I’ll admit it — you didn’t get the full story of the Lazy Sunday.
After the rainy morning, there was a break in the clouds. We all went outside, and somehow…I think he spotted a rabbit…Brother’s tieout got lodged under my big toe nail and tore it off so that it was hanging on one side, like a door flapping on one hinge. It was my own dumb fault for not taking the time to change from my house sandals to shoes, but I was in a hurry to get Jackson outside.
And of course, when there’s a puppy in the house, that puppy will invariably hone in on the one thing you don’t want them to get. Jackson chewed off every single bandage I put on that toe.
Peace followed by Pain…I guess that’s the universe in balance.
I’m still gonna zap him with the squirt bottle if he tries to chew on it again.
Jackson has his first visit to my regular Vet tomorrow. I had his former Vet fax the records down, and got a basic rundown of what he needs. Brother and Sister will also have their annual checkups. This should be interesting.
Sunday morning — the kind of Sunday morning where you don’t want to get out of bed. There’s a gentle, constant rain and the daylight coming through the living room window is diffused by the last of the fog. Brother is curled up at my right side on the sofa, Sister is in her customary position between my feet on the ottoman. Jackson’s stretched out under my chin like a lightly snoring scarf. He is warm and soft and still has a hint of that new-puppy smell. We’re all in that place between awake and asleep. In this moment, all are content.
Flashback to 8:05 a.m.
I wake up startled, wondering how a tiny puppy let me sleep after sunrise. He’s quiet. Too quiet! But there’s no need to wake me when he’s already relieved himself in his cage! What a way to start the day. I stumble to the bathroom accompanied by a soundtrack of Jackson’s banshee howling, as I have dared to leave him caged while I take care of my own needs and then get Brother and Sister outside. Since it’s a nasty rainy morning I use the tie-outs. Then grab Jackson’s leash and bring him out of his cage, while he thinks it’s a great fun game to try and bite my fingers as I search his tiny collar for the miniscule attach ring. I finally get him outside, where Brother and Sister are glaring daggers at me from the porch because they hate the rain and will not venture into wet grass. Well, I’m out there too! Deal with it! I take Jackson for a walk up and down the driveway and, wonder of wonders, he poops outside!! Praise, praise, praise. We’ve both had it with getting wet so we head for the door. Brother and Sister do the same, and so I can’t open the door because the three dogs jockey for position and now Jackson’s thread of a retractable leash is tangled in the tie-outs. Over and under, around and around, but by the time I get it free, I’m soaked. I straighten up to see that the gutter is coming off the side of the house. At that point, I’ve had it. I pick up the puppy and carry him into the house, set him in the hallway and close the kitchen door. Oh, unhappy Jackson, screaming at a level that convinces the neighbors I’m stretching him on the rack, just because I closed the door. I get Brother and Sister back in, unhook his tieout, unhook hers, but she is caught. At first glance it looks like the tie-out is just looped around her leg, but no such luck; it has somehow become tightly knotted in the thigh fur of her hind leg. She is upset, pulling, shrieking, and making it worse. The flashlight doesn’t help me see the situation, and I stumble around the kitchen looking for my spare glasses. Finally I have them, and a package knife, and must now juggle that with the flashlight, hope Sister doesn’t stick her nose or tongue down into the operation, and also deal with Brother’s sudden urge to give me kisses and make it all better. Meanwhile, Jackson’s protests at still being behind a closed door have reached a level and intensity that must have the neighbors calling the cops, envisioning whips and chains, convinced that the poor innocent puppy is about to be chucked into the nearest volcano. Careful and dextrous fur-surgery sets Sister free, though I still can’t figure out how she got tangled up to begin with, and I’m finally at a point where I can open the kitchen door…Jackson goes quiet. He’s also tangled up in his leash, and has pooped in the hallway. A lot. To the extent where I start to wonder if this is poop somehow cosmically stored up from his past life as a Great Dane. Everybody get away, don’t walk through it, let me get a bag, why did I ever think I could do this…
I don’t remember falling asleep, but I’m startled awake by the sound of sequential peeps. Still fuzzy, it sounds like the smoke alarm. In reality, it’s Jackson, announcing that the sun is about to come up and demanding to be let out of the cage.
It takes a minute or two for muscles to work, especially after sharing the sofa all night. Brother and Sister have switched places, and she’s draped out over top of me. I don’t know why I’m trying to ease out without waking her. The entire time, Jackson is peeping and whining. I talk to him in reassuring tones, all the time asking myself why a puppy instead of a nice adult dog that could hold its bladder a little longer. When it’s light, I send my dogs outside, and then return for Jackson.
Still not fully awake. It takes too long to match the leash’s tiny hook with the collar’s tiny ring, and…too late. I laid down a pee pad to soak up the stain and took Jackson outside for his first walk.
The big dogs do their best to ignore him at all costs, and the only place he wants to be is between my feet.
Back inside, they continued to ignore the interloper while keeping an eye on him. I resisted the urge to go back to sleep, and instead grabbed a cup of tea and retreated to my office to check email. It wasn’t long before Brother ran in and jumped up on me twice, upset. I followed him back to the living room to see what was happening. Everything seemed normal — but I got the message when Brother hopped onto the sofa and did his tightrope-along-the-back move.
Brother has a treasure trove where he drops all the toys. It’s in the two feet of space behind the sofa where the tables don’t meet. The only way he can get there is to drape himself over the back of the sofa and pour himself down into the space, then grab a toy and jump back over the sofa. Sister, who won’t even climb stairs, won’t go there, so they’ve been safe so far. But now…there’s trouble.
Jackson was very happily scattering Brother’s treasures around the living room. All he had to do was walk through the end table, then between the legs of the sofa table, grab a toy and repeat to appear on the other end. I couldn’t help but laugh as he trotted back and forth, each time emerging with a toy almost as big as he…the unstuffed moose, the tennis ball, the squeaky squirrel.
This is all too much for Brother. He looks me in the eyes and lets out a long, low, breathy whine. He can’t ignore the puppy now, but still doesn’t want to acknowledge him. Before I can do anything, Jackson emerges with the Red Bobo*. Brother’s Sacrosanct Red Bobo. The only toy he’s allowed to hog.
It’s longer than the puppy’s body, but he proceeds to “murderdeathkill” the Bobo right in front of Brother. For a split second it seems that Brother might return the favor, so I stepped in and took it away. It wasn’t easy. Jackson had a death grip on the thing.
When I finally got it back, I offered it to Brother. He turned his head away. I squeaked both squeakers in it; still no response. I put it next to him and yes, he flung it onto the floor. Unclean!
Bobo Usurped!
I let Jackson continue his raiding. They’d have to learn to share eventually. Plus, he was bringing out toys I hadn’t seen in a year, and for some reason could never find whilst cleaning.
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