what if...

You should not play the game "what if" with yourself. Not very often anyway. What if you catch the flu and have two energetic dogs to walk. What if your first dog (say, Henry) cannot learn to enjoy the companionship of your second dog (for example, Sadey)? What if your distant grandkids (say, Primrose and Juniper) dont really like your pooches? What if, what if... All those could happen, and then some! It's hard to steer yourself away from that and think instead -- what if these two dogs are the very best thing that could have happened -- in their lives, in yours? What if they live to a ripe old age, remaining your BFFs until you keel over? 

When I got Henry, I realized how little I actually know about rescue dogs. When I signed up to adopt Sadey, I was sure I was better equipped for it. And I am. But I'm very far from having a good grasp of these two dogs, of understanding where they're heading. 

Training guides are full of warnings. If you dont teach impulse control, you are going to have a crazy dog pulling toward tempting objects and animals and ruining your walks forever after.  So this morning, when I take out Henry for his first walk...

... and he decides to start in on his leash biting and pulling, I'm thinking -- have I not adequately addressed his impulse control skills?

They warn, too of dogs giving each other the stinky eye -- a sure sign that a brawl is about to take place. So when I find Henry spending a lot of time resting not on my lap, but by the fence, looking at Sadey, is he just curious, or giving her the stinky eye? 

And when Sadey goes for her morning walk...

... and absolutely cannot hold any position for more than one second, I'm thinking -- is this girl super hyper? I mean, dogs her age (if she is indeed over two years old now) should be calming down. Letting her loose (when Henry isn't here), I watch her do her tornado run through the house and I wonder -- what happened to adult calm?  Moreover, I thought Henry was a super strong chewer. Ha! Sadey destroys stuffie toys at the rate of three per day, and she doesn't even have access to them for that long.

 

 

 

The gate seems to be working for us. Sadey whines in the morning while I get breakfasts ready, but she doesn't make her way out. And we all eat in peace.

I take Henry to doggie daycare and chat a little to the director there. We decided that tomorrow would be a good day to try bringing Sadey there. They have trained dog people watching the dogs and they know how to spot potential conflict. It's a neutral territory so I dont anticipate conflict between my two pups, but I could use some expert observation of their behavior with each other. I thought I knew Henry's signals, but I'm learning that my understanding of dogs, though growing, is still inadequate. I tell the staff today -- let's just hope I can bring them together in the car without conflict! What if... No, let's not go there!

 

On the way home, I stop off at the farmhouse. I'm back to composting and I have a second bucketful to dump on the farmette compost heap. We chat a little about Ed's machines, about the Olympics. Ed has a strong aversion to the Games because he is convinced that they encourage tribalism and the belief that your country is somehow better, more deserving than another. Yay us, boo them. I never saw it that way until yesterday, when I read an article about the hockey rivalry between the US and Canada. It apparently has turned political these days, egged on by our administration's disparaging words against that country. I rooted for the American women's team because I truly saw them as the best of the best. I like their spirit, their comradery. But have I also succumbed to the tribalism Ed talks of by cheering for our Olympic team in general? 

Dance (the cat) hears me from her perch upstairs. She comes down and snuggles next to me, just like in the old days.

Ed has always said the farmette cats were all a bundle of affection. I liked Dance's snuggles, but I never cared for their climbing all over me, because their nails are so sharp and they like to dig them into you in their moments of total contentment. But I have to say, how is it that I'm comfortable being around so many big canine teeth? Dogs were given a mouthful of weapons so that they could survive. We want them to never use them on our families, or on our friends. Only on invaders!  We expect them to know this and to never give in to their protective and defensive instincts when we're around. Cats? Oh, they have their own independent minds. Dogs? They should be as we want them to be.

 

I come home to my dog and take her out on a long-ish walk. No big trek to the park today. I need a day that's low intensity. What if this isn't a good plan? What if depriving her of a long period of exercise will give her the zoomie crazies later in the day?

(she stays restful for... 5 seconds. At most.)

 

 

Time to pick up the kids. 

And bring them to Sally's House. Where Sadey waits for round 2 of craziness to begin. Sparrow, who likes her quite a bit, nonetheless thinks it best to lock himself in her room to play. 

Sadey, having no fear or hesitation with humans (those who aren't tall men), bounces with energy between anyone within reach, between toys, furniture. I tell the kids to use their bodies to block her leaps, but of course, she is so fast that it hardly has any impact. They think she is wildly funny. I'm thinking that she needs to be taught some doggie manners! Fast!

 

A few more drop offs (the kids, at home) and pickups (Henry at daycare), and then the three of us (Sadey, Henry, me) are home. Henry has been tired after day care lately. After dinner, he plumps down close to the fence and falls asleep. I miss my couch buddy! 

Tomorrow, I'm aiming for joining those two pups in play. 

What if... it all works out?

with so much love...