This update is a bit overdue. It's been a sleepless couple of weeks, not to mention busy. You've managed to deprive me of the luxury of a REM cycle. Make that MULTIPLE REM CYCLES, kiddo.
In this foggy, puppy-induced, delirium I've developed the somewhat annoying habit of speaking for you. I find myself responding for you when you're playing with people: "Nori's like 'Okay, we're best friends now'"
What the hell is up with that?
Honestly... why? Why do I do this? I can hear myself speaking but I'm helpless to stop it. Obviously, my working brain cells have been diverted to keeping my body upright and awake. Functioning normally is apparently too much to ask.
I've also become the crazy lady on the street who openly talks to her dog in public. It's even more hilarious (read: pathetic) when I talk to you on the elevator and people think I'm talking to them.
"Excuse me?"
"Sorry. Erm. Actually, I was talking to her."
You have finally received your last booster shot and you are now fully vaccinated! Yay! I must say, you take your needles better than I do. During your last visit to the vet, he told Risto to watch you and make sure you're cleaning yourself properly, otherwise, Risto is going to have to go back to the vet with you and talk more about doggie vaginitis. Another something that, in my tired state, I find more hilarious than I probably should. Not the fact that you'd be peeing fire, but the fact that two men are examining your vulva and discussing the finer points of doggie female hygiene.
As far as your obedience class goes, you've made a bit of progress on the word "come". You still only "come" when it suits you though. You've learned "stay" and "off" and can give a "high five" even when we don't ask you for it. At our last puppy class, you gave yourself a timeout after a dog barked at you for harrassing it too much. You've also started to put yourself to bed in your crate. Personally, I think it's really because you can't bear hearing any more American Idol auditions.
However, you're backsliding in the walking department. Actually no, you just blatantly put your stubborn paw down about not walking unless it's on your terms. You give me this look like "I'm not coming on this bullshit walk. Why are we walking? There's a park over there, LADY. Stop pulling on my fucking neck. Are you kidding me? The park. The park is over THERE. I don't give a shit about those liver treats. Woman! There's doggy ass over there that I must sniff!!"
Oh, and yeah, enough with the shoelace game.
Your trainers have assured me (multiple times - yes, i'm that annoying) that you are fantastic at playing with other dogs smaller than you. That you're not actually growing up to be a bully. Apparently, you never give the other dogs more than they can handle, although you yourself need to learn to play with bigger dogs. See videos of crazy cute dogs at kinderpuppy class here:: *click* and here:: *click*.
Everyday you continue to increase your pool of admirers and dog buddies. We have yet to make an attempt to infiltrate the Stanley Park crowd. We've heard that they are on the clique-y side. (Are you KIDDING me?) However, the Adelaide Park people adore you and you've played with a TON of dogs there. In fact, the other night, you were so busy playing with Hurley, you didn't even notice when I got pinned on my back by a ginormous retriever. All I will say is that you'd go down too if a gigantic paw suddenly came up over your head.
Dude....What the hell is up with you and plants? You have systematically destroyed all of the greenery within reach of your puppy mouth. The pathway to the park from our building may never recover itself this spring. Grampa Ossi calls you the "terrorist" because you've shredded all the pine needles off the lower branches in his backyard. See video of you tearing around the backyard here:: *click*
We had a long week of crap. Risto and I have learned a major lesson about switching your food without first running it by your internal gastrointestinal executive engineer. It was a crap-happy time for all involved but I can't say I'll miss the sounds of your ass whistling as you do the ole squat 'n dump.
I've come to the conclusion that I spend way too much time worrying about you. Did you poop? Did you not poop? How WAS the poop? Are you playing too aggressively? Why aren't you playing enough? Are you too hot? too cold? too thirsty? not thirsty enough? eating? not eating? eating too much? It's totally neurotic. You're going to need therapy when you grow up, aren't you?
So yeah, while you wait for the stars to align themselves in order for you to find the perfect spot to poop, embarrassing as this is to admit, I find myself staring at your little sphincter really intently. I'm anxiously waiting to see if it's the right KIND of poop that comes out.
For me, it's kinda like playing the slots.
No comments:
Post a Comment