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So it has been nearly two years since my last post. As has probably become obvious, I am not good at keeping a weblog regularly updated. Moving on.
Today is Lebowski's 2nd birthday! This little guy
turned into this monster!
Now it's possible that if you haven't been around Lebowski lately, you might look at the second picture and say "Yeah, that's a full grown dog, but I wouldn't call him a MONSTER." But if you were to be in his presence you would quickly discover that he has turned into over 120 pounds of canine sweetness. Bouncy, bouncy sweetness. He's bigger than lots of people! Fortunately his temprement centered in an attempt to please* because I have probably lost the battle to maintain the illusion that I am still stronger than him.
*his methods are frequently suspect, but his heart's in the right place--jumping, nosing, pawing, barking, and tugging don't usually elict the response he's looking for. Usually all he wants is to be the center of attention, preferrably with tummy scratches. But sometimes ball tossing will suffice.
Anyhoodle, today is his birthday, and I would like to publicly proclaim that adopting Mr. Stinky Bottom Puppy Dog is by far the best thing I have done so far in life.
Early mornings around these parts are starting to feel a little like fall. At 6:05 am when I let the dog out this morning, the long tufts of grass that seriously need a shearing were just a wee bit crunchy on top. The air smelled crisp and I had a sudden craving for pumpkin pie.
Little Lebowski, on the other hand, wouldn't come down the porch steps under his own steam* and had a look on his face like "you have got to be kidding, I'm going back to bed." Puppy's first brrrrr! As soon as the leaves start falling, I'm sure he'll be over it.
*That dog is getting too heavy for pick-ups. Ouch!
You may be amazed to learn that puppies are a great deal of work. Who knew? The (not as little as he used to be) guy has been living with me for almost two months now, and I am only just returning to the internet. Sorry y'all. But really. Could you resist this face? 
Obviously I could not. (FYI, that picture was taken the day he came home. He's bigger now. But still irresistable!) Anyhoot, would you like to know some stuff about him? When I first met him, a very sweet little girl handed me a wiggling mass of puppydog. As I took him from her arms, he crawled up me and proceeded to lick me all over my face. I was done. Love at first sight and all that jazz. This dog is mine!
The Story of His Name
The following is a faked-up transcript between me and my mother during his first nap at my house:
Mom: Does he seem upset that he has left his mother and his family and everything he ever knew behind?
Me: Nope. He tried to eat some snapdragons and now he's napping in the flowerbed.
Mom: So he wasn't at all troubled with leaving his family with a total stranger, going on a second big car ride in one day, and arriving in a totally new and strange place?
Me: Nope.
Mom: He's such a dude.
Me: Maybe I should name him Lebowski!
end scene
(Also, his favorite substance on planet earth? Grass. Additionally, he would enjoy it greatly if someone would let him try that stuff in beer bottles already. He's getting sick of trying to knock them over to get to the goods inside.)
The Story of How He Isn't Allowed on the Furniture:
Yeah, this dog isn't at all spoiled (in this photo from a couple weeks ago it should be obvious that he is very sleepy and also the same color as the sofa).
The Story of How He Never Misbehaves:
Honestly, potty training has gone very smoothly. His accidents are few and far between, and already he is sleeping uncrated on the floor of my bedroom. (His options: floor, super comfy giant dog bed he treats as a chew toy but does not ever sleep on, super comfy upholstered chair that he treats as a chew toy but does not ever sleep on.) He's never had an accident in the bedroom.
Even though I am totally biased and think that there is no better puppy anywhere ever, I will share that his poop doesn't smell like roses (nor does his gas). Also, he snores. But most importantly, his teeth are SHARP. The People all say puppies grow out of the biting thing, but jeepers cats, man, he can be vicious when he is hyper and wants to play. Those nips of love HURT. We start kindergarten this week. Hopefully professional help will either reassure me that this is normal or teach me some better training methods. Or both.
He also thinks it is funny to chew on pant legs, bath mats, jacket sleeves, jacket zippers, bath towels, furniture legs, furniture skirts, and pretty much anything else he can get in his mouth. Constant vigilence. I've let him have the peonies and supplied him with a never ending supply of puppy chew toys, tennis balls, frisbees, and his ultimate favorite pinecones.
Lebowski isn't at all shy, and loves to meet new people and dogs. If you want a doggie playdate just give us a call. His vet says he can go anywhere now that his immunizations are up to snuff! She also says he seems to have no nerve endings, but I think he's too enamored of the chew toys and the ladies cooing over him to be bothered with flinching when he gets his shots. Dude's got an image to maintain!
(We went camping last week:)
EEEEEEEEEE!!!! In just a few hours I get to go pick up Mr. Puppy. If the internet is very very lucky I will share a photo and some initial thoughts of him, but only if I can tear myself away. He still has no official name, but I have a whole list of considerations. My plan is to randomly call him with names off the list and see what he responds to best--basically to let him name himself.
Here's the list:
Scoresby
Charlie
Alfred
Hamilton
Mister (undoubtably he will frequently be called Mr. something-or-other)
Huston
Uncle Vanya
Moose
Señor Pawlo
Martin
I'll keep you posted, you know, while he's napping.
With the arrival of the puppy imminent (you know, a few weeks off), I've been reading the training books like a crazy person. Almost everyone I've spoken to swears by the monks. Most of these people have great dogs themselves. However, the monks freaked me out. FREAKED ME OUT. They had me convinced that there was no way I could go to work everyday (thereby allowing me to bring home the kibble) and raise a healthy, happy, socialized puppy. If I was going to do this, I needed a six month vacation.
Now let's not be hasty. I'd love a six month vacay to hang at home with the poocharoo. However, see aforementioned "kibble". See also: mortgage. Oh boy, how do I love a good "See also". Nerd. Moving on. Obviously the monks are not for me (though I will definitely be trying some of their techniques, I'm just not down with the whole philosophy--any dog training book that makes me feel bad about myself can be returned to the Library! post haste). Monday night I started reading the right puppy training book for me. The approach just makes sense! The philosophy is pretty much from the instant the dog comes into your home, you teach him how to be the best member of YOUR family possible.
You teach him to respect you and your friends and family. You teach him how to entertain himself when you are not home. You teach him appropriate ways to play, eliminate, and interact with his new environment. And all of it happens in a way that from where I'm standing feels very organic. It is a training method that will work with my already established life. As I was discussing this with Mammacita, all she could do was laff and laff and laff. I know she's just waiting to point, chuckle, and say "I told you so". she knows from experience that all the planning in the world doesn't change the fact that every pooch is different and pretty much nothing is going to happen just as I want it to. While this is possible (and in fact probable), the way I operate works better if I have a plan to be tweaked rather than figuring it out as I go.
Just last night my good friend Jennifer was up at my place for some chatting and knitting. I was trying to finish some socks (monkeys for my mom--shhh top secret) and Fern was making up a top-down raglan cardigan. While actively chatting with me, she realized that her idea was not going to work out quite as expected. My approach to this catastrophe would have included totally dropping out of the conversation (or perhaps more politely waiting until my guest went home), pulling out graph paper, hitting up some ravelry forums, and totally overthinking how to solve the problem. Jennifer's approach? Was to just knit a totally different sweater. With no planning. And by the time she left it as obvious that a) the sweater was going to be totally cute, and b) fit her really really well. If I had just wung it, that wouldn't have been the result. No-way Jose.
I think my approach to dog training is the same way. I'm a planner, an overthinker, a strategizer, and maybe just a titch anal. Obviously, the best thing for me to do to maybe become a little more relaxed about things (which is probably necessary for me to have a happier and healthier life), is to adopt a dog.
Czech!
