As you have probably read, Tuck and I do not share the same views about where dogs should defecate. Unfortunately this often means that I am not very happy with him. I know all abut setting a dog up for success. I really do try to do so, but short of giving the darn guy an enema, there is only so much I can do. The compromise I had worked out was that I would take him out as soon as I got home and wait for him to potty. If nothing was forthcoming I would unemotionally carry him back to his crate and let him try again about every thirty minutes or after eating, whichever came first. Apparently my ‘unemotionally’ was not as good as it should have been because I noticed my sweet, loving little guy starting to avoid me. In my defense I will tell you that it’s cold out, it’s been raining, and I’ve been late for work almost every day for the past four weeks trying my best to give Tuck as many chances to succeed as humanly possible. That’s when I read the post and once again applied the rolled up newspaper to my forehead.

Last week I kept the same regimen, but if I was to carry him back to his crate I would at least tell him I loved him and pat his round little head. I didn’t go overboard telling him he was a good dog, since he really hadn’t done what I wanted, but I did not withhold affection either. This week he’s better. I don’t know if he would have started to get the idea anyway about this time or if the change in demeanor helped (perhaps by lowering stress levels so he could process information?) Either way, we’re both having more fun and are better friends, and he’s eliminating outside. Life is good.

Now let’s back up and talk about c*ts. You know - those furry, four-legged creatures that often inhabit our homes and drive our dogs batty. I have them. In multiples. Normally life in the cat population at B’Haven is pretty sanguine despite Wynnie (a Birman) who hates all other cats and screams bloody murder if one of them looks at her. Wynnie has managed to carve out a corner of the dining room and all of the kitchen as her territory, and the other cats generally leave ‘the crazy cat’ alone, rather like the way a town treats their town kook.

Well, they did until about six weeks ago. Suddenly Lucy ( a Siamese) decided she wanted to get up close and personal with Wynnie. At first I thought she was trying to be friendly, and it may well have started as that. However, after being ’screamed’ at repeatedly, Lucy quit resembling friendly and proceeded to being a bit of a bully. Most of these encounters occurred right after I had gone to bed at night. Let me tell you, the sound of two cats trying to start World War II in the next room is enough to put my blood pressure up into the range of never sleeping again. I was not pleased. So I got out the squirt bottle. Whenever Lucy made Wynnie scream, I squirted her. That made the screaming stop, but it didn’t stop it from starting again. So I thought I’d try negative punishment. Any time Lucy made Wynnie scream (think “Mom, she’s looking at me!”), I’d scoop her up and deposit her into Libby’s crate for a time out. Being a social beast, Lucy didn’t like that, but she did quickly figure out she could get attention in the crate by removing Libby’s water bowl from its ring and dumping the contents. (Grrrrr. . . ) Still the incidents were not decreasing in frequency.

Last Saturday, with ‘trainer’ hat in hand and humbly bowed head, I went to the Siamese Rescue Sewing Bee and asked the ladies there if they had any ideas. Not one but three people immediately said “She’s bored!” DUH! My forehead is getting rather flat these days.

For almost a week now I have been making a concerted effort to shower Lucy with affection and playtime. It’s not hard to do. She’s very sweet. And guess what - now night falls and she curls up in bed with me rather than harassing Wynnie. We’re not perfect yet. There are still spats, especially when I’m working at the computer. But they are certainly less frequent, and generally Lucy just comes looking to me for entertainment. An added bonus is that I have an additional back warmer under the covers at night. Life is good.

So what have I learned? 1) If you find yourself in an adversarial relationship with your dog (or cat, or parrot, etc.) you’re doing something wrong, and 2) sometimes, no matter how much we “know,” we need someone else to assess the situation because we’re just too close to it to see properly.

Hug your furkids. They probably deserve it, and besides, they’re warm.

So much for happy holidays for the short guy. We’re not doing too well in the potty training department. I think the major problem with trying to potty train an adult dog is that they have much better control over their eliminations. Puppies are pretty much pre-programmed. If their legs are moving they need to potty. If they eat, they need to defecate. Easy. All you have to do is take them out when they need to go, praise the heck out of them when they do and always set them up for success. Not quite so easy with an adult, particularly a male. I have found that Tuck can go more than 18 hours without urinating. I figured I must have just missed him going, after all he is rather low to the ground. So I relented and let him run around a bit. He peed on the carpet. I applied rolled up newspaper to my head and Tuck went back in the crate. What should have been a fun-filled holiday weekend has turned into a guilt fest in my corner and a crate fest in Tuck’s. Not so fun. I got back from my family Christmas a few hours ago and let the dogs out with no results from Tuck. So back in the crate he went. However, about an hour ago we went outside and he urinated AND defecated. Happy, happy, joy, joy. Never have you seen an adult woman so elated over a little dog pooping in the yard. My neighbors are convinced I’m certifiably insane, and I’m happy that Tuck can run and play in the house for a while.

He and Libby have become good friends. They will run and chase for ages, slipping and sliding on the hardwood. I’m sure glad I work for a veterinary surgeon. I think I’ll be needing his skill soon. It’s not at all unusual to see them running throughout the house, Libby in the lead and Tuck holding on to Lib’s tail for all he’s worth. At one point I thought maybe Libby wasn’t enjoying this too much, so I called him off. Libby went right over to him and invited him to play some more. I guess she likes it. Weird. For all the resource guarding problems we had at first, he’s not bad about his toys or his rawhide. He is quite the rawhide thief and will steal one from Libby at any opportunity, but Libby can steal it back with no repercussions. Libby has also figured out that Tuck is short and can’t get on the bed, so she will take things up there to keep them from him.

On the training front we’ve not done much. Tuck’s sit is very good. Too good. When we’re outside and he knows I want something from him, he sits. Wrong. I want him to wander around, smell good things and potty! The more stressed I get the more he sits. (Note to self - become a better actor.) I thought we had a good recall building but was proven wrong. He at least knows his name now and almost always comes when called. I would have said always, but fate has a way of making a fool out of me. The other day I had taken the trash out the back gate and come in through the front door, leaving the gate open (dumb!). Then I let the dogs out back. Tuck was out that gate in a flash! I called him to “come,” he turned his head toward me but apparently heard the stress in my voice and decided I had turned crazy and should be run from. The more I tried to get him to me, the more he figured I was not to be trusted. Luckily Libby is well trained not to walk out of a gate without permission. She was still standing right inside the gate. Tuck saw her and went to her. Phew!!!! Disaster averted. (Note to self - become a MUCH better actor.)

I’ll be glad when we get this potty thing under control. Right now I’m spending way too much time either outside waiting for the short guy to do something or inside feeling guilty that he’s in the crate. It’s taking up almost all of my limited free time, time that should be spent playing with my dogs, or training, or both.

All in all, life is good. The dogs are good friends. I had been quite worried that might not happen. Everyone is healthy. I do have two cats that keep muttering something about mothers and army boots at each other, preferably in the wee hours of the morning, but that’s another subject. One of them is becoming quite familiar with the insides of Libby’s crate, as that is where she gets deposited upon the first volley of feline obscenities. Such is life in the zoo.

At any rate, here’s my early wish for all that the New Year brings health, peace, happiness, and joy to all.

I was raised with the belief that if you bring an animal into your home you should be prepared to care for it for 20 years. The idea of returning an adoptee was foreign to me, yet I really did think about it. I only have room in my life for two dogs. If Tuck wasn’t the right “other” dog there would not be a third. Also I knew he would be well cared for if he was returned. It’s not as if he would be slated for the gas chamber. I just didn’t think I was up for another project dog just yet. I even tried to find another home for him, but at the last minute he turned on the charm, did his most obsequious dog routine and finally started playing with Libby. He was a keeper. He’s staying.

However, he has been turned into a floor dog. Mind you this is completely opposite to what he was born and bred for. He is a lap dog. He loves laps. He sits quietly to be adored, petted, fawned over, etc. His role in life is to adorn laps, chairs, beds and thrones. Unfortunately he needed to be brought down a few rungs on the royal ladder. So now he is a floor dog. He’s not allowed on any furniture. He’s not allowed on my lap. When he was allowed on my lap he thought he ruled the world and could snark at Libby to his heart’s content. WRONG! Thank heavens that floor dog status is made easier by the fact that he’s quite a short boy and can’t get up on things by himself. He’s really a very good floor dog. He sits quietly at my feet when I’m otherwise engaged and is generally quite well behaved. If, at any time Tuck snarks at Libby for coming for attention he is summarily carted off for quality thinking time in the crate. It only took about 5 days before he would allow Libby to come and be petted while he was nearby. He learned the rules. The rules of this house are ‘Always defer to the bitch.’ It doesn’t matter which bitch, but defer to the bitch.

As for regular training, Tuck now has a fairly reliable sit. Well, reliable if there aren’t too many distractions. And if I have food. And if the moon is in the right phase. Obviously we have work to do. Last week I took him out to Mountain View and gave him his first introduction to agility equipment. We went over a very low jump a few times, and I ran him over the low contact trainer a few times as well as running him over some large pvc pipes lying on the ground. He seems to not have any fear issues and generally knows where his feet are, so it’s a good start. Besides, he has a very low center of gravity. He’d have to work to fall.

Benny (new name Tuck, but that’s not nearly so fun as Benny & Joon) is an 18 mo. old Tibetan spaniel that I adopted from rescue. Apparently a breeder in the area had to get rid of her dogs due to ill health. What I know is that the person I got Benny/Tuck from had three more, and they all appeared happy and healthy. I love and have loved my shelties, but I had been looking into other breeds. Tibetan spaniels had caught my eye as being small, coated but not too much coat, fun-loving and cuddly - my kind of dog! However I had pretty much written them off since they are fairly rare and I knew I couldn’t afford to buy one from a breeder. When I saw this little guy (and Averill had just adopted Joon) I figured it was kismet. So Libby (my sheltie) and I went to go meet the rescuer. I had told myself I was probably not going to bring him home, didn’t bring an extra crate, didn’t bring my checkbook into the house, etc. Silly me. He came home with me in the crate. Libby rode in the front seat.

There’s obviously more to the story, but I think I’ll try posting this first and see if it works. Maybe Averill will teach me how to put in pictures. The training issues started soon after I got the little guy home since he knows nothing. How a dog can get to the age of 18 months and not even know how to sit is beyond me, but at least I have a clean slate, right? Wrong!

Averill is jumping in here and posting a photo that Linda sent - of Tuck and Libby getting along very well about two weeks after this post was written.