Dog Mom Diary: Year One

Top of Algonquin

Last week,  Colden and I celebrated a full year together. We went on a big hike. 15 miles, starting through one of the most difficult trails in the Adirondacks, complete with cliffs, boulders, ladders, bridges and the steepest ascent to the ridge line. 

Colden is my first dog. When he and I joined paths, I was a little sad with my lot in life and nervous/ uncertain about my next steps. He was 12 weeks old, all paws and ears.

I picked him up from the breeder, put him on a blanket in the front passenger seat of my car and started driving home. So much research and planning had led to this moment, but I was still nervous. Nervous he wouldn't bond with me–nervous I couldn't train him– nervous I was in over my head. Ten minutes into the hour drive, I felt a little paw on my leg and looked down. He crossed over, curled up in my lap, fell asleep and didn't move until we parked.

Within the first few weeks, I realized that there is a divine design behind making puppies so precious. Puppies are demons. They chew everything. Poop everywhere. Keep ungodly hours.

Still, at the end of the day, when you've been awake since 4 a.m. the carpet smells like dog piss, your favorite book has become confetti for the trash man and the couch pillows have been rescued for the fourteenth time–– you look into the face of evil---

can't... stay... mad....

So we pushed through. 

And I signed him up for obedience training. 

At each session Colden would put on his puppy antics, as well show anxiety on the leash and dramatic responses about the slightest corrections. Plus, at home he was overwhelmed by the yard. Wet grass. Bugs. Cars. Finally, I asked the trainer. "What is going on with this dog? Is this normal?" 

She looked at me, eyebrow raised, "Normal? No, it's not normal. But it is not the dog's fault. It's yours. He is an anxious dog because you are an anxious person."

"Oh." (What I should have said was, "I would have paid extra for you sugar coat that.") 

But, she was right. I had to make some changes.  

Step one, lay my vanity to rest. ( I sulked and moped for about a week after the brutal honesty... Colden's drama was learned behavior.) 

Then, I was able to surround myself with experienced people who understood dogs and encouraged Colden and I. (And also put it into my boyfriend's head that he wants a Belgian Malinois. Help.)

Part of the change came from learning to be patient with puppy-antics and realizing how patient my puppy was with me. 

The great change was checking my attitude before I opened Colden's crate in the morning, or laid down his food bowl, or snapped on the leash. Here it goes, Emily. Be assertive. Be positive. Be fair. In less than a month, the trainer was telling me what a difference she saw in both of us as we heeled around the yard. 

Last week, I watched Colden on the trail. He has grown exponentially. (Seriously. He's 93 pounds. When he crawls into my lap, I lose feeling in my legs.) He crossed wood slatted bridges, climbed ladders, forded streams, scaled steep rock faces. He heeled off-leash (most of the time) held a stay (most of the time.) I shouldn't have been so surprised– he has a habit of rising to the occasion for everything I ask of him. 

I still have a ways to go. I'm not worried though. Years of counseling might have got me to the place I am today and Colden and I have miles of trails ahead of us.

Foster Bunny Mom

My animal kingdom has temporarily expanded.

Four nights ago, Colden was outside doing his evening exploring and duties. Inside, I kept hearing what I thought was my ceiling fan squeaking. After about 10 minutes of squinting up at the unusually noisy fan, I put two and two together and rushed outside to track down my dog.

In the driveway was one 3 ounce bunny with one 95 lb dog bouncing around it. I scooped it up. Looked around. Considered dropping it into the woods. Then it rolled over in my hand, scurried into the crook of my elbow, stopped squeaking and fell asleep.

Future secured.

I tucked him into a shoe box and tried not to let my hopes up that he would survive the night.

But he did.

So here I am with a new hat, armed with acidophilus and kitten replacement milk in an eye dropper-- Foster Bunny Mom.

After four days of getting-to-know-you, he (or she) is pretty spunky and doesn't like me at all and seems pumped to bust outta the box. Good goal buddy, I'm here to help.

Meet Wress.
That's short for Wrestles with Ridgebacks

From Garbage to Glory

Colden watched me with a mixture of envy and longing as I dove in, right up to my elbows, where he could only go in his puppy dreams.

The Kitchen Garbage.

With two plastic bags over one hand and the other covering my face, I meticulously picked through the waste, searching.

I killed time by questioning my life. How did it come to this? How did my Monday unravel into an evening of gagging over the week-end's egg shells and avocado peels marinating in garbage juices?

Because of The Sieve.

The Sieve is the family monster. Unfortunately, it doesn't just stay put in the closet, or under the bed. It creeps into our pockets, schedules, even our brains. It snags keys, hair dresser appointments, what we were going to say next, etc. Last year, my mom lost her iPhone. It was a month of searching high and low, to no avail. She had been Sieved. That was pretty bad, but my dad takes the prize: last week, he put his $3,000 hearing aids in his front pocket. When he went to change the batteries a few hours later-- his pocket was empty. Sieved.

I have had some pretty noteworthy Sieve moments myself. Most recently, I have lost my driver's license. Which brings us to Monday. I searched every pocket of every outfit. I emptied out a wallet, two purses and a car. I crawled around on the floor, scoured the driveway, retraced every step of the week-end.

There was only one place left to look. So, wrapped in plastic and holding my breath, I tackled the garbage.

Let's leave me there for a minute, dumpster diving in my kitchen, untangling tea bag and shuffling through pieces of paper.

Go five miles north, where my dad is at the church for a prayer meeting. This was part of his prayer,

"Lord, I know those hearing aids are long gone, and I can't replace them anytime soon. But, if there is any way that they could be found, I know you can make it happen. I trust you for it, I'm letting it go right now."

Back to me. Look what I found in some tissues.

License is still MIA but I can hear, loud and clear: don't worry about it. 

In the meantime, I'm checking the fridge.  

Chasing Tales

It has been nearly a year and a half of lurking in the shadows of social media. My writing priorities were buried in a helter-skelter season of transition. Out of college. New job. Lots of fretting about me and mine and the future.

That season has come to a close. Sort-of forced upon me actually, thanks to Cosmopolitan magazine.

Now, Cosmo isn't my first choice of reading material. Or my second choice. It actually doesn't make my list at all. There is no advice on how to survive a bear attack. They don't consider bug spray a perfume. No top ten camping locations. In fact, when I see it in the grocery store checkout line, my reaction is pretty similar to when I see roadkill; guts and fur squashed all over the road:

Gross. Clean that up.

So it was a pure accident that, while looking for hair cut inspiration, I stumbled onto the Cosmopolitan website. There, I happened to see a blog titled

"Questions every twenty-something girl asks herself: Should I buy a dog? Go to grad school? Move to Austin?" 

Cosmopolitan read my mail. That created an instant life crisis. And also some self-awareness. I haven't just been mildly asking those questions, I've put a lot of energy into running in circles after their vague possibilities.

You win this time, pop culture. I owe you one for getting me refocused. 

So, I'm staking my claim in a fresh corner of the web. Rhyme and Reason has been left behind. (The dawn of a new era calls for a new blog domain.) Thanks for reading, I'm looking forward to putting more energy into chasing the tales that are happening here and now.

Speaking of chasing tails, I found a pretty good answer for the most important question. 

Should I buy a dog?  

Ladies and Gents,
meet Colden!