep it a secret that we were looking so we could say no, not this one. If she was too timid or lethargic she would have to find another family. Before we left we chose a name Zena the Warrior. If she looked like she could live up to her name she would ours.

The rest is history. She slept through the night no whimpering even though she didn't have any litter mates nearby. By the 24 hour mark she was eating. So far we have managed to get her to poop outside but peeing is a different task. Unlike Zed who felt he needed to lift his leg and needed the perfect blade of grass or something, she is sniff, sniff squat kind of girl.

So while I try to figure out her tells and schedule, it is by the clock. Out first thing, then playtime followed by crate time. As soon as she comes out of the crate we gear up and head to the spot outside. So far we are three for three. But I am not counting on anything but my diligence. Now to convince Papa that crate time is not punishment and she has to pee on a leash. She is in a harness - lesson learned the hardeay with Zed - but it takes a little more time and two hands to get her ready.

Today is day three and despite dawning Uggs and ski jacket cold it has warmed up to fleece weather. I have two weeks to get this schedule thing working before Bruce starts his new job and has to go to the office so Zena and I are on the Puppy Boot Camp program. No backsliding.

 

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Obsolete

We had our six month check up by the heat/air guy. Our furnaces are "builder grade" and seemingly on their last legs now that they are twelve. We hope they make it through the Christmas holiday so we don't all have to decamp to the Embassy Suites. The furnace humidifier - well he has never seen one this old and he doesn't have parts. When did furnaces start dying when they hit the 12 year mark. The washer died at 10 and the maintenance contract folks declared it not worth fixing.

Last night I got together with some girl friends and there was the general agreement that pre-lit (no allergy) trees lasted 3 - 5 years and outside tree lights - well after 3 years it was the hunt for the burned out bulb game. The throw away generation crept up on me. We sat around like old dinasouresses and reminisced about the artificial trees where you assembled them branch by branch and then added the lights. Our younger companions reminded us that now with LED lights they lasted longer, and with the flick of the remote could change the lights from white to red to blinking, etc, etc. I am officially obsolete.

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Should have measured

My front load washer gave up the ghost, or rather stopped spinning and draining. The diagnosis was a burned out pump, the warranty company said the pump exceeds the value of the 10 year old washer and offered compensation. I was ready to go back to a top load. My front loader was wonderful on small loads and delicates, and did a fine job on everything else except it took two loads to wash the sheets on my bed, and it liked towels to be limited to three with some hand towels. The coverlet exceeded its capacity and had to be rinsed at least twice. So, a new top loader was on the menu. I measured the footprint since there isn't a lot space in the laundry room. Off to the store we went.

I was in search of a top loader without an agitator and with enough flexibility in choices for temperature and spin. Whirlpool had a good review, the Black Friday price still applied, the footprint was actually a little narrower than the old set. They were delivered, the old ones moved to the garage for sale or donation and I happily brought down two weeks of clothes to start washing.

The first load sang a little song when it ended and I went in to toss them in the dryer and repeat the exercise. When what to my wondering surprise should occur! I can not reach the bottom of the dryer. There they were clean clothes, rinsed and spun awaiting their turn in the dryer. Now I have a little stool beside the washer so I can fish out those malingering socks and shirts that seem to like the bottom best.

In praise of the new washer I can do all of my bed sheets in one load, a basketful of towels and now the coverlet is having a turn.

 

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