Dogs by Dunbar

I’m trying to follow the instructions in Before and After Getting Your Puppy about errorless housetraining and chewtoy training. So far, we’ve had no errors, and that’s because I have been following the instructions. Given the opportunity, I’m sure Leo would have chewed a slipper by now or peed someplace inappropriate.

The thing is though, it’s not that easy to just follow the instructions.

There are two key ingredients.

    • Keep the puppy confined. Let him out every hour on the hour for three minutes to relieve himself. Praise him for peeing and/or pooping. Play with him and train him for a short time. Confine him again. In addition to housetraining him, this will help him learn to “settle down and shush” for short periods in confinement (crate or puppy playpen).

      Here’s the thing. You give him three minutes to pee and poop. Let’s say you play with him for 1o minutes. Then you put him in the crate/playpen. Maybe he cries and cries and doesn’t settle down and shush for another 15 minutes. He’s really only been in there for 30 minutes by the time the next hour on the hour rolls around. Do you take him out again, or wait for an hour from the time he settled down? Or an hour from the last time he relieved himself?

      • Make him a chewtoyaholic by feeding him all his meals from chewtoys such as Kongs or Isis’ favorite, Squirrel Dude. Put the chew toys in the confinement area and he will happily chew the day away, not minding being left alone and not learning destructive habits like barking or chewing things he’s not supposed to chew. Again, this also is supposed to lead to settling down and shushing.

        But let’s say he does mind being left alone and cries and howls and whimpers when you leave him. He happily eats from the Kong (or sometimes a rubber dinosaur skull…sorry, can’t find a link), if I sit on the floor of his playpen and hold it for him. But he doesn’t continue to occupy himself with it when I leave.

        I should give the guy a break. I mean, it’s only been a couple of days. Chewtoyaholism doesn’t happen all in one day. He’s a great puppy and he’s doing really well. His ears are starting to stand up and he’s getting a little mouthy. The first casualty of Leo was a pair of pajama bottoms he grabbed onto. I took a step and they tore. When I put on my pajamas last night, I asked myself, what pants would I like Leo to tear apart next?

        This parenting thing is hard

        What did I think? Isis would take one sniff of Leo and they’d play like litter mates?

        OK, that’s exactly what I thought.

        This is going to be much harder than I expected. And I didn’t really expect it to be easy, did I?

        Well, not exactly, but I thought I had all these methods of integrating my new puppy into the household with a reactive dog, and that these methods would be tough to implement, but they would work.

        What was my plan B, if upon meeting Leo, Isis pinned him down and snarled at him?

        Because, yeah, that’s what happened. And there was no plan B.

        We took them to a neutral location and I tried to recreate the scenario where she was calm, interested and friendly to another pup. Unfortunately, that pup was a dud, and Leo was more lively. Or Isis was more stressed because she hadn’t seen me all day. Or I wasn’t paying close enough attention to her body language. Or something else.

        I didn’t think I could just bring a new puppy home and keep him separate from her until they were ready to meet. But that’s been the outcome of their unfortunate first meeting.

        We baby Isis so much. My primary concern was how my precious little girl would handle the change. I wasn’t prepared for how protective I’d feel of Leo, who really is just a baby. How terrifying for him to be faced with a dog who looks just like his mommy and daddy, and have her attack him. She’s not the baby anymore. She’s the big sister and she cannot act like this.

        I don’t even like to say “attack,” because she didn’t “go after him.” They ran up and sniffed each other. She reared her head back, which she does when she’s uncomfortable, and then Leo was on his back and she was a big snarling mess. We separated them really quickly, and he was not hurt. But his cries were heartbreaking.

        At 10 weeks, he is in a “fear period,” meaning, Experiences a puppy perceives as traumatic during this time are generalized and may affect him all his life.

        This was pretty much the worst case scenario. It’s what Isis started doing to min pins and other small dogs at the dog park, before I stopped taking her to the dog park. But she has played successfully with a Lab puppy, and because her meeting with another German shepherd went well a few weeks ago, I hoped for the best with baby brother Leo.

        I had no idea what to do. We brought them home and let Isis play outside while Leo explored inside.

        Here’s where Rob and I displayed sides of our True Characters. I am a quitter. I thought to myself, “This is too hard. It was a mistake. We should take Leo back.”

        I asked Rob if we should do that and he said, “What???! No!” And he hadn’t even spent the whole day bonding with Leo on the car ride, like I had. It’s too late. Leo is part of our family.

        So far, the gradual approach is working. Leo is gated in the laundry room and Isis is not troubled by his presence or his occasional whimpering. She definitely knows there’s a dog in the house. Leo is, naturally, afraid of Isis.

        Last night after we got home, I tried some “protected contact,” where they saw each other through the chainlink dog run fence. Too soon. Isis barked and Leo cowered.

        But today, it’s been better. Rob played with Isis and her soccer ball on the hill while Leo peed. He showed an interest in what Isis was doing and got braver, moving closer and closer to the fence. She definitely knew he was there, but continued playing.

        Later, I had Isis doing her agility course, while Leo was in the dog run. A few times, she noticed him and ran toward the gate. The first time I panicked, and so did Leo — he ran back to the house. But Isis didn’t bark at him and in fact, came right back to me when I called her, and was able to do the agility course a few more times. Leo again moved toward the fence, then backed away when Isis came closer. I thought this was progress. She’s not acting hostile, just curious. And even though he’s afraid of her…he’s learning that she’s not going to bark at him, and getting braver by moving closer to her, also curious about her.

        At some point, they’re going to show me through their body language that they’re ready for face-to-face contact. Until then, well, we weren’t planning on leaving them alone in the house together anyway, and it’s been recommended that you keep a puppy “confined” to one room until he is housebroken. Puppies cry and keep you up at night anyway. This is just a little added stress, right?

        The good news is, I already planned to take time off from work. What I’m doing for my summer vacation is managing my dogs.

        Bringing home baby Leo

        We’ve named him Leonidas, or Leo. AKC name: Lion King of Sparta (Rob doesn’t know that last part yet, but nor does he care).

        I had planned to bring Isis with me when I pick him up, but that just doesn’t seem like the best idea anymore, since Rob won’t be able to go with me…and besides, my deposit is non-refundable and all the other puppies have been sold and picked up. We’re stuck with this one, whether Isis likes it or not!

        I’ve got a pretty good strategy for introducing Isis to Leo in a neutral location after we get him home tomorrow night. It’s going to be fine. She’s going to treat him right. They’re going to be besties.

        I feel guilty though, and wonder how parents of human babies do this. For more than three years, all Isis has known is the spoiled life, being the apple of our eyes, queen of the castle. Beloved and doted upon. How’s she going to deal with another little critter coming into our home?

        Will she think we don’t love her anymore? Or that we’re trying to replace her? How can I help her understand that Leo is a gift for her, a playmate for her, someone who will make her life richer and more fun?

        Whatever we do, we can’t let her think of Leo as a competitor for our affections.

        Pissing away $85 a month

        Joining two gyms seemed like a really good idea in February. A medical professional recommended that I “sweat” three times a week before work. One gym is around the corner from my office. The other is closer to home and I intended to go there every Saturday for the best Zumba class in town.

        Within two weeks, I’d hurt my foot and it’s still not 100 percent back to normal four months later. (Four months, a few rolls of athletic tape, several pairs of Superfeet, custom orthotics, and a dozen physical therapy, active release treatments and visits to the podiatrist later. If you suggest I apply ice and take ibuprofen, I will hit you.)

        The medical professional recanted, saying that I tried to do too much too fast, and that I should have started with something less high impact. Uh, sorry that I didn’t think Group Centergy was going to make me sweat. Don’t get me wrong, I like Centergy, especially since it’s the only class I can do without hurting myself.

        I have a yearlong $60/month contract at that gym, so I’m basically committed to Group Centergy for the duration.

        What to do, though, about the other gym? I’m paying $25 a month for what was supposed to be one Zumba class a week. The drop-in rate is $10, so this is a good deal if I go at least three times a month. Except I haven’t been. I haven’t even made it once a month.

        I should cancel, shouldn’t I? I’ve been holding on, clinging to the hope that my foot will get better and I’ll be able to go 3-4 times a month. I don’t want to have to pay the registration fee and renegotiate my membership all over again. Even if I only went twice a month, I’d almost rather pay $5 more for the convenience of not having to stop at the front desk and pay each time.

        Then there’s the irony that I have a complete athletic facility at my home, and Rob has discovered a yoga teacher we both like, whom we’ve started seeing Monday nights.

        I really have no excuse for not being 15 pounds thinner. Oh yeah, except the foot thing.

        Blog fame

        The Pioneer Woman commented on my blog once. It was before she was famous, and quite ingenious on her part. I had commented on Dooce, and Pioneer Woman must have clicked through to my blog and read a post about fighting with Rob while househunting. She commented something like “Try to stay married” through it all, which is funny, because we were not then and are not now married. But we’re still together and happily cohabitating.

        I can’t prove it because I moved from Blogger to WordPress and my comments didn’t come with.

        What a strategy, because I clicked through to her site, thinking, “Who is this Ree?” And got hooked. If she commented on all of Dooce’s readers’ pages, she could have effectively lured all those readers to her site.

        I tried something similar by commenting on Nothing But Bonfires, but my readership never really skyrocketed. Perhaps because I don’t have a unique story to tell about raising four kids on a ranch, and I’m not an outstanding cook. I did go to USC though, same as Pioneer Woman.

        And now you have Pioneer Woman and Nothing But Bonfires having tea and crumpets together at the ranch, while I’m still enjoying blog anonymity.

        Man, I wish I were at that slumber party.

        Maybe they’ll all see that I’ve linked to their sites and start reading my blog and I will become blog famous after all! Better start being more clever more often!

        If German shepherd puppies were cats, she’d be a crazy cat lady

        I keep getting my hopes up about potential baby brothers for Isis and then being sadly disappointed.

        Last weekend, I visited three places with German shepherd litters. At least they were actually German shepherds this time, and I saw the parents to prove it (see post below).

        The boys in the first litter didn’t really speak to me. But I picked one that I liked the best and practiced introducing a puppy to Isis. I carried him to the car, where she looked like she wanted to bark at it, but I let her know that this was a friend, not food, and she calmed.

        I handed the pup off to the man who bred it, and walked Isis on her leash over to his front lawn. Isis did not show any interest or concern about the strange man or the furry bundle in his arms. He set the pup down, but still, she paid more attention to me. I unhooked her leash and she sniffed the puppy like a totally normal dog. I was so proud. The pup may have been too small to play with, but at least he didn’t make Isis angry or afraid.

        Next, we visited a family with five male puppies so adorable that I couldn’t actually choose which one I thought had the best personality. I made a mental note to bring Rob back if the next breeder didn’t work out.

        Siblings of Isis' new baby brother?

        But I didn’t think that would happen. I had very high hopes for the third breeder. Her website was so thorough. She talked about breeding for temperament, using European lines (like Isis’ parents!) and positive reinforcement training. She had three litters to choose from.

        We drove 2 hours on Saturday to her “ranch.” A pair of mommy and daddy dogs ran down the gated driveway as we drove up. Isis barked at them.

        When we walked through the gate, one of the grown dogs jumped up on me and nipped me through my jeans. It hurt a little. Five 12-week-old pups raced around, and they were pretty cute. I almost preferred them to baby pups, because I better remember Isis looking like that. But these were all girls.

        This is a boy puppy, in case you couldn't tell (update 6.26: I'm pretty sure this is our Leo!)

        The girls jumped up all over us as we waited for the breeder lady to feed them and do whatever other little tasks that were keeping her from showing us the boys. When I had her attention again, I said, “We’re looking for a boy.”

        She asked why and tried to convince us that gender didn’t matter. Whether or not it matters was not the point, of course. I had asked for a boy. It irritated me that she was trying to talk me out of what I wanted.

        Several fluffball 8-week-old puppies cried and threw themselves against the chicken wire separating them from us. I looked them over to see if any of them had the right disposition for our household, but I couldn’t tell gender.

        I said again that I wanted a mellow male. Breeder lady said, “I don’t have any of those.”

        Finally, we convinced her to put away the adorable 12-week-olds, and while she did so, the mommy dog jumped up on me and scratched my arm.

        Then the breeder lady let two pups out of the house. Two females, she said, who had the kind of personality wedidn’t want. She just wanted us to be able to compare. One of the pups ran around the side of the house and breeder lady excused herself. Sometimes it takes a while to wrangle that particular gal, she said.

        We stand there on the porch trying to figure out the rationale of showing us two dogs we don’t want, rather than show us the dogs we do want.

        Finally, the door was opened to the littlest pups. As they ran around, I picked one up at a time, looking for a boy. Not finding one, I asked, “Are any of these boys?”

        “Nope, no boys,” she tells me.

        Now, I am fairly certain I said on the first voice mail I left this woman that I was looking for a boy dog. Is it possible I forgot to mention that part when I talked to her on the phone? I remember her saying that what I wanted was  a “beta” … but had she really not gotten the message that I had a gender preference?

        I had driven all that way on Saturday, after driving several hours on Monday and several hours on Friday to look at puppies.

        I was pissed. Decided this woman is a terrible person and an irresponsible breeder, despite all the declarations on her website about helping people find the right dog for their homes.

        Rob said, no, she’s not a terrible person. She’s just a kook. He didn’t mind driving all that way to play with some puppies.

        An old maid, just like my daughter

        While shopping for puppies, I met a few mommy and daddy dogs. Some of them looked a little bit like Isis, except with drooping nipples, and one had a long coat and a black face and looked nothing like her.

        I asked how old they are and learned that they’re three.

        Isis is three.

        But Isis is just a baby, not a mommy.

        She’s old enough to be her baby brother’s mommy. Except we had her spayed before her first heat, so we’ve forever preserved her in a puppy state.

        I am a lot like my dog in this way. Many girls my age are actually women, because they have become mothers. But I am still just a girl because I don’t have any children. (Of the human variety, anyway.)

        I look at the boys and girls that I grew up with and realize that if they are old enough to have children, then I must be old enough to have children. But I look at my dog and think that she’s just a puppy who needs a playmate, not a baby.

        Keeping it real

        All is not as well as I so optimistically declared last week. My foot still bothers me and my TMJ has gotten bad again.

        Active release therapy for TMJ is not as much fun as having my foot rubbed, and I feel sore after. I’ve had two treatments and I hope that it’s working, because never mind the pain, it’s annoying to have my jaw click every time I open my mouth.

        I don’t know what to do about my foot. I’d really like to use the memberships at the two gyms I joined in February. At this point, I feel like I’ll never be able to exercise normally again.

        Or eat normally. Did you know there’s soy in everything? Bread, candy, my favorite frozen eggplant parmesan…? And I’m sure I have some kind of allergy to soy, because every time I have anything with a soy product in it, I break out.

        So, ick.

        The bright light on the horizon is that we are expecting.

        To get a puppy.

        I have mixed feelings about breeders vs. rescues, but know I have to be very careful in the selection of Isis’ baby brother, because of her special needs.

        I drove a long way to meet a puppy who turned out not to be much of a German shepherd at all, but perhaps a mix of a Rottweiler, Australian shepherd and chow. What a handful that would have been.

        There’s a 6-month-old possible shepherd/Australian cattle dog mix that I am drawn to. He’s a little fearful, and I worry that he could learn some reactive/aggressive tendencies from Isis. She’ll be all, “Hey, tall guys wearing hats are bad. We must bark like crazy at them so they don’t come in the house to kill Momma.” Also, perhaps a cattle dog requires as much exercise as a border collie or Australian shepherd.

        At least with a breeder, you know what you’re getting. But then I feel bad about all those dogs in shelters.

        Reminds me of a PETA ploy of a few years ago, advertising a free gift bag to new owners of AKC-registered puppies. The gift turned out to be a body bag and a note saying that for every breeder-born dog, a shelter dog must die.

        Kinda turns me off to PETA a little.

        Miracle cure

        I guess I ought to give a shout out to the miracle cure that has enabled me to put weight on my right foot.

        Active Release Technique

        It feels like a deep tissue massage, but as I understand it, she separates scar tissue from tendons, ligaments and muscles, alleviating the pain.

        The pain in the ball of my left foot was debilitating, no joke. It hurt to walk, and ached even when I was doing nothing.

        The relief I felt after the first ART session with Barbra was immediate. After 3 sessions, I’d say I’m 87 percent better. I still have to favor the foot a little, and hesitate to do things like jump rope or stand one-legged with all my weight on the ball of my foot. But I got through a step class yesterday without pain during or after.

        I’ve had her work on my stiff neck too. It’s funny, I feel completely pain free immediately afterward, but the tightness comes back within a few minutes. So I have less grandiose expectations about her curing that problem and enabling me to do kettlebells again.

        She treats TMJ as well, so that’s next on my list, since the left side of my jaw has begun clicking. (That was the first symptom I felt on my right side in 2003.) I swear, if it turns out that TMJ can be CURED by ART, I’m going to be so relieved and so pissed off that I didn’t know about it 7 years ago.