Don't you think that six months is a bit too soon for changes? For a puppy who's barely eight months old? See? You agree with me. Want to let Myrtle know that for me?
The ways of her mind are an unfathomable mystery. Of course, I don't have the time for even easy mysteries, much less complex ones. So, perhaps I ought not to be proffering my commentary on her mind. But she does give me a bit of extra angst every now and then trying to figure out what's on her mind.
You see, we've been sleeping together since my first night here. Oh, she tried to do "the crate thing," as I hear her describe it. She bought this box with holes on the sides for me. She told me all about how it was going to be my new sleeping place. My very one windows. My own front door. She extolled its features for a long while, even crawling partway inside and demonstrated how comfortable it would be to curl up for a nap.
I tried it. I honestly did. But every day of my life thus far had included copious amounts of snuggling with one or more of my siblings. Me draped on them. They draped on me. Sometimes I'd go to have a good gnaw on my tail and discover it actually wasn't mine after all. Mom cuddled with us. Dad frolicked with us. But mostly my brothers and sisters all lived in and on and around each other's bodies. Warm bodies. Soft bodies. Snuggly bodies.
Nothing about that crate was warm and soft and snuggly. Okay, maybe the bottom was sort of soft, but it certainly wasn't warm and snuggly. I know. I checked it out. Truly, I did. Nope. It was nothing like the sleeping arrangement I had enjoyed for every day of my life thus far.
So, I'm not sure why Myrtle got so distressed over my protestations after she shut me up in the blasted box. And her upsettedness over the accidents of a personal nature I had during my protestations was clearly uncalled for...if you ask me.
I protested. She insisted. I protested. She insisted. I protested. She insisted. Hours later. I protested. She finally re-thought that sleeping arrangement and decided that my way of thinking was better. She brought me up in bed with her. Warm, soft, and snuggly. Just the way I like it. Myrtle seemed to like it, too.
From that first night on, I've been spending my nights happily draped about her person or curled up at her back. Only now that's all changing.
We had this great system worked out. She stayed on her side of the bed, well, third of the bed, and I used up the other two thirds. Mostly, I needed used the space on the other side of her back, either to curl up there or lie alongside as I draped my neck across hers so we could be cheek to cheek. Now, that space is gone!
For some reason or another, Myrtle's decided to sleep smack dab in the middle of the bed. She sleeps cross ways, even. Well, she intends to sleep smack dab in the middle of the bed. In reality, she ends up back in her assigned third. Just when I belive it safe to take up my proper position and settle down curled up at her back, she awoke and lumbered back to the middle of the bed. This happens many times during the night.
I don't know why she bothers. I don't know why she thinks I'm ready for change. I'm not. And from what I've seen, neither is she. I say, let's go back to the way things were.
But...whoever listens to me?
I did come up with a great idea though. I figured were she bone tired, Myrtle might not move around so much, might not be so determined to sleep smack dab in the middle of the bed. Actually, my idea kills two birds with one stone.
You see, Myrtle's been sleeping later and later in the day. At first, she awoke between 11 and 12 noon. Eventually, she was slumbering until 2 or 3 in the afternoon. I know she's determined to be a hermit, but I actually like company. So, I started sweet talking her out of bed by 11 in the morning.
Yep, I'm that smart of a fellow. My soft sell works every single time. A nuzzle here, a kiss there. Stretching my body alongside hers before creeping across her body to rest my head on her chest and bat my rather adorable eyelashes at her. A gentle gnaw on her thumb as I drag it to my silky soft hair to prompt her to start rubbing my belly. Remember? Slow and steady wins the race. No matter how much she'd rather be in bed, Myrtle eventually bursts into laughter, sits up, tumbles me about the bed as she greets me good morning.
So, my duel-fold plan is this: 1) get her out of bed early even when she's been up late so she'll be more tired at night and perhaps seek a change in her life that doesn't involve interrupting my sleep and 2) get her out of bed when other folks are out of bed so that she might could be available for anyone who might want to be making friends with her. Check that...anyone who might want to be making friends with her so that they can have some snuggle time and play time with me.
Brilliant, eh?
This is my life with Myrtle. Amos Adams signing off.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
What was she thinking...
Myrtle obviously does not remember what it is like to be a puppy. Okay, to be fair, she doesn't remember a lot of things and weeps over that fairly regularly. But she ought to at least give me a little slack simply because I am a puppy.
Puppies have it rough. Our whole lives revolve around trying to learn new things. And there's almost too much to learn to fit it all in. You forget one little thing, such as...say...where to poop...and the whole world falls apart. But, hey, there I was, minding my own business, living with a pile of sibling puppies indoors and the next thing I knew, I was living here. And Myrtle expected me to start going potty outside having never even seen outside before!
Do you know how terrifying outside can be? Grass. Terrifying stuff. It is hot and cold and wet and dry. Never the same. It tickles the pads on my paws, too. Frankly, I'm not a fan of the stuff. Myrtle's been a tad bereft over the browning of her grass due to the heat wave and drought, but I haven't minded at all. Dead grass isn't nearly as disconcerting as the green stuff is.
Outside has the Fearsome Beast, too. The first time I encountered it, I very wisely high-tailed it back up the steps and made my desire to gain the safety of inside as soon as possible. But Myrtle rather callously picked me up and deposited me back on the grass. She doesn't understand or care about the Fearsome Beast.
Just look here. Wouldn't the sight of this Fearsome Beast in the strange jungle you just started trying to become accustomed to send you running for safety? Myrtle hasn't taken a photo in a while, but, believe you, me this wild animal has grown four-fold. No matter that so have I, or somewhere there abouts. A fellow simply shouldn't have to face the Fearsome Beast when he's supposed to be concentrating on other things!
I suppose the worst part about outside is at the end of the day. Outside become dark and even more dangerous. With no lights out back, every step is a step into the unknown...and the likelihood that somewhere near by that Fearsome Beast is lurking nearby. That's just too much for a little puppy dog such as I.
Inside has its own set of problems. The list of what I cannot chew is every growing. Hard to keep that straight in my head. Then there's where I can play and where I cannot. I also have to keep track of what I can eat and what I cannot.
How am I supposed to managed to remember every single new thing in my life perfectly day in and day out. Something's got to give. It's not like I plan it this way. It's not like I purposely have the thing I am to remember that I forget be where I am allowed to poop more often than anything else. It just appears to be that way.
This is my life with Myrle. Amos Adams signing off.
Puppies have it rough. Our whole lives revolve around trying to learn new things. And there's almost too much to learn to fit it all in. You forget one little thing, such as...say...where to poop...and the whole world falls apart. But, hey, there I was, minding my own business, living with a pile of sibling puppies indoors and the next thing I knew, I was living here. And Myrtle expected me to start going potty outside having never even seen outside before!
Do you know how terrifying outside can be? Grass. Terrifying stuff. It is hot and cold and wet and dry. Never the same. It tickles the pads on my paws, too. Frankly, I'm not a fan of the stuff. Myrtle's been a tad bereft over the browning of her grass due to the heat wave and drought, but I haven't minded at all. Dead grass isn't nearly as disconcerting as the green stuff is.
Outside has the Fearsome Beast, too. The first time I encountered it, I very wisely high-tailed it back up the steps and made my desire to gain the safety of inside as soon as possible. But Myrtle rather callously picked me up and deposited me back on the grass. She doesn't understand or care about the Fearsome Beast.
I suppose the worst part about outside is at the end of the day. Outside become dark and even more dangerous. With no lights out back, every step is a step into the unknown...and the likelihood that somewhere near by that Fearsome Beast is lurking nearby. That's just too much for a little puppy dog such as I.
Inside has its own set of problems. The list of what I cannot chew is every growing. Hard to keep that straight in my head. Then there's where I can play and where I cannot. I also have to keep track of what I can eat and what I cannot.
How am I supposed to managed to remember every single new thing in my life perfectly day in and day out. Something's got to give. It's not like I plan it this way. It's not like I purposely have the thing I am to remember that I forget be where I am allowed to poop more often than anything else. It just appears to be that way.
This is my life with Myrle. Amos Adams signing off.
Friday, August 12, 2011
It's a rough life, but someone's got to live it...
Six months.
Some people would pin a medal on me just for making it this far. I don't know about that. Living with Myrtle is not all bad. According to Neighbor Girl, she kisses me too much. I want to tell Neighbor Girl to mind her own business, but thus far I haven't figured out human speech.
I should have started this a long time ago, but perhaps my eighth-month-birthday is as good a time as any. Actually, there is a raging debate as to whether I was born on the 1st or the 10th. I suppose Myrtle will settle on a date by the time my first whole year rolls around. I think if play my cards right, though, I could end up with two birthdays and two celebrations, which would mean two extra-tasty meals and two bones and two new babies!
A dog can't have enough babies.
Yep. That's right. I'm Myrtle's dog. Or she's my doggy mom. I'm not sure what's the best way to look at it. The jury is out on which one of us does more taking care of the other. I guess I'll let you decide.
This is me, by the way. A handsome little devil, don't you think? This was back before she picked up the scissors, thinking she could do as good a job as a groomer. The jury's out on that one, too.
What do you need to know about me? Well, I'm a stand up kind of guy. I won't leave you in the lurch. Matter of fact, I won't leave you at all. If you have a problem with my getting tangled in your feet, take some walking lessons. I'm just trying to keep you company.
I like soft, plushy babies with squeakers, tennis balls, and baths. Well, I like the snuggling that takes place after the bath. For the baths themselves, Myrtle uses this smelly shampoo she just LOVES. It's lavender scented! I am a MALE and she has me smelling like flowers all the bloody time! But, then again, because I do, she buries her face in my hair and gives me kisses all the day long. A fellow simply can't get enough kisses. That Neighbor Girl is all wrong.
Myrtle will tell you my one failing is that I have yet to learn to do my major business out of doors. She overlooks the fact that when a fellow's got to go, he's GOT to go. Plus, she also has this brown grass growing upstairs, right inside where there is no rain, no scary darkness, no terrifying wet blades of grass, and no Fearsome Beast. So, I don't know why she objects to me using it. She makes such a fuss over my going outside that I want to do so again. But, like I said. Sometimes, you just got to go.
I met Myrtle on February 14th. A crazy day for me. Before I knew it, I was being ripped away from my five siblings and tossed into the back seat of this big metal machine. I was bounced around something fierce for two hours before I was finally carried up some steps and placed into her arms.
If she had her way, I think Myrtle would never put me down. I'm that kind of a fellow; girls just want to hang out with me. But she does manage it.
I thought her a rather strange creature at first sight. She's strange, I grant you that, but I am not so sure in the way I first thought. Her hair is impossibly long, which she has taken to wearing in two braids. I thought she started doing this so I could have extra chew toys, but I was mistaken. She made that clear. She is sick a lot, which my other caregivers were not. I find that strange, especially when she's lying on the floor and no amount of swiping at her cheeks or bouncing up and down on her will wake her up. She watches movies and reads books and listens to Sugarland. She's a night owl and a morning bear. She told me, in no uncertain terms, when we met that her food was off limits. We both know that's not true, but I try to pretend for her sake. Sometimes she gets very discouraged about the raising of me. I don't understand this, but I know it to be true. She weeps a lot and trembles. She doesn't walk me as much as I would like. And she will not share her bacon.
But, one month ago, she saved my life. That's the bottom line for me. She put my life ahead of hers.
I'm not talking about being rescued from the pound and that shot of death awaiting unwanted dogs there. I'm talking about giving every ounce of her strength to hold onto me while a raging maniac of a pit bull tried to kill me or eat me or both...hopefully in that order. She was bitten and bruised and damaged in more ways than I can understand. These two men kept urging her to let me go and save herself. She didn't heed their (probably sage) advice. Instead, she kept stumbling back to her feet each time the pit bull pulled her to the ground in his attempt to pull me away from her. With his teeth buried in my body, he really had the upper hand. But she held on. She, who drops her brush and has stopped doing the fancy braids because her hands hurt too much, held on for what seemed like five years, though was maybe five minutes total.
Before that day, I would have told you there was no way she could win a battle with a pit bull. She is tired all the time, falls a lot, and naps at least twice a day. She drops things, can't lift others, and even struggled to haul me around if I am not draped about her shoulders. On paper, the pit bull should have won. But he didn't.
How can I object to having to take care of her when she did that for me?
The dreams that make her wake up screaming have returned. She is too chicken to take me for a walk. And she jumps and starts at barking dogs.
Of course, so do I.
Myrtle refuses to evict the Fearsome Beast that resides in our back yard. She will wash dishes every day, but won't wash me each time I ask. She doesn't allow me to play by myself, especially upstairs on the brown grass. And she's a mess.
But, the way I see it, she's my mess. I'm going to take care of her because she takes care of me. I was doing that before the pit bull hurt us both. I played with her and snuggled with her and even learned to fetch the toys she flings across the room or yard for no reason at all. I was a good mate, I think.
At least I thought I was. And then I saw how much she loves me, how beneath all the tears and fears and weakness and illness, there is this lioness ready to defend her cub. It's a jungle out there, man! I'm sticking close to Myrtle. And I'm going to do a much better job of taking care of her. Sometimes that means waiting on my urgent needs (that might take a while more to fully execute), learning a new word lickety split (I learned down stairs in just one day without begging for a single bone bribe), dragging her out of bed so she'll stop being the hermit she's becoming, or comforting her when she weary and her wounds are weighing her down. Heck, it might just mean taking on Neighbor Girl. But let's not be rash. Slow and steady wins the race.
So what if it seems that there is more of my taking care of her than her taking care of me. Who says a dog's got to live just one way?
This is my life with Myrtle. Amos Adams signing off.
Some people would pin a medal on me just for making it this far. I don't know about that. Living with Myrtle is not all bad. According to Neighbor Girl, she kisses me too much. I want to tell Neighbor Girl to mind her own business, but thus far I haven't figured out human speech.
I should have started this a long time ago, but perhaps my eighth-month-birthday is as good a time as any. Actually, there is a raging debate as to whether I was born on the 1st or the 10th. I suppose Myrtle will settle on a date by the time my first whole year rolls around. I think if play my cards right, though, I could end up with two birthdays and two celebrations, which would mean two extra-tasty meals and two bones and two new babies!
A dog can't have enough babies.
Yep. That's right. I'm Myrtle's dog. Or she's my doggy mom. I'm not sure what's the best way to look at it. The jury is out on which one of us does more taking care of the other. I guess I'll let you decide.
What do you need to know about me? Well, I'm a stand up kind of guy. I won't leave you in the lurch. Matter of fact, I won't leave you at all. If you have a problem with my getting tangled in your feet, take some walking lessons. I'm just trying to keep you company.
I like soft, plushy babies with squeakers, tennis balls, and baths. Well, I like the snuggling that takes place after the bath. For the baths themselves, Myrtle uses this smelly shampoo she just LOVES. It's lavender scented! I am a MALE and she has me smelling like flowers all the bloody time! But, then again, because I do, she buries her face in my hair and gives me kisses all the day long. A fellow simply can't get enough kisses. That Neighbor Girl is all wrong.
Myrtle will tell you my one failing is that I have yet to learn to do my major business out of doors. She overlooks the fact that when a fellow's got to go, he's GOT to go. Plus, she also has this brown grass growing upstairs, right inside where there is no rain, no scary darkness, no terrifying wet blades of grass, and no Fearsome Beast. So, I don't know why she objects to me using it. She makes such a fuss over my going outside that I want to do so again. But, like I said. Sometimes, you just got to go.
I met Myrtle on February 14th. A crazy day for me. Before I knew it, I was being ripped away from my five siblings and tossed into the back seat of this big metal machine. I was bounced around something fierce for two hours before I was finally carried up some steps and placed into her arms.
If she had her way, I think Myrtle would never put me down. I'm that kind of a fellow; girls just want to hang out with me. But she does manage it.
I thought her a rather strange creature at first sight. She's strange, I grant you that, but I am not so sure in the way I first thought. Her hair is impossibly long, which she has taken to wearing in two braids. I thought she started doing this so I could have extra chew toys, but I was mistaken. She made that clear. She is sick a lot, which my other caregivers were not. I find that strange, especially when she's lying on the floor and no amount of swiping at her cheeks or bouncing up and down on her will wake her up. She watches movies and reads books and listens to Sugarland. She's a night owl and a morning bear. She told me, in no uncertain terms, when we met that her food was off limits. We both know that's not true, but I try to pretend for her sake. Sometimes she gets very discouraged about the raising of me. I don't understand this, but I know it to be true. She weeps a lot and trembles. She doesn't walk me as much as I would like. And she will not share her bacon.
But, one month ago, she saved my life. That's the bottom line for me. She put my life ahead of hers.
I'm not talking about being rescued from the pound and that shot of death awaiting unwanted dogs there. I'm talking about giving every ounce of her strength to hold onto me while a raging maniac of a pit bull tried to kill me or eat me or both...hopefully in that order. She was bitten and bruised and damaged in more ways than I can understand. These two men kept urging her to let me go and save herself. She didn't heed their (probably sage) advice. Instead, she kept stumbling back to her feet each time the pit bull pulled her to the ground in his attempt to pull me away from her. With his teeth buried in my body, he really had the upper hand. But she held on. She, who drops her brush and has stopped doing the fancy braids because her hands hurt too much, held on for what seemed like five years, though was maybe five minutes total.
Before that day, I would have told you there was no way she could win a battle with a pit bull. She is tired all the time, falls a lot, and naps at least twice a day. She drops things, can't lift others, and even struggled to haul me around if I am not draped about her shoulders. On paper, the pit bull should have won. But he didn't.
How can I object to having to take care of her when she did that for me?
The dreams that make her wake up screaming have returned. She is too chicken to take me for a walk. And she jumps and starts at barking dogs.
Of course, so do I.
Myrtle refuses to evict the Fearsome Beast that resides in our back yard. She will wash dishes every day, but won't wash me each time I ask. She doesn't allow me to play by myself, especially upstairs on the brown grass. And she's a mess.
But, the way I see it, she's my mess. I'm going to take care of her because she takes care of me. I was doing that before the pit bull hurt us both. I played with her and snuggled with her and even learned to fetch the toys she flings across the room or yard for no reason at all. I was a good mate, I think.
At least I thought I was. And then I saw how much she loves me, how beneath all the tears and fears and weakness and illness, there is this lioness ready to defend her cub. It's a jungle out there, man! I'm sticking close to Myrtle. And I'm going to do a much better job of taking care of her. Sometimes that means waiting on my urgent needs (that might take a while more to fully execute), learning a new word lickety split (I learned down stairs in just one day without begging for a single bone bribe), dragging her out of bed so she'll stop being the hermit she's becoming, or comforting her when she weary and her wounds are weighing her down. Heck, it might just mean taking on Neighbor Girl. But let's not be rash. Slow and steady wins the race.
So what if it seems that there is more of my taking care of her than her taking care of me. Who says a dog's got to live just one way?
This is my life with Myrtle. Amos Adams signing off.
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