Tag Archives: pets

Camp Bow Wow, interview day

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Charlie and Lexie answer important questions during their intake interview at Camp Bow Wow.

Most pet owners know planning for a vacation can get complicated.

Now add a puppy and an ailing dog to the mix. To put it simply, I’m not anxious to hand them over to anyone.

Back when Lexie was younger, going out of town was easy. Sometimes even last-minute. I’d call a friend to check in on her and feed her once a day. With the dog door, she needed very little supervision. As she aged, and her anxiety rose, we started to use doggie day care or would board her for short trips.

Now Matt and I are preparing our first major trip together. On a plane, even! Between Lexie’s limited mobility and assorted medical issues, and the fact that Charlie is 100 percent puppy, we realized we would need to board them. On occasion I had used Camp Bow Wow in Ann Arbor for doggie daycare with Lexie. So we looked into it, and it ends up there’s a Camp Bow Wow closer to our house, as well.

Since Charlie had never been to Camp Bow Wow before, we made an appointment for an intake interview and tour. We were shown the cabin that Lexie and Charlie will share, their indoor/outdoor play area (monitored by webcams) and left the pups in a large playroom for their interview.

We were allowed to watch from the lobby on a large monitor.

Both dogs eagerly interacted with the woman running the interview, then different kinds of dogs with varying energy levels were brought in. Lexie mostly ignored them, and Charlie wanted to play. Afterward, I was told to leave them for a couple hours so the staff could figure out which play group to assign them to.

After grabbing lunch, I went back and spotted Lexie trotting at a moderate speed across the screen. Was that my geriatric dog? She looked great. And Charlie was running back and forth, his tail up in the air, the tip curled. Was he smiling?

Charlie takes a good photo.

I made my appointment for our upcoming trip, and received a welcome report on Charlie. Both dogs were assigned to play in the small dog group. That sounds perfect.

The guy at the front desk assured me they both did great, and will do fine when I bring them back.

I know they can’t wait.

Evaluating Lexie

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Lex prepares for the physical exam. Sadly, she forgot to brush.

After a trip to the vet, we’ve established Lexie is getting old.

To be more specific, she has arthritis in her spine and hind legs, making it difficult for her to get around. When I confessed I was sure I brought it on by adopting an energetic puppy, the vet told me to stop worrying. This had been in the works for some time, and was bound to happen.

I have to remember, my darling Lexie is 14 years old, after all.

It ends up I’m already doing things right. We recently bought dog beds so Lex wouldn’t have to jump up on the couch or in our bed. Immediately, she curled up in the fluffy bed … seemingly relieved that she didn’t have to tax herself to get comfortable. All of this, the vet said, was a step in the right direction.

Lex snoozes in her favorite spot.

The vet prescribed a liquid pain killer/anti-inflammatory, then suggested what amounts to the silver lining in all of this: Lex should eat wet food. This is partly because the pain killer should be eaten on a full stomach, and, well, Lexie is a grazer. I’ve never been able to get her to eat on command. The other reason for the dietary change is because Lex has some weight to gain. Since her life partner Lili died a year ago, she has lost 12 pounds — about a quarter of her weight.

I asked about her dementia, and the vet suggested a medication, but mostly said it would be helpful to reassure Lexie when she’s confused. I can tell the condition is swiftly progressing; my brother and his wife told me upon seeing Lex today that she seemed to look right through them. Sadly, I don’t see this changing.

I asked if Lexie’s overall symptoms were end-of-life indicators. The vet carefully chose her words, but eventually said, yes. They could be. She encouraged me to spend a  lot of time with my pup, and periodically evaluate the road we travel.

I’m guessing some days will be better than others.

Cheating time

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Lexie’s favorite spot in the whole world is serving as a pillow under Matt’s head.

Now that all the new puppy hubbub has settled, one thing has become very clear.

Lexie is failing.

At first I noticed she wasn’t able to completely jump onto the couch. Then she started laying at awkward angles, with her back legs splayed. Today I winced as her hind legs barely supported her body.

When we took her in for her annual shots a couple months ago, Matt and I mentioned we were looking for a second dog. The vet strongly suggested that we not get a puppy. She said Lex was looking great for her 14 years. Still, her body was delicate, and probably not up for puppy play.

There’s also her recent diagnosis of doggie dementia to consider. She’s in the early stages, but starting to show more symptoms. Sometimes I’ll find her staring into a corner; other times she won’t respond when I call her name. I never thought to ask how a puppy could affect this condition.

Somehow the vet’s great advice faded when we found Charlie. He was gentle. She would set a great example for him as he matured. He would inspire a little spunk in the senior Lex.

Now as I watch her struggle, I can’t help but wonder if I hastened her decline. I pray that I am wrong.

I made an appointment with the vet for tomorrow morning. I’m hoping she’ll tell me I am overreacting. That Lex is just tired. That I can’t expect her to always keep pace with a puppy.

Time is not on my side. So all I can do is hope.

Home alone

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Throw the fluffy bone again! Please!?! Pretty please??

I would be lying if I said I didn’t worry.

You see, today was not an ordinary day. It was the first time we left Charlie alone all day long.

I’m not on the couch. Seriously! I’m not on the couch.

I imagined a hole in our couch. Teeth marks on my Mission-style furniture. A fresh pile of poop on my bed.

Instead, I was greeted by a wiggly Charlie, who begged/dared me to give him an “I’m home!” rub. He triumphantly waved a chewy bone in his mouth.

Not a thing was disturbed. In fact, neither Lexie nor Charlie even touched a morsel of their kibble. Hmm. Impressive.

We moved to the yard, so I could throw the fluffy squeaky bone to Charlie. Somehow, this is his favorite toy for fetch. It’s absolutely awkward: a stuffed bone that weighs next-to-nothing and is almost impossible to throw more than 10 feet. Still, the sight of it makes him jump up and down like … a puppy!

Lex saunters at her own pace in the yard. Her wrestling days are over.

We tried tennis balls, but Charlie soon lost interest. He would zoom after them, then take a sharp right turn and attempt to tackle Lexie. Now that she’s a delicate 14 years old, we were not going to allow any of those shenanigans. We quickly declared Lexie a no-fly zone, and ….

Hey! What are these wood chips on the couch? And what happened to the front picture window? Are those teeth marks in the wood? What the ….???

So yes, just as I was about to present myself with the Most Awesome Puppy Owner award for Least Destruction in a Single Workday, the ceremony was quickly aborted. I couldn’t deny it, or even hide it. Charlie had chewed the front window.

The evidence.

The good news is that this window and sill were significantly damaged many years ago by another unruly dog. And I plan on replacing the entire unit with something without teeth marks (and more energy efficient) in the next year or so.

The problem is that for the next week, with Matt out of town, I have no way of correcting his behavior. I could hope really hard that he just won’t find the front window tasty anymore. Scientifically, I think that’s my best bet. In fact, right now I’m closing my eyes and thinking NO EATING THE FRONT WINDOW! and amazingly, Charlie has not left his bed.

See? It’s already working.

While Daddy’s away …

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I’ve got a Nylabone, and I’m gonna chew this instead of the couch. I puppy-paw swear!

Since we adoped Charlie, Matt has been a constant in his life.

And now, for the first time since Charlie has lived with us, Matt is going away on business. For a week. How on Earth will Charlie survive?

Rumor has it, Charlie has plans. Like sitting on the couch. And sleeping in a human bed. And eating lots of cat food. Maybe even pooping on the laundry pile.

Matt’s eyes turned red when I disclosed Charlie’s itinerary.

“That’s my greatest fear! That you will undo all my hard work and training!” he accused.

The truth is it would be a lot more trouble to let Charlie run wild, than to continue with his training. He craves discipline, and is eager to please. And who can resist the wiggly puppy dance from a dog who just mastered “sit” for like the hundredth time?

Certainly, not me!

I imagine I may allow a short nap on my belly, and perhaps some surprise table scraps, but I’m expecting nothing out of the ordinary.

Since buying separate dog beds for Charlie and Lex, they both sleep comfortably on the floor next to us at night. We’ve fallen into an easy routine, with the dogs sleeping in their beds (with a few choice squeaky toys for cuddling, of course!) until morning. Then I usually get Charlie out in the yard for his morning potty. I learned a lesson by opting to change some laundry first thing the other morning, and Charlie trotted down and proceeded to pee all over the blanket at my feet.

Well, it was in a pile waiting to get cleaned anyway. Sigh.

The point is, I feel I have things under control. The only thing I’m really concerned about is the time when I go to work. We’ve successfuly left Charlie and Lex alone for a few hours, but nothing like 10 hours straight. I’m concerned he will miss me, or his buddy Matt. I really hope he won’t cry. Charlie, that is.

Dog days of summer

So Matt is leaving for a week, and the heat wave is in full blast. Like much of the nation, we have had countless days in a row of 100-plus degree weather. To help keep us cool, we bought a wading pool at PetSmart. It even comes with decorative bones instead of fish. Ya know, because dogs can tell the difference.

I couldn’t wait to get home, and actually called dibs on filling the pool with water. My eyes glazed over as I imagined Lex and Charlie diving in, frolicking in the water. As soon as the water filled up close to the rim, I called Charlie over. He sniffed at the pool, then backed away. Matt scooped him up and placed him in the water, sure he would bounce around. Instead, he promptly hopped out and rolled in some sun-burned grass.

Lex walked toward the pool. She really surveyed the situation. I was hopeful. She took a step right to the side of the pool, lowered her head, and took in a long slurp of water.

Lex had just discovered the largest water bowl in Detroit.

What? This is supposed to keep me cool? Slurp-slurp. Ya know, you’re right!

Learning to love the crate … or not

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Charlie and Lex snooze away after a day of play. (Photos by Matt)

Everyone has issues.

As for Charlie, our recently adopted border collie mix, he enjoyed making deposits on top of the guest bed or the laundry in the basement.

Seriously, this is not a big deal. I mean, he’s a puppy, almost five months old. Proper house training takes time, and patience. But this became a bigger issue when we visited the vet to treat Charlie’s worms. The vet tech strongly encouraged us to crate Charlie. At night, and even during the day. No more on the couch, and definitely no more sleeping with us.

I was crushed.

I could think of nothing better than waking up to puppy breath. Matt was more straight-forward about it. Charlie needed to learn he was not on par with us humans.

Sigh.

Matt firmly embraced his new role as Stern Daddy. And when Charlie kept pooping on the bed, Matt resurrected the crate. We had tried it for like a day when we first got Charlie, but he peed all over himself. He seemed less stressed outside of the crate. But now, Matt wanted to try it again. We went on a short trip to the store, and left Charlie in the crate. We came back to a completely drenched dog. We couldn’t tell if it was saliva or pee. We washed the crate pad, and left him alone a few hours later. When we returned, again, he was soaking wet.

That night, we played crate games. Matt and I took turns tossing squeaky toys into the crate, alternating with biscuits. Charlie seemed comfortable with it. He even went all the way in and curled up for a few minutes. But when it came time for bed, and the game included closing the crate gate, Charlie simply lost it.

He waited until I was almost asleep, then let it rip. A-WOW-ROW-ROWWWW!!!!!! WOOOOO! YIP! YIP!

I had read that I should let him howl. To not reward him by letting him out. I turned on my side, and tried to not think about the chaos downstairs. I started to drift off, then Charlie stepped it up a notch. I thought of my neighbors, and asked Matt if the downstairs windows were open. He couldn’t remember. I didn’t want anyone to call the cops.

I sighed. Heavily. And weighed my options. I walked downstairs.

Charlie howled until I opened the door. He was dripping wet. I pulled out the wet mat, then took Charlie outside. He immediately peed, so I started thinking he was wet from nervously drooling on himself. Matt and I decided to put a fresh blanket in the crate and bring it upstairs. We got Charlie back in, but he was not happy about it, and let us know all night.

Snuggle bunnies.

We woke up knowing we had to do something. After consulting multiple pet behavior websites, we hatched a plan. We drove to Costco, and bought three dog beds — a large one both dogs could use on the main floor, then two individual beds for upstairs. Then we went to Meijer and bought a baby gate. We put a dog bed on Matt’s side of the bed, and put the gate between the bed and the wall, providing Charlie a space that is about 3 feet by 5 feet.

It worked like magic.

Looking for reassurance, I went to the message boards (specifically my dog friends at Reddit) to get input. Mostly everyone encouraged us to stick with crate training, although some said if the current approach worked that was cool, too.

We tried the crate a few more times (usually when we made short trips away from the house) but the end result always was the same. Charlie would drool all over himself. I began to suspect a form of separation anxiety, and worried that continued exposure to the crate could cause harm.

So we continued with the confined space at night (baby gate, plus dog bed) and experimented with letting him roam free during the day. Even when we were gone. The first time we tried this, Matt and I were terrified. As we drove home, we imagined the destruction waiting for us.

But upon opening the front door, we were greeted with … nothing. Not a squeaky toy out of place. We chalked it up to beginner’s luck, then tried it again. And again. Always with the same result. Charlie didn’t even nibble on his chewy.

What great relief.

Now that Charlie recently taught himself to use the dog door, and apparently is housebroken (through positive reinforcement, he’s finally pooping outside), we get to move on to the next commands.

Did I mention he already knows how to sit?

Dog-yawn-kiss

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Charlie’s looking for a toy. Why are there no toys?!?

I think we’ll keep him.

It’s been a week, and we are madly in love with Charlie. Overall, I’d call it a successful transition. He and Lex get along famously, Matt has taught him to sit and he’s housebroken. Well, not really. He still really likes to take a poo in the basement. But he’s close to housebroken.

Magic bowl: Polaroid, tooth, tokens.

And last night, the Tooth Fairy came! Charlie lost one of his baby canine teeth. He got my attention by neurotically licking his nose (or so it appeared) and then it just flew out of his mouth. At first I thought one of his nails fell out, but upon closer examination I saw he lost a baby tooth. I put it in my magic bowl on top of the TV, and made sure to hide a dog treat in his bed.

In the first week of living with someone new, peculiar habits may surface. For Charlie, he has a thing for staying clean. Particularly, he likes to slip into the bathtub while Matt or I take a shower.

At first I noticed his little nose poking through the curtain. Then it was both paws on top of the tub. Then front legs hanging in the tub … and next thing you know, he’s soaked! Must be that Border Collie curiosity!

Now that Charlie has a name (thanks to everyone who suggested names and voted!) we had two tasks to accomplish. First, we had to teach it to him, and secondly, we had to get a cool name tag!

Somehow the stars aligned perfectly and Matt was able to get Charlie to answer to his new name AND teach him how to sit, all in one day. Matt says no magic was involved on teaching the command; he simply watched a YouTube video. To celebrate, we went to PetSmart and bought a bright red dog bone name tag. Fancy-schmancy stuff, indeed.

Throughout this week, Lexie has been a gracious big sister, gently (and geriatrically) showing young Charlie the ropes. Lex gave up her favorite spot on the couch (until we put a stop to that), she holds her ground as he zooms around her in the yard and does this odd yawn-thing each time Charlie goes in for a kiss. We Googled “dog-yawn-kiss” and apparently it’s a calming signal to indicate that everything is OK and there is nothing to worry about. Awwe.

In exchange for all of this, Lex gets to eat unlimited amounts of puppy chow. Not that we would want to encourage that, or anything. But she’s still quick on the paws, and able to gobble down quite a bit of kibble before we realize she’s in the wrong bowl.

And given that she’s a tad underweight, I’m tempted to let this play out.

In the meantime, Charlie is busy emptying the dog toy basket. The same basket that sat idle in my house for years. He’s discovering the red squeaky bone, the two-foot ropey, the stuffed giraffe, the Kong. He pulls them all out, piling up his favorites on the dog bed, then squeaks the giraffe for like 10 minutes straight.

Oh yes. Music to this mom’s ears.

You want to know his name? Cast a vote!

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How much is that puppy on the counter? More importantly, what is his name? Vote now!

Matt and I spent Father’s Day weekend, appropriately enough, becoming puppy parents. The both of us lost our fathers three years ago, just three months apart. The unimaginable grief of suddenly losing my dad was only compounded by the loss of Matt’s dad to cancer.  These experiences tested us, and in the end cemented our relationship.

So on this holiday of ties, fishing lures and barbecues, Matt and I turn the page. We created our own celebration, thinking of how our fathers would have loved to meet each other. And to hang out in our yard and throw the ropie to Scout. Or gently rub Lex behind the ears.

We are honoring their memories by becoming the best parents we can be.

Time to pick a name

The Dog Formerly Known As Scout soon will have a new name. The pup couldn’t believe it when I told him ya’ll submitted almost 20 name suggestions for him. We were surprised by how many people suggested keeping Scout. It’s a fine name, really, and I have known some legendary Scouts in my time.

But I’m thinking there’s a better fit for our little dog.

We’ve prepared a poll featuring five names we selected from your great submissions. Please take a moment and cast your vote.

This little fuzzball wants a name soon, so vote and be counted!

EDITOR’S NOTE: The poll has closed. The name will be revealed tonight! (June 25)

First bath, well earned

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Getting him into the bathtub was easy. Keeping him there was another story.

First bath. Squeaky clean.

Once he was wet, Scout orchestrated a couple greased-pig-style escapes. Matt thought ahead and closed the bathroom door so he couldn’t get far. After placing him in the tub one more time, he froze as the warm water hit his small body. Scout’s legs stuck firm in cowboy pose, and his muzzle never left the tub’s ledge. His eyes gazed off to a far away place, and he didn’t seem to notice to ruckus on the other side of the door.

Lex avoids eye contact after doing a cannonball off the side of a pontoon boat.

Did we mention that Lexie got her bath first? And after drying her off, we opened the door and she never looked back. We didn’t hear much of the chaos until a loud crash from the front room, followed by frenzied paw steps up and down the stairs going to our bedroom.

I focused on the task at hand, giving Scout his first bath. Considering we have had him for a little more than 24 hours, the lil fella totally trusts us. After washing Scout, I handed Matt the towel to dry him off and opened the door to see what Lex was up to. I found her on the couch, cradling a hurt paw. There was blood on the couch, and somehow she had managed to clear off the entire coffee table onto the floor … including a full cup of coffee (obviously Matt’s, because I would never leave a cup of coffee to languish).

It was shocking Lex had such an energy burst, especially after spending the day at our friends’ house. Josh and Holly live on a lake, and have a gentle giant of a dog, a Newfoundland named Byron.

Lexie and Scout play in a lake.

Actually, Lex had more bizarre behavior at the lake house. When we were loading up to go on our friends’ pontoon boat, Lexie jumped through a tiny hole above a metal door, right into the lake. Specifically, right into a pool of muck. She landed with a big splash, disappeared under the muck, then resurfaced and promptly went ashore. A couple hours later she dove head first into the muck again, this time from the dock as we were exiting the boat. I guess you gotta know Lex to understand this is not normal for our prim-and-proper princess. She’s all about protocol.

I fear these may be symptoms of the early-onset dementia our vet recently diagnosed Lexie with. I’m not sure. But her behavior isn’t sitting well with me.

For now, I’ll just think it has more to do with Scout, and the youthful energy he’s brought to our family.

Could it be this puppy has put a little pep in her step?

Gosh. I sure hope so.

A home visit? Finally.

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Our efforts scouting for a dog finally paid off. We have a home visit scheduled for Friday!

For those not in the know, this is the magical step before an actual pet adoption can take place with most private rescue organizations. The pup, named Scout, is being hosted by a rescue out of Belleville, Mich., and will be driven to Michigan from Kentucky, where it currently is being fostered. Sound complicated?

Let me back up. I’ll show you complicated.

Matt and I will meet Scout on Friday. He’s supposed to be partly border collie, but looks mostly Brittany spaniel to us.

When Matt first showed me a picture of Scout, I didn’t even pause before barking out my order.

“Fill out an application!”

“Really?” Matt asked, then paused to look at the profile: a stout pup that mostly looked like a brittany spaniel. It was clear Matt was still burned by the collective Ranger/Daisy experiences.

“Do it,” I said.

But doing it was not an easy task. The application was mammoth, asking everything from our understanding of the dog’s breed (with examples of how we researched this information) to what we would do if we could no longer keep the dog. It also asked for two personal references (including their phone numbers AND emails!) and contact information for our current vet.

Matt was daunted.

“I don’t want to do this,” he complained, about 10 minutes into the process.

“Babe, it’s worth it. Push through,” I reassured him.

Another 10 minutes later, and Matt was stumped.

I reached out, asking for his computer. “C’mon, let me finish it up.”

“It’s just so invasive,” he said. “They’ll know where we live and we haven’t even seen the dog yet. They’ll even know we have a dog door!”

We sent out the app, and I got busy sending thank-you emails to my friends for putting in a good word. I later found out they each had to fill out a lengthy questionnaire asking everything from where my existing pets sleep to my disciplinary approach.

That night I received an email saying the application was received, and that it could be expedited by faxing vaccination records for my current pets. Amazingly, I has those papers handy, and sent them off. I soon received a second email thanking me, and letting me know the adoption process could take up to three weeks since the organization is run completely by volunteers. The woman also explained in detail how the adoption process worked.

Matt and I were pleased with this news since, well, it was news. After our last experience, this little crumb of communication felt like a steak dinner.

Next we received an email saying the reference portion of our interview was complete, and that Scout’s foster parents or a rescue representative would be in touch to interview us.

That Thursday I received a phone call during my lunch break. Seeing the number was from Kentucky, I eagerly picked it up. A woman with the rescue’s main office had a few questions for me, then she said all my paperwork was in order, and she hoped to conduct a home visit within two weeks. My heart just about jumped out of my chest. We were making progress. Finally.

After a long four-day weekend of no communication, we felt less hopeful. So I jumped in the driver’s seat and called the woman in Kentucky. It ends up she was about to call me to ask about availability for a home visit. She offered Friday, and I said Matt would definitely be there, and I would be able to meet after work.

It’s finally feeling possible. Possible that Matt and I could soon be parents to a new pup. It’s hard to keep our emotions in check, while giving ourselves permission to whoop it up a bit. I called my mom to share my excitement. I imagined Scout, with his soft brown ears, in my house and meeting Lexie.

Matt and I considered buying another dog bed for the front room. But we decided to hold off. We know better.

One thing at a time.