Sick as a Dog

I am writing from the middle of my living room couch, flanked on either side by our two dogs, Alfie and Guthrie. As of my last writing I reported that Guthrie was doing decently with the arrival of my roommate's new fur ball.  A couple weeks have passed, and now we are one big, happy family. It's pretty precious to see your dog find a best buddy, as they lay on floor, making Chewbacca noises and gnawing on each other's ears.

There are still some rules- Guthrie gets to sleep on my bed, and Alfie naps in my doorway. Pets for everyone, and no begging. And they have permission to sit on the couch together- which they do often. When no one is here they seem to take up their posts on the cushions, vigilant yet relaxed, while they wait for the return of one of their humans.

I have had plenty of time to watch them this week, as I got the poop (and the puke) kicked out of me by a nice long case of the flu.  It's like Tonya Harding took a hammer to my health, then left me there on the locker room floor, writhing and weeping.

I can't say there is much to report- I am thankful for the company of dogs while I take naps, read books, and watch dumb movies. The day after all food evacuated my body, I for some reason decided to read the post-apocalyptic novel, The Road, by Cormac McCarthy. Maybe not the best choice while I lay in bed with a fever and the aches, as a winter storm descended on Texas. Humbling to be reminded how precious our health is- and how thankful I am for amenities like hot water, heat, and a toilet.

I"ll leave you with a picture of the pups that I took the other day, and head back to my chicken soup, ginger ale, and a more uplifting choice of literature. Until next time . . .

Dog Training for Perfectionists

My favorite sweater when I was a child was pink and purple, and covered in dalmatians and dog bones. I found it at my parents house several years ago, and resurrected it as a Halloween costume, in which I went as myself, in 4th grade. (Mom, if you find a school picture will you send it?!) Complete with my dog sweater, leggings, and gelled bangs, was a replica of a paper ribbon I received in Mrs. Ralston's 4th grade class for "Best Conversationalist."

This year for Halloween I decided to dress Guthrie up as myself. It was only for a few minutes, but here is photo proof of the results.

Dog with identity issues

We had some friends over on the big day, though Guthrie was scared by the weird costumes and kids dressed like superheroes, and spent the night in my room playing video games and sleeping.

It was a pretty classic scene- obscene amounts of sweet things and pumpkin beers, a guy dressed as Gumby fell down the stairs and there was a lesbian pull up competition at one point during the evening.

I felt a little out of sorts this week- call it a blog hangover. I've noticed this funny thing happens- sometimes when I write about something I'm working on, the behavior intensifies before I take my own advice. So I say I'm like a basset hound, and can revel in my mistakes and roll with the punches, and for a few days after I just knock myself down a lot.

I had a perfect opportunity to practice perfectionism this week, because we added a second dog to the house. My rommate Nicole found her furry soul mate, a very sweet-natured Cockapoo mix that she named Alfie. He looks like Sandy from one of my favorite movies, "Annie."

Welcome to your forever home, Alfie DeAngelis! 

Things have gone as well as can be expected between a new submissive pup and a big territorial hound mix who might have Aspergers. More then one person has commented on this, by the way. They've noticed Guthrie's quirky but loving personality, his rigidity and uneasy eye contact, his troubling social skills. In any case, he tolerates and likes Alfie, as long as the new guy follows the rules. Guthrie is territorial of space, me, and rawhide bones, and if Alfie tries to set paw in my room, Guthrie growls and snarls.

Now, this is perfect breeding ground for perfectionist bullshit because in classic form I took more then the lion's share of responsibility for my dog's behavior. Guthrie would growl because Alfie got too close to the food bowl or started army crawling into my room, and I would instantly feel like I had fucked up- that this was a reflection on my dog parenting skills or that Guthrie was a bad dog and Alfie was a good dog. I was thrown a curve ball, and before I could step back up to plate I had to go have a good long cry in the dugout and spend the day watching The West Wing. Steven was very nice though, he patted my leg and asked if I needed to take a nap, which was very sweet, and yes, I did.

This example of my reaction to my dog exhibiting normal behavior is why some people adopt a dog before they have children. I am practicing. Also, this situation is why the big deal scale was invented.

I wrote to the dog trainer folks that I work with, and this is a portion of her response:

"If you see Guthrie posturing or staring, this is a good time to redirect him and reward him for something else. If you are not able to be proactive and he growls at the other dog, realize he is communicating how he feels, which is not wrong, just undesirable."

Funny I've never come across a training book called, "Dog Training for Perfectionists." I think there could be a market for it.

Anyways, once I had calmed down a little bit I decide I needed some self care, so I biked to the store to buy a new pair of pajamas. When the going gets rough, and the weather drops to a frigid 50 degrees in Austin, it's time for new jammies. Also, the pair of pink flannel pants that my Mom bought me at Costco ten years ago has developed a hole in the butt region.

While I was perusing the racks for the comfiest pants, I came across a sweater that all but jumped into my arms. It was grey, with a print of a basset hound on it.

Call it what you will- my spirit basset hound, a gentle nudge from the universe, or maybe a throwback to my childhood fashion. All I know is on days when the spirit moves you, you may feel revelation, profound contentment, or a deep sense of peace. Then again, sometimes the spirit gives you a dog sweater, which is fine by me.

Ralphie