Gone to the dogs

As I was clicking through our December pics today that I conned the husband into downloading onto one of the computers for me, I realized that my in-laws are the real geniuses in our family because they're the only ones withOUT any dogs.  


Here is the ruler of our roost right now, the furry family member that dictates when I have to make a lap around the 'hood twice a day and how many times I have to haul myself out to the backyard for doggy potty breaks.  And why I rush home from whatever errand I'm running because I feel guilty about Ollie having to spend more than an hour or so in his crate.  Who could resist that cute little mug... even when it's munching on yet another piece of landscaping bark that I have to pry out of his mouth for the umpteenth time this week.  I think Ollie just likes to hear me squeal and chase him around the backyard, trying to save us a trip to the vet to remove any of the crap he tries to get lodged in his gullet.

My sister and her family have two dogs... in addition to four cats.  The schnauzer is named Rocky and the corgi is Amigo.  They're quite the pair and remind me of that nursery rhyme - Jack Sprat (Rocky) could eat no fat, his wife (Amigo) could eat no lean...  Amigo's stomach doesn't drag the ground - yet.  I'm thinking he sneaks more than his fair share of cat food when no one is looking.

My husband's brother and his family are up to 4 dogs with the addition of the latest family member, Roscoe the English bulldog.  Lullabelle is the bloodhound, Bronte is the Great Dane and Eli (in the separate pic) is a Shih Tzu.  It's a good thing their house sits on a couple acres so they don't have to do the two-step around big piles of dog poo every time they walk out the back door.

And then there's my mother and her pair of pugs, Max and Ruby.  They are so sweet and so terribly spoiled.  Really - they think they're human, her canine lap babies that love nothing better than to stay stuck up under her being petted and living the good life.  

My husband's parents are the only close family members that can just up and leave on a trip without first making reservations at a kennel or finding someone to come over and feed the beasts while they're gone.  They can walk right outta the house without first locating one of those sticky roller thingies to get all the animal hair off their clothes.  And they're at the mercy of no one else's feeding and potty schedule except their own.  I'm just wondering if Ollie will qualify as some sort of quasi grandchild so that we can guilt them into keeping him once we get back to Texas and want to go on the occasional road trip or long weekend.

They grow up so fast

There's a country western song by Mark Chesnutt titled "I'm Gonna Get a Life".  Silly me should have taken ol' Mark's advice instead of my own... gonna get a dog.  Ollie's still the cutest little Cairn, but gosh darn my world now revolves around him.  


I swear it's like having a toddler in the house - lots of fun and keeps me entertained with his cute little antics.  The best part is that he doesn't have to be monitored as closely as a toddler, but he can be just as demanding and destructive as a two-year-old.  Plus there's that whole bit where I can shove him in his crate whereas Child Protective Services would have a serious problem with me doing the same to one of the kids.


Toilet training with the girls involved me doing some bribing with M&M's for using the potty.  Ollie successfully taking a tinkle or poo outside involves me cranking up my high-pitched babytalk voice to teeth grinding levels of sugary sweetness when the little beast does his thing outside instead of on his puppy pads in the laundry room.  And I don't care if I sound just like my mother talking to her pugs (as my husband and oldest daughter snicker in the adjacent room upon overhearing said babytalk) if that's what it takes to get some positive results with the housebreaking.


I'm still adhering to Cesar's decree that a tired dog is a calm and happy dog.  A dog that won't use your hand, face or shoelace as a teething ring.  And develop this annoying habit of hopping into the dirty clothes basket in the laundry room in search of a smelly old sock to chew.  If Ollie has been for his 45 min walk through the neighborhood in the AM followed by a session of fetch or another stroll in the PM, then he's (usually) less likely to make my life miserable by adopting annoying or destructive behaviors.


Like most dogs, Ollie is very motivated by food.  I feed him his expensive dog food by strictly adhering to the age/weight guidelines so that he won't become an obese fellow.  This makes it ridiculously easy to bribe him with little treats so that I easily taught him to sit and the youngest daughter taught him down.  The next step is gonna be stay because the stairs are just too much temptation to resist and he has a tendency to dash up to the second floor at top speed before we can catch him.  


One dirty little habit Ollie has developed that I doubt would be exhibited by a toddler is the ability to exact revenge.  When I put him over the baby gate into his very comfortable and spacious area right off the kitchen and he doesn't want to be there, then he dashes over to his puppy pads where he proceeds to chew them to shreds.  Of course, the minute I hear ripping I rush over with my "NO" and the finger (index, not middle one) that I'm using as what Cesar calls the I don't agree with this behavior signal/noise.  Cesar uses his now famous tcccccht while I have NO and the finger.  It's hilarious because when I do this he will usually stop the behavior and stare, which is my signal to distract him with a toy or rawhide.  The trick is that sometimes Ollie thinks I'm just kidding around rather than being serious, so he adopts this feisty in-your-face 'tude where he thinks it's fun to yap defiantly and lunge at my finger with his sharp little teeth.  I think I'm starting to see a bit of tween-teen behavior from my precious little pup.


Below is a short video I made this morning while Ollie was out in the back garden, post walk, to play a bit of ball before going in for some downtime in his playpen crate.  A month ago he could only push the deflated pink volleyball across the ground and now he's toting it in his mouth.  The darling little puppy months have passed in the blink of an eye.  Before you know it he'll be hiking his leg on every signpost and blade of grass in the neighborhood.

Not with a whimper, but rather a bang courtesy of the neighbors

We ushered in 2012 with a lot of booms and bangs... or rather the neighbors did their part to wake the dead with a fabulously long and LOUD fireworks display at midnight.  We were reluctant partiers since we had been asleep since 7:30 that evening.  


Our very long day(s) began at 6 am Friday, Dec. 30th, when we gathered up all six suitcases full of our family belongings (two more than we brought to Texas, so it's a good thing Wal-Mart keeps the big old cheap suitcases in stock) and shuffled off to the San Antonio airport to begin our journey back to England.


The flight to Houston got off on time and we had a nice long layover that allowed us to have a big seafood lunch at Pappadeaux's in the airport.  This has become a bit of a tradition, to enjoy one final fried food meal as well as free iced tea refills before boarding the big bird for the long trip.


After teasing us with a late departure, the airline then recanted and got us off just a bit later than scheduled, making up that time en route so that we actually arrived at Heathrow on time.  The oldest daughter slept on and off for the second half of the flight.  However, the youngest daughter didn't doze off until we were about 90 minutes from landing.  We were pleased to discover that the plane wasn't anywhere near full and so my husband coaxed the youngest daughter to join him in his row since the two seats next to him were empty.  It was heaven for everyone to be able to spread out a bit and be more comfortable for the 9+ hours we were in the air.


After clearing customs, we connected with the car service and were home in record time new years eve morning around 7:45.  We wrestled our suitcases into the house and promptly hopped into the car to collect Ollie at the carer's home... back over near Heathrow.  


I swear the little twit has doubled in size since we left him two weeks ago.  I could tell the lady took really good care of him and even went so far as to buy him a new doggie toy for Christmas.  We definitely intend to try and place him with her again when we travel to Rome for winter break in February.  


Once we got Ollie home, I made a trip to the local grocery store to stock up on basics as well as the makings for cheese and chocolate fondue - YUM!  We gobbled up our fondue as a late lunch/early dinner and then tried to keep our eyes open through a movie.  By 7:30 pm, we were staggeringly tired and headed for bed.  We begrudgingly enjoyed the fireworks at midnight which roused us enough to stay awake for several hours before heading back for some much-needed sleep.  I woke up again at 7, 9 and 11 am to let Ollie out for a potty break, whereupon he promptly found all the fireworks debris.  It's a good thing we have a very private backyard since I padded around in my slippers and old yellow chenille robe my mother gave me eons ago to pick up the bits and pieces leftover from the big celebration.


We were able to roll the girls out of bed with the lure of pancakes around noon.  It has just started raining, so I think that's my cue to begin packing away the Christmas decor instead of taking Ollie for a walk.  It will be interesting to see what 2012 has in store for us after such an interesting 2011.  I sincerely hope we will all be blessed with a happy and healthy new year.

Walkies

According to Cesar, you must make sure your puppy receives ample exercise.  It engages their minds and wears them out so that they are better behaved.  With Ollie's sharp little puppy teeth, we're all over anything that will keep him calm and less apt to use us as a human teething bone.  Therefore, I've gotten into the habit of walking Ollie twice a day for at least a half mile.  The trick is that I don't always get a lot of cooperation.

Ollie does enjoy the exercise.  The trick is that he wants to do it on his own terms.  He wants to give a good sniff to every rock, leaf, bush and post along our walking routes through the neighborhood.  Of course, the first trick is to get the little twit out of the driveway.  He gets excited when I snap on the leash and we exit the front door.  He'll usually get about halfway down the driveway before he starts trying to paw and eat the leash.  Initially it was kinda cute because it looked as if he was trying to walk himself and he pranced along with the leash in his mouth.  Now it's just a downright nuisance since we've been taking walks every day since he came home with us.  

Once we clear the driveway, he likes to snuffle through the grassy verge on the other side of the privacy hedge that fronts the road.  This is one of his fave places to poop before we head out for our little jaunt.  Then he has to stop and give a good snuffle to the entry gate to the neighborhood as well as each of the ornamental posts as we make our way towards the initial roundabout that shoots off onto a less traveled road where we go walkies.

For the first part of any walk with Ollie, he does his best impression of a mule.  He digs in his heels and pulls against the leash.  If I stop to address it rather than just continue to pull him along in my wake, then he will plop down on his butt as if to say that he aint going anywhere.  

I know passersby wonder why this burly woman (that's me) is playing tug-of-war with a puppy.  How cruel!  It's a war I wage with him every day and I just keep walking until he finally gives up and realizes it's gonna be my way instead of his.  Once that is settled, he happily trots along beside me for the remainder of the walk.

For some reason, Ollie has it in his little puppy head that he can only pee here at our house.  We walk for a solid 45 minutes at a slow pace and I allow him to sniff at will.  However, he never pees.  He will stop and poop and by stop I mean come to a dead standstill and do his business - side of the road, middle of the road, wherever he happens to be standing when the urge strikes.  But not so with the pee.  He'll hold it for the entire walk so that I have to take him around to our backyard as soon as we get home so he can squat and empty his very full bladder for a good 30 seconds.  Isn't that just the strangest thing?  I always thought boy dogs were prone to watering every other blade of grass on a walk.  Maybe it's because he's not a big boy yet and isn't old enough to start hiking his leg.  

Above is a pic of Ollie sprawled on his favorite spot in his doggy area right off the kitchen.  The boiler pipes run under these tiles, so he likes to flop down here where it's always toasty warm when he comes in from a walk in the cold.  What a smart little pup!

Que?

Back when the now junior in high school was a little girl, we would listen to a Christmas CD during our commute to and from school.  After a while I was ready to choke Elmo because all he could sing about was wanting a danged hippopotamus for Christmas.  Really?  I don't recall ever seeing a swimming pool on Sesame Street so I have no idea where he was gonna stash that hippo.  And as far as the hippo liking him, too, I assumed the hippo would probably be just as annoyed by his high-pitched squeaky voice as every other living thing on the planet and eat his bright red butt as a mid-day snack.  


The child never tired of that CD so we listened to it on a continuous loop for the whole month of December.  One evening, we were in the house and I heard my little songbird humming the tune of Jose Feliciano's "Feliz Navidad".  After a couple bars, she started singing it.  Darned if those lyrics weren't difficult to understand, particularly in a foreign language, because "Feliz Navidad" had become Fleas Snubeedub.  She happily sang along to Fleas Snubeedub and every year around Christmastime I'm reminded of her cute little misunderstanding of the lyrics.  

You'll have to remind me to write about the George Strait song "Porcupine Prophecy in Arizona"... because that makes so much more sense than the actual words when you're in second grade.

Cracks Me Up Every Time

Nothing says the holiday season so much as the viewing of National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation.  I just love that movie - so many laughable moments... cousin Eddie, Snot the rottweiler, the cat that got fried for nibbling on the tree lights and the squirrel scene.  The first time I saw the squirrel scene, I laughed until I had tears running down my face.  No matter how many times I see it, I still think it's terribly funny.


The one DVD player we have in the house only plays UK DVDs.  I was surprised and pleased to find a UK copy of it at our local Sainsbury's for just a fiver along with two other Christmas movies that really aren't worth mentioning.  Christmas Vacation was the little nugget of gold in the three for five packaging.  


Here is the famous squirrel scene.  Take a watch and laugh like a loon... I always do!

Humpty Dumpty had a great fall

Last night was a humdinger.  The youngest daughter and I took Ollie out for a potty break after he ate his supper.  In typical puppy ADHD fashion, he kept getting distracted by the holly bush and running right to it.  The problem was that there's a big mud puddle all around it, so the youngest daughter kept carting him out of the puddle.  On about the fourth puddle rescue mission, when we were ready to head back inside, the youngest daughter was hauling the beast out yet again when he nipped her on the hand.  He's just 10 weeks old so it's not as if she lost a hunk of flesh.  However, this daughter suffers nothing in silence or with great fortitude, so she squealed and promptly let him go, whereupon he fell several feet down to the concrete pavers of the driveway and landed with a splat.


He immediately emitted this horrible puppy scream and started spinning around in a tight circle.  I catch Ollie and pick him up.  He stops the horrible I'm-about-to-die hollering but is shaking like a leaf.  The youngest daughter and I head towards the house when the older daughter comes outside to see if we've killed the pup.  Not yet, I tell her.  I'm definitely NOT the person you want to call in a crisis because I'm too busy falling apart.  Seriously - I can't even handle a splinter.  The girls like to poke fun at me by coming up with a hand extended and telling me they think they have a splinter.  It just gives me the willies and makes me feel ill.  


So in true Carrie freak out fashion, I had the girls go get my husband.  Hallellujah - he comes downstairs and commandeers the pup situation.  I was convinced Ollie had broken his spine until my husband had him walk a bit.  Then I was sure that Ollie had a concussion because he fell asleep in the blink of an eye.  When he continued breathing, I gently poked Ollie's sides because I imagined he had some sort of internal bleeding.  


He slept for a bit in my husband's lap while I fretted.  My husband put Ollie in his doggie room (the converted garage) where he got a drink of water and gingerly crawled into his crate.  By then I was just a basket case.  I assumed I would get no sleep with visions of thousand pound emergency vet bills or brain damaged/crippled pups running through my head.  Drastic times calling for drastic measures equaled two over the counter sleeping pills for me.


I woke up this morning and crept downstairs to find a cold, stiff body perky Ollie reared up on the baby gate waiting for me to cart him over so he could take his morning potty stroll.  He seems none the worse for wear, thank goodness.  The new house rule is that the youngest daughter can no longer carry Ollie unless I get some sort of doggie life insurance coverage for him.