Promises, Promises

Murray the Dog was sick for 5 days. The fact that his stomach wasn’t happy with him isn’t surprising because he will eat or lick anything off the street, sidewalk, floor, walls, strangers’ pant legs, passing cat, etc. And yes, he did learn “Leave it!” in obedience class… all three times.

The problem is, “Leave it!” only works when the “it” in question isn’t — in Murray’s opinion — delectable.

In my 35 years of dachshund motherhood, I’ve had a lot of pups who sampled things I would have thought were inedible. Slate chewed through an oak cabinet door to try to reach the dog food. He pooped splinters for a week. Justin would eat dog-toy squeakers if I didn’t watch him every second. Maddy Lou thought daffodil bulbs and rocks should be on the menu every day.

Is it any wonder I’ve become a helicopter dog-parent?

Every time one of my dogs gets sick I make them promises. “I’ll take you to the beach if your vet bill is under $200!” “I’ll let you NOT take a bath if you stop throwing up.” “I won’t make you wear that pink tutu in public if you wake up tomorrow acting completely healthy again!”

I could have promised Murray that I’d throw the ball 1000 times in a row, but I practically do that already. So instead, I promised him something I knew would motivate him: “You can leap on anyone you want for a week.”

So far, we’ve had six guests. As they approach the front door, I explain my bargain with Murray. They may or may not catch it all due to the loud barking from Katja and Sanders, but I ask them to consent to being lept on.

Each guests has left with muddy paw prints on their pants and jackets. Murray could not be happier. Or healthier.

 

How Many of These Things that I’ve Said to My Dogs Have You Said to Your Human Kids?

Don’t eat things off the ground.

That sweater is too tight. Go put on another one.

Quit licking your brother.

Okay, but I’m only throwing the ball 300 times today. 193, 194, 195…

Drink some water. You don’t want to get dehydrated.

No roughhousing while I’m at the store.

Who peed here?

Don’t drink the bathwater.

Stop licking the sofa.

It’s not nice to stand on someone’s head when they’re asleep.

Quit hogging the covers.

Inside or outside. Make up your mind.

Do you want to watch HGTV or The Food Network while I’m at work?

No humping. Anything.

You just ate. You can’t be hungry again.

Go back to bed. Even the early worms aren’t up yet.

My stomach is not a trampoline.

If you behave, I’ll give you a cookie.

If that makes you sick later, don’t come running to me.

Don’t pee on your sister’s head.

Why are you digging another hole in the yard?

You’re mom’s favorite. Don’t tell anyone.

My feet are falling asleep. Get off.

You smell like a wet dog.

I don’t like the neighbors either, but you don’t hear me barking.

Give me back my socks.

Don’t French kiss mom when we have guests. That’s for private time.

 

Waiting Isn’t In Their DNA

It’s early morning and 31 degrees outside, with frost on the grass.

I opened the door to let the dogs out and Katja stuck her long snout into the frigid air and immediately ran back into the bedroom and burrowed under the covers. Murray, who’d rather not do his business in his own yard unless presented no other option (he takes the “Don’t poop where you sleep” philosophy to an extreme) remained in the kitchen, hunched over the heating vent like a buzzard waiting for prey.

Sanders, who at 12 is the oldest and wisest of the bunch — and I include myself here — ran outside for a quick piddle and shot back inside like he’d been launched out of a tiny catapult.

So you would think, what with the consensus that it is TOO COLD TO BE OUTSIDE, that we’d be off the hook for an early morning walk. After all, it seems reasonable to wait until the sun warms things up a bit and we can all enjoy our outing without our teeth chattering.

But NO! The demands have begun.

Katja has emerged from her cave to bite at my socks as I walk down the hallway. Sock-biting is her way of letting me know she is bored and it is my job to fix that by providing adventure of some kind. After 4,317 tosses of his ball, Murray has decided to bark at me, despite our strict “No barking at mom just because you want something and she’s got other plans” rule. And Sanders is whining and scratching at the door. I know I could distract him with cookies, but he’s on a strict 17 cookies/no more diet.

So we’re going to bundle up in sweaters and coats and head out because waiting is not in my dogs’ DNA. And resistance to canine demands is not in mine. I can feel my teeth chatter already.

 

Homeschooling Your Dogs

I homeschool my wiener dogs and have for years. They learn better without all the distractions that can happen in a large classroom. And I feel better knowing that no one is taunting them for their short legs and long bodies.

In case you are thinking of trying homeschooling yourself, let me share with you my dogs’ daily class schedule to help you set up your own canine curriculum.

1^st period: Music. I play either my thumb-harp or guitar very badly – as is my way – and they howl along in delight – or anguish. Sometimes it’s hard to tell. The goal here is to get them to sing every morning because studies show that music improves learning and retention. Alternative: If you live near a fire station, rather than schedule music class first thing every morning, be flexible and start your lesson whenever sirens go off. If you have a reluctant singer, start the howling yourself.

2^nd period: P.E. Regular exercise is vital for both the brain and body, so I like to make sure that my dogs get theirs in early every day. Probably the most important suggestion I have for you is that it’s important to tailor the class for each dog so that they stay interested and motivated and less likely to bite your ankles (or your knees, for those of you with taller dogs).

Here’s our current schedule: Murray’s class consist of 30 minutes of my tossing the ball down the hall, his retrieving it and then making me chase him around my desk to pry it from his mouth. We both wear a Fitbit to keep track of our steps, but I multiply his by 7. Katja gets her physical activity by running in the back yard chasing squirrels, then coming inside and demanding I open the other door so she can do the same in the front yard. I get a nice upper body workout from opening and closing doors 200-300 times during class. Sanders is in a higher grade and his PE class consists simply of circling on a pillow until it is soft enough for a nap. I try not to join him, but sometimes the teacher needs a break.

3^rd period: Ethics. If we’ve learned anything from the world in the last few years, it’s that everyone could use some more instruction of wrong and right, good and evil, friend and foe. In our class, we concentrate specifically on who NOT to bite (mail carrier, trash man, friends, improv troupe) and who TO bite (ex-husbands, anyone trying to get me to vote against my own reproductive rights. We also have a unit on who NOT to hump (basically everyone, unless consent is given). Consent is a regular topic of discussion and I am proud to say that my dogs understand what that means better than most human men.

4^th period: Art. Stimulating canine creativity is vital to success later in life, so we do some form of art every day. In the spring, class consists primarily of painting all the windows in the house with nose prints. These paintings are monochromatic and primal and would probably sell for big bucks in a gallery, but we’re not in this for the money. In the fall and winter, art class consists of dragging leaves and mud into the house and stomping them firmly into the rugs and furniture. This is messy, but the colors are delightful and justify purchasing a new vacuum cleaner.

5^th period: Math and Science. There are many ways to teach math to your dogs in a way that is both fun and informative. For example, I put five cookies in my palm and offer two each to two dogs and only one to the other. Every time, the shortchanged dog will growl and insist that s/he needs another, showing that s/he is able to do both division and addition. Most of our science lessons, on the other hand, revolve around gravity and take place in the kitchen around meal preparation.

6^th period: Field trips. We take ours literally to a field somewhere nearby. This not only gets everyone out of the house, it allows the dogs an opportunity to learn wildlife identification techniques. For example, I may ask, “Whose poo is that?” or “Was that hole dug by a gopher, a mole, or a Republican Senator emerging from the bowels of hell?”

You, of course, will want to tailor your curriculum so that it meets the specific academic needs of your pooch or pooches. But if you stick to it, you will succeed as a canine home-school teacher, as I have. I am proud to say that right now, all three of my hounds are on the Dean’s list! Cookies for everyone!

Having the Birds & the Squirrels Talk

Katja insists on barking at each bird and squirrel that dares visit our yard, even momentarily. So today, we sat down on her bed (also known as the sofa) and had the birds & squirrels talk.

Me: Honey, I don’t know what you’ve heard from the older dogs, but when a woman and a computer are having relations, it’s best when you don’t bark ALL THE TIME.

Katja: But if I don’t interrupt them, they could make babies! And then there would be more of them! And more barking! Really, I’m trying to prevent wildlife overpopulation.

Me: That’s not your responsibility, honey. Don’t do what all the other dogs do just because you feel peer pressure.

Katja: Oh, I don’t follow the pack. I lead it.

Me: Well, it’s really distracting from my job.

Katja: I thought your job was to open the doors to let me in and out and occasionally to lift me up so that I can smell higher up the tree to determine just what kind of squirrel or bird situation we’re dealing with.

Me: You’re right. That is part of my job. But I also need to write on the computer so that I can make enough money to afford food and treats and gas to put in the car so I can drive you to parks.

Katja: I love parks! There are so many different squirrels and birds to bark at. I do tire of the same old faces at home.

Me: Okay, then, so it’s agreed. You’ll let me have some peace and quiet so I can write something and afford the luxury you’ve gotten accustomed to.

Katja: OMD! Squirrels! Two of them! BARKBARKBARKBARKBARK!

Me searching the internet for YouTube videos on how to effectively communicate with a teenage dog: Alrighty, then.

Triple Threat

My best number of dogs is three. Sure, I’d like ALL THE DOGS, but I have determined that three is a better choice for my sanity.

One dog means one lonely dog who chews up everything and makes you feel super guilty every time you leave the house. And there will probably be howling at home and you’re sure that no matter where you are, you can hear it.

Two dogs means each has company, but when you have to take one dog to the vet or for a spa day at Spot’s Spotless Spa and Spaghetti Spot, then you’re left with one dog at home, which as we have already determined means everything gets chewed up and you feel super guilty. More so even because now that one lonely dog is a dog who isn’t used to being home alone EVER. Your mom hearing will pick up even sadder howling in the wind, the kind that dogs who get lost in the woods do when they’re sure they’re going to have to join a herd of deer because they’ll never see their pack again.

But when you have three dogs, all these problems are solved. Whenever you leave with one dog, two are still home, keeping each other company.  So what if every time you go for a walk, you get caught in a tangle of macramed leashes and while you’re trying to unwrap your legs before the blood flow is cut off, a big dog walks by and now you have pack mentality happening and all three of yours decide to bark and growl and attempt to rush at the big dog who turns out to be your neighbor’s Golden Retriever, who is the sweetest Golden Retriever in the history of the breed and now she’s cowering behind her owner and you’re sucking blood off your knuckles while yelling an apology over the cacophany.

IT’S ALL WORTH IT BECAUSE NO ONE IS LONELY (CAN YOU HEAR ME OVER THE BARKING?)

The Heart is a Muscle

Whenever we lose a family member, we feel that our heart is breaking. And sometimes we worry that it will never heal and feel whole again.

That’s when we need to remind ourselves that our heart is a muscle and muscles need to stretch and flex and work to stay strong.

In the past six weeks, my heart has been through a workout that would put even Richard Simmons and Jillian Michaels to shame. And I did it all without putting on a pair of cross-trainers or strapping on a Fitbit.

These three adorable faces belong to the three dachshunds (although Murray, top left, reminds me that he’s a dachshund/kangaroo/Tasmanian Devil mix) who are making sure that I don’t let my heart sit around on the sofa, crying and eating popcorn — not when there are walks to take, squirrels to chase, bellies to rub, and love to spread.

Sanders (the strawberry blonde at the top) and Katja (the brindle who believes she is the reincarnation of Amelia Earhart) found me just when I needed them. Good thing they have excellent senses of smell because I was buried under some covers, hiding from the world, and perhaps desperately in need of a shower.

Murray, Sanders and Katja understand better than I do that they will not replace Watson and Penny, just as Watson and Penny did not replace Justin and Maddy Lou or Copper and Slate. What they are doing is replacing pain with joy, tears with laughter, self-focus with time spent trying to come up with something other than broccoli that Katja will eat or talk Sanders out of barking at everything that moves or throwing a half-eaten toy bear for Murray to fetch for the 8,713th time today.

Unlike the other muscles of the body, making a heart bigger and stronger simply requires opening it up to more love. And that’s my favorite kind of exercise.

Happy Dog Mother’s Day

Photo credit: Mary Cruse

When you’re a dog mom, you know there are some things moms of humans have to deal with that will never be an issue for you — your dog will never get a tattoo or call for bail money or tell you she’s dropping out of college to form the Blue Woman Group, for example.

We mothers of canines — those of us who can’t see through our glasses because someone licked them and who consider a 3-pack of lint rollers the perfect Mother’s Day gift — we can expect constant love and devotion, a cold snout in warm places, welcome homes that surpass all others… and that our children will probably not outlive us, at least not in years on this earth.

Now that I am in my 34th year of dog momdom, the ebb and flow of life is clearer than ever to me. At this point, I have lost Copper, Slate, Maddy Lou, Justin, Penny and Watson, the last two sweethearts in the past six weeks. And I have adopted Sanders (right in photo above) and Katje (center) to join Murray (on the left). Katje has only been here two days and has just finished doggy orientation.

This Mother’s Day is bittersweet. I’m still mourning the loss of Penny, the world’s best garden helper and Watson, the dog who made me laugh out loud so many times that now the silence is deafening. But I’m also celebrating the three kids who are here with me on this warm and sunny day. All of us have been out pulling weeds, with Murray and Katje spending time exploring every bug and scent, while Sanders naps in a sunny spot in the dirt.

I thought I’d offer a few thoughts to all the dog moms out there on this, our special day:

1.  As much as possible, live like your dog, fully present in the moment. Notice the world. Honor the fact that you are here another day. Run across the field with your tongue out.
2. Enjoy everything. If your pup can fully celebrate the words “park” and “ride,” you can find the joy in everyday moments. If you have to use Cirque du Soleil skills to cook a meal without tripping over dogs underfoot, focus on the beauty of that, rather than the frustration.
3. When it is time for your kids to leave, know that you will survive the heart break, the tears, and the “what ifs.” Your heart will forever carry scars shaped like paw prints, but love and laughter will get you through the first day and then all the rest. And the best place to find love and laughter is by adopting a new dog and making sure someone else who needs a mother has one.
4. Even if no one else celebrates your momdom, you know that you’re a mother, even you’ve never birthed or raised human children. You know that there are no lengths to which you would not go to make sure your canine children have their best lives. And if you have a spouse, they probably know deep down that in an emergency, you’re saving the dog. Especially if said spouse did not get you a Happy Mother’s Day from the Dog card today.

 

Leigh Anne Jasheway is the author of 25 books, including her latest, The Dogs’ Guide to Human(Kind), available on her website, accidentalcomic.com.

 

What Doggone Grief Looks Like

It’s been five weeks since Penny passed and one week since I lost Watson.

I do not spend my days lying in bed weeping. I have tried that with previous losses and it just makes me feel sadder and fatter from lack of exercise. Not to mention, I have two silly, sweet, hungry hounds who need my attention and would not tolerate my refusal to change out of my PJs and take them for walks and throw the ball and open and close the door 400 times a day.

Humans have this weird idea that everyone grieves in the same way, but it’s just not true. Some people can’t eat, while others eat everything in sight (“I fall into the latter category,” she says while finishing up a piece of vegan dark chocolate). Some people cry so much they really should drag around a saline drip to make sure they’re hydrated while others can’t make the tears come (I cry at dog food commercials, so that should tell you what category I’m in). Some people wear black and drag themselves through their days like Goth teenagers while other wear Hawaiian shirts hoping the bright colors will cheer them up (Aloha!).

One thing I do to process grief is write a lot of jokes. I’m a comedy writer and teacher. Processing negative emotions with humor is not only what I do, it’s what I teach others to do to help maintain their sanity. This week, I’ve written more than 100 jokes – not many of them about my dogs, but all of them fueled by their departure. Laughter works as a form of tension release and if you can create the laughter yourself, it’s even better.

There are other ways I’ve been grieving that some might consider odd:

• I refuse to vacuum because what if I remove the last of Penny or Watson’s hair from the rug? (I know I’ll have to end this moratorium at some time, like when the dirt and dog hair gets so high my other short-legged pups have to wade through it. )
• I wear Watson’s dog collar around my neck sometimes. And Penny’s occasionally as an ankle bracelet. Just around the house. Not out in public – although never say never.
• When I’m feeling really down, I sprinkle some of my babies’ ashes in the back yard and sit with them.
• I now have a co-pilot when I drive. It’s a worn-out koala hand puppet named “Koality Bear.” This bear has been in the back seat of the car for five years. It was Watson’s “humping bear.” Every time we went for a ride, he got so happy, he had to hump something, so Koality Bear, it was. Now Koality rides up front, strapped in with a seatbelt. Don’t worry, I won’t try to use the carpool lane.

What I’m saying is that as long as you’re not hurting yourself or anyone else, when it comes to processing grief, you do you. And if I see you wearing a dog collar in the store, we’ll give each other a knowing nod.

Moment to Moment

Early last month, I had three dogs sharing my heart, sofa, and most of my snack foods.

Late last month, there were only two, as Penny’s dementia and cancer became too hard for her and I made that decision no pet parent wants to make, but we all have to because that’s the contract we write in exchange for wagging tails, slobbery kisses, and being pulled down the street after yet another squirrel who dared dart in front of us.

Watson, at 15 and 3/4 and Murray at 4 had to take on extra duties. Fortunately, they were up to the task, as even in his advanced age, Watson could still hear, see, think, and walk (in his very slow manner). And Murray is always ready for extra kisses and definitely all the popcorn he can find by diving into my cleavage.

Five days ago, while doing landscaping as a volunteer at my local humane society, I met a 12-year-old dachshund named Beamer who had just come in and was looking for a new home. I started thinking seriously about it. Well, to be honest, I’d already been thinking about adding a new dog to the family, one who was older and who’d be willing to snuggle on the sofa while Murray and I played endless games of fetch at the nearby school.

Four days ago, while doing a training at the humane society, I sat down with Beamer and we discussed the advantages to both of us of his becoming one of my pack. I told him that I had floor heat (which cold doxies love), a south-facing bay window with a ramp up to it for him to use, and that I was easily trained. He told me that he was a good boy, a good kisser, and was not easily trained. I decided to start the adoption paperwork and bring Watson and Murray to meet him when he was done recovering from his dental extractions.

Three days ago,  like a freight train hitting the side of our house and shaking all of us to the core, Watson suddenly started exhibiting signs of dementia (getting lost, getting stuck, wandering), of losing his vision, and not wanting to walk. My big, handsome goofy man who just last week was flirting with a friend of mine (he’s always had a thing for the ladies) and humping his koala bear in the car before going to the park, got lost inside himself.

This boy has been the man in my life for six years and no human man could ever compare. He’s had cancer twice and is body is covered with very large lipomas, but when I look at him, I see my own heart beating steadily and happily. But now it’s skipping beats and the edges are ripping.

Yesterday, we went to the vet and then I headed towards the natural dog food store for supplements to help with cognitive function. If only they had an herb for a heart that knows what lies ahead.

Tomorrow is the day we are supposed to meet Beamer and see if he fits into our family. And I will put Watson in the stroller and try to contain Murray’s enthusiasm because love is love and as much as I know it will hurt in the end, living without it is not an option I ever want to explore.