The Ruff Weekend

I've tried to live with the philosophy that, in order to savor the good times, or even just the normal times, you have to endure some hardship along the way.  But, c'mon, Karma, Fate, Whatever you want to call it, I think I've had enough to ensure I will never, ever take a quiet moment for granted again!

Geddy's Gotcha Day: April 18, 2015

After what had already stacked up to be a challenging weekend, where we had to move me out of the master bedroom upstairs to the former nursery, I had to stop, get cleaned up, get Geddy cleaned up and pretty and head off to obedience class.  We had decided to enroll him for his first formal class at the not quite tender age of 3 1/2 because he's got some rough spots we've never been able to iron out.

There are a lot of reasons for that: he came into my life at a fairly normal time that exploded into a cacophony of chaos right afterwards.  I thought he'd make an excellent companion for the then young and active Ripley, because my oldest dog, Cheyenne, was rounding in on 15 at the time and, while still healthy for a dog her age, her playing days were behind her.  Well, best laid plans.  It took me a while to even realize the crap storm that hit Geddy and that he endured during his puppyhood, because, of course, it was happening to me too.  But of all the dogs I've raised over the years, I used to say he was the hardest I ever had. And he was, but you realize looking back on it, he was contending with a lot of stress, and I wasn't able to spend the same quality time I had with his predecessors, including the headstrong Cheyenne and very headstrong Ripley. 

First thing that hit us was that Cheyenne got very sick very suddenly.  She had never been sick a day in her life with me, but when it happened, it happened bad and fast.  It was cancer.  And I was devastated.  To say she was my best and most trusted companion was not to overstate it.  She had been my rock for all her years with me, and I was trying hard to be hers now.  Then my daughter had emergency surgery in the middle of all that.  And, it was not too terribly long after all of that - when Cheyenne had made the journey to the Rainbow Bridge, and we thought life would settle into a routine, that Ripley began to get sick.  Poor dear Geddy, through all of that, he skipped out on some of the normal training.  I used to refer to him as My Terrorist.  If you left a basket of laundry in his reach that happened to have bras in it, they'd be toast.  He liked destroying the elastic.  Do you realize how expensive bras are?  You would if you'd gone through as many as we did for a while there.

Geddy and Ripley

Through all of that, he settled and grew into a loving companion, but I'll be honest here, he still has some rough edges that you have to think are because he never got the same kind of leash and behavioral training that most puppies do.  It was crisis management through his most formative months.  And maybe because I was with him the whole time, I've only had moderate success with some of the more stubborn behaviors.  He walks best on a leash with my daughter - the most petite of the family.  But he's a rougher handle for me actually, which reinforces my theory.  And she's not here to help anymore.  

But what is it they say?  Those are reasons, not excuses, so it was time for everyone's sake - ours, our neighbors, the-soon-to-be-here-Mother-in-law, and not the least of all Geddy - that I put the "I am a great dog owner; I can do this all on my own" bravado away and really be a good dog owner and get some help to make him a little more docile on a leash and a lot less vocal all the time.  Plans are only great if they are executed well.

I'd been watching the dogs all week for signs of stress.  Baby H and his mom moving out, and me packing up stuff throughout the week had the dogs a little unsure of what was going on.  Sirius let me know what he was thinking by lifting his leg on the edge of the bed last Monday night.  I was almost speechless as he took a whiz on my father's boyhood counterpane and the afghan my Aunt Merle had crocheted for me when I graduated high school (both have recovered nicely)!  I think as the week progressed and they saw I was sticking around, they felt a little better, but it still hasn't been the easiest of weeks for them.

Saturday of course was the big furniture move, so up and down the stairs we went all morning, the dogs watching and wondering what was happening, just occasionally being scooted out of the way so we wouldn't trample them.

While the room was coming together nicely when it was time to go to the first of what was supposed to six classes, I was stressed, I was tired, my head was beginning to send my signals that a migraine was coming, and - I was finding I was about 50% short on closet space, which I was clearly pouting / panicking about because I have to have the old bedroom cleared so I can re-paint it with just enough time for the mother-in-law's furniture to arrive.  So with all that chaos going on, here we go - Geddy gets loaded up in the car by himself with me and off we go.

Of course he was nervous.  I can't really tell if he was happy and excited to be out, or stressed, but he was very vocal by the time we got there and could not be calmed down.  I was the first one in the group to get there, by the time the other dogs started arriving, he was fit to be tied.

The teacher asked us to leave.

I get it.  She had no other choice.  She wasn't very nice about it, but I do totally get it.  She said she would call me on Sunday to arrange for private lessons.  Here we are on Monday evening, and I haven't heard from her.  I doubt I will - I'm sure she thinks Geddy and I are a lost cause.  So the next step is to fight to get my money back.  Which should almost cover all the closet organizing stuff I've had to buy (one thing's for sure, this will cure me from buying new clothes for a while), so maybe there's a silver lining in there somewhere.

But that public rebuke was the straw that broke the camel's proverbial back.  All the built up pressure of everything that had been happening just came flooding up in me and I cried a river as soon as we hit the door back home. 

And the migraine started that hasn't quite abated yet.

Geddy, for his part, isn't quite settled down to normal - he shredded a Target bag on my bedroom floor this morning - but he was immediately calmer when we got home on Saturday - that trip out was the one thing that was just too much for him as it turns out.  And once he was back home with his companions, he felt on more solid ground I guess, or maybe he thought that it had all been a grand adventure and he was basking in the memory of it.  Time with mommy at the pet store!  If I'm guessing and he's getting used to the new digs and is realizing nobody else is leaving him, so if I tried to same thing over again next weekend, I'd have an entirely different result - but no one is probably willing to take that chance on us again.

The bottom line is, it's a lot of change for both he and I to absorb and maybe, all things considered, despite his embarrassing public outburst, he's doing better with everything than I am.  

Why confess all this?  Because I think it's easy for all us, when things aren't going well in our lives, to overlook how it impacts our pets.  They can't speak to us.  And they don't understand it when we're trying to tell them it'll all be okay - if we even remember to do that much.  Can we really be all that surprised when that comes pouring out in some untoward and unfortunate way? 

I'm not sure where he and I will go from here really.  Maybe we'll discuss it between plays during tonight's Steelers game.  But, more likely, he and I are just going to join Rooney and Sirius on the couch and have an evening of sports and not think of anything else for a while.  A little self care every so often can be the catalyst to real change.

One thing's for sure, it'll all be here waiting for us tomorrow.