Night & Day
It is 10:15pm. I am outside in the backyard. It is dark. I am cold. Under a canopy of lightly falling mist, I am scouring the ground via dim cellphone light and violently inhaling every molecule of air that floats my way. I am in a desperate search. A desperate search for dog shit.
We let Teddy outside for Last (Nature) Call before bed. Teddy hovered by our feet for a couple minutes and then bolted towards the bushes where the grass ends and the pine-needle earth begins. He emerged minutes later and scampered clumsily around the yard.
"Did he poop?"
This is the one question standing between me and a dry, warm bed. And a night full of broken, restless sleep.
Unfortunately, the only way to answer this question is to make visual contact. NOT with the puppy. And that is why I am outside late at night sniffing the air for dog poop.
I'd just like to say that when I pictured a life of puppy ownership, midnight poop treasure hunts didn't come readily to mind.
Teddy has now been with us a full 24 hours. In those 24 hours, I have learned a lot about being a puppy parent. For example, wet leaves look an awfully lot like dog shit under dim cellphone lights. And, although I took my babies out in public all-the-time before they were vaccinated without receiving a sideways glance, puppy parents will stare you down if your too-young-to-vaccinate pup steps off your property.
Oh, and puppy adoption is basically a crime against dog-manity. Pure emotional warfare. Here, let me explain:
So, Teddy.... I picked him up Friday on my way home from work. When I walked into the breeder's house to pick him up, he was rolling on the floor happily wrestling with and nuzzling his mommy. My eyes lit up at the display of cuteness. The corners of my heart began to warm. I'm pretty sure even my spleen was smiling.
Then, the breeder stepped in, pulled Teddy from his mom's embrace, and handed him to me. I reluctantly grabbed that ball of cuteness and wrapped him in my arms.
And right there, I died.
I died and came back to life as a mound of sobbing flesh.
No one EVER. EVER. EVER. told me that adopting a puppy would mean tearing it away from its mother. No one ever told me that bringing my puppy home would mean robbing him of his mother's love. FOREVER. And then I had to carry the whimpering puppy away. I was the person solely responsible for the ever-increasing distance between puppy and mom.
This puppy stuff is not for the faint of heart. I got about halfway to my van. Teddy was cowering in the bottom of the blue canvas bin in my slowly-failing arms. He was whimpering and whining. And although I don't speak puppy, I knew exactly what he was saying, "Mommy! Mommy! Where are you? Mommy! I need you! Come save me! Where are you taking me? Where is my mommy? I didn't even get to say goodbye! I'm just a baby!"
I mean, that's totally what a puppy would say. Right?
I hesitated. Blinked. And ran for my van with my gut tied in knots. I high-tailed it right out there before I lost the last string of nerve propelling me forward.
After a long and somber car ride, I brought Teddy home. He was immediately the center of (mostly unwanted) attention. His every step, move, blink, pee, and breath was closely observed and monitored by three very excited boys. As thrilled and as excited as we were to meet the newest addition of the family, Teddy curled up solemnly into the carpet with his head down and his big auburn eyes staring sadly at us.
"It will be ok," I told myself. "I will be his new mommy. He has a new family now." Then I dishearteningly realized that this might be exactly what crazy abductors and kidnappers also tell themselves about their own victims.
The first night was emotionally rough. For me and Teddy. My son and I both forgot to wake up and take Teddy outside. He peed all over his crate blanket and then nestled right into his own pee. I decided not to give him special treatment. I treated him exactly the way I treated my own kids when they had an accident. I covered the pee with a towel, but him on top, and promptly went back to sleep. And dreamt about kidnappers ripping babies from their mother's bosoms.
Despite the rough first night, our first day was a surprising success.
Teddy had his first vet check and got a clean bill of health. He's been doing his business outside like a good puppy. And he's imprinted on me like a sexy underage Twilight werewolf imprints on a baby vampire. He follows me around the house and sits at my feet expectantly. I, of course, reward him with a torrent of pets and belly rubs. So far Teddy is extremely well-behaved. He's quiet and chill and receives disproportionately enthusiastic praise for everything he does, from eating his food to taking a dump. This pup seriously has The Life.
AND. On top of all that, my husband has given his stamp of approval for Teddy!
By "stamp of approval," I mean he "liked" my photo of Teddy on Instagram.
That's close enough. Right?
We let Teddy outside for Last (Nature) Call before bed. Teddy hovered by our feet for a couple minutes and then bolted towards the bushes where the grass ends and the pine-needle earth begins. He emerged minutes later and scampered clumsily around the yard.
"Did he poop?"
This is the one question standing between me and a dry, warm bed. And a night full of broken, restless sleep.
Unfortunately, the only way to answer this question is to make visual contact. NOT with the puppy. And that is why I am outside late at night sniffing the air for dog poop.
I'd just like to say that when I pictured a life of puppy ownership, midnight poop treasure hunts didn't come readily to mind.
Teddy has now been with us a full 24 hours. In those 24 hours, I have learned a lot about being a puppy parent. For example, wet leaves look an awfully lot like dog shit under dim cellphone lights. And, although I took my babies out in public all-the-time before they were vaccinated without receiving a sideways glance, puppy parents will stare you down if your too-young-to-vaccinate pup steps off your property.
Oh, and puppy adoption is basically a crime against dog-manity. Pure emotional warfare. Here, let me explain:
So, Teddy.... I picked him up Friday on my way home from work. When I walked into the breeder's house to pick him up, he was rolling on the floor happily wrestling with and nuzzling his mommy. My eyes lit up at the display of cuteness. The corners of my heart began to warm. I'm pretty sure even my spleen was smiling.
Then, the breeder stepped in, pulled Teddy from his mom's embrace, and handed him to me. I reluctantly grabbed that ball of cuteness and wrapped him in my arms.
And right there, I died.
I died and came back to life as a mound of sobbing flesh.
No one EVER. EVER. EVER. told me that adopting a puppy would mean tearing it away from its mother. No one ever told me that bringing my puppy home would mean robbing him of his mother's love. FOREVER. And then I had to carry the whimpering puppy away. I was the person solely responsible for the ever-increasing distance between puppy and mom.
This puppy stuff is not for the faint of heart. I got about halfway to my van. Teddy was cowering in the bottom of the blue canvas bin in my slowly-failing arms. He was whimpering and whining. And although I don't speak puppy, I knew exactly what he was saying, "Mommy! Mommy! Where are you? Mommy! I need you! Come save me! Where are you taking me? Where is my mommy? I didn't even get to say goodbye! I'm just a baby!"
I mean, that's totally what a puppy would say. Right?
I hesitated. Blinked. And ran for my van with my gut tied in knots. I high-tailed it right out there before I lost the last string of nerve propelling me forward.
"Where are you taking me?"
"Nope. I do not like this."
After a long and somber car ride, I brought Teddy home. He was immediately the center of (mostly unwanted) attention. His every step, move, blink, pee, and breath was closely observed and monitored by three very excited boys. As thrilled and as excited as we were to meet the newest addition of the family, Teddy curled up solemnly into the carpet with his head down and his big auburn eyes staring sadly at us.
Everyone's excited but Teddy.
Surrounded by toys, and cuddles, and love. And depressed.
Pets by the fire. Still depressed.
The first night was emotionally rough. For me and Teddy. My son and I both forgot to wake up and take Teddy outside. He peed all over his crate blanket and then nestled right into his own pee. I decided not to give him special treatment. I treated him exactly the way I treated my own kids when they had an accident. I covered the pee with a towel, but him on top, and promptly went back to sleep. And dreamt about kidnappers ripping babies from their mother's bosoms.
Despite the rough first night, our first day was a surprising success.
Teddy had his first vet check and got a clean bill of health. He's been doing his business outside like a good puppy. And he's imprinted on me like a sexy underage Twilight werewolf imprints on a baby vampire. He follows me around the house and sits at my feet expectantly. I, of course, reward him with a torrent of pets and belly rubs. So far Teddy is extremely well-behaved. He's quiet and chill and receives disproportionately enthusiastic praise for everything he does, from eating his food to taking a dump. This pup seriously has The Life.
Teddy's first walk
Hmm...maybe these people aren't so bad.
AND. On top of all that, my husband has given his stamp of approval for Teddy!
By "stamp of approval," I mean he "liked" my photo of Teddy on Instagram.
That's close enough. Right?
Comments
Post a Comment