Last night I was washing the dishes. Not in order to feel good about myself – no, sometimes I need to clean to ward off negative energy instead.
Last night I was feeling ready to blow up at my dog, who was driving me a little batty. Instead, I attacked the dishes. As it tends to happen, I had a few thoughts pop in my head.
Lately I’ve wanted to get back into fiction writing. Just small stuff, short stories (probably flash fiction at that) – nothing lengthy. I’ve been doing some reading to brush up on my skills/habits; not other fiction right now but namely prompts, idea sources, etc.
Writing short fiction is easy – it doesn’t take long to write a story. Writing a good piece of short fiction is levels more difficult of course, but that’s not the issue I need to tackle at the moment.
The problem I’m having is one of motivation, and that’s the thought/realization that I had last night while I was doing the dishes. It’s something that I want to figure out how to fix but I’m not sure how to do it just yet.
Motivation in some fields of my life isn’t hard to come by. I can find the motivation to go to work, to put podcast stuff together, to work out, to eat right; but to write? It’s missing.
And I don’t understand why. I have a memory of maybe 6-7 years back at Christmas when I would write short stories in a notebook. Where has that inspiration gone?
You’ll remember at the beginning of September, we adopted Bailey. I keep calling her a 12-month old puppy, though now I think it’s fair to say she’s 13 months. So far, we’ve had many ups and downs with her; training is proving to be quite difficult sometimes. With some other things though, we are seeing a lot of positive progression, and I think it’s fair to say there’s more “ups” than downs.
I think one of the biggest problems we are having right now is her general re-activeness toward…everything. Particularly when she’s on a leash, Bailey is very aggressive toward other dogs. I did some basic research and the general consensus in most cases is that she feels extra threatened by the other dogs (and sometimes, people) while she’s on a leash, because she’s restrained. So she growls, barks, does whatever she can to keep the other dog away. Since in her mind it works, she keeps doing it.
I found a 3-step guide that I think will work. The trouble is that Bailey seems to have Superman-quality vision, and it’s hard to practice this stuff in a planned manner. She just needs work. Luckily, beyond this 3-step guide, there seem to be plenty of other resources online for leash-reactive behaviour.
Unfortunately there’s not so much information about when your dog gets mad at other cars, inside the car. I think the reason behind it is similar to why she gets mad on the leash; she feels threatened by the oncoming cars, which is then made worse by the fact that she feels restrained being in the vehicle. We wouldn’t care so much, except that she takes to biting at the window and vinyl in the car. Oops.
Our solution to this for now is a restraint that buckles into the seat belt and hooks onto her harness. She can still move around, but ultimately I’d like for her to not get crazy mad at oncoming vehicles. Our priority would be the leash training though – it’s slightly embarrassing when she lunges at other dogs or people and makes us look like we don’t know how to train our dog. That is definitely something I want to avoid.
Well, August was certainly a busy month. I didn’t get to all of the comic books that I meant to write about. I’m still going to read them, and put reviews up, but I really dropped the ball. In fact, over the entire summer, I feel like I’ve dropped the ball with the consistent posting. So timing things with everyone going back to school, I’m getting back to consistency.
This past Labour Day weekend, we made a last minute decision to adopt a new puppy. You’ll remember back in April we lost our dog Hank; it was hard going through these last few months without little feet following behind us, and we grew used to a quieter house (sort of).
Enter Bailey: a 1-year-old puppy who has loads of energy. All we knew about her was that she was a beagle mix, and her vet records were kept up to date. We’re not sure what she’s mixed with, but based on observation we think she’s part boxer.
We’re both learning – for Vanessa and I, we’ve learned that she still needs a lot of training and learning about her personality. Bailey is learning the same about our particular life rhythms.
One thing is for certain – she’s not going anywhere. She’s super cute, and despite needing some additional training, we know that we’re going to get along fine. I know that I certainly can’t complain, especially when I’m going to hit my FitBit step goal with no problems two days in a row.
I can proudly say that she’s only destroyed objects of minimal importance so far – and we take responsibility for leaving her on her own for too long. Other than that, she isn’t doing too bad.
I look forward to writing more about her, but for now, enjoy another picture of her sleeping.
On Thursday April 6th, 2017 – I couldn’t tell you exactly what time – my wife and I had to make the difficult decision to put down our dog Hank. He was suffering from blastomycosis, a terrible fungal infection that was making it hard for him to breathe in his last days. We were sad to see him go, but in the last few days I’ve been looking at old photos and am happy to remember the good times we had with him.
In Memory of a Great Dog
We rescued Hank back in 2009, when he was about 4 or 5. We didn’t get
complete records with him, and were originally told he was 4. Turns out, he was a 2004 puppy. No one was home when we went to pick him up – not a good sign. His bark was loud when we knocked on the door, and sounded stressed.
We later learned that he had at least one other home before this one, and we think there was a strong possibility he was abused. He was very uncomfortable with anything touching his back end, and was very afraid of brooms and vacuums. I think it’s normal for dogs to be afraid of vacuums, because they make loud, scary noises. But he would always look downright terrified when we were cleaning.
We worked with him a lot. He was a good dog when we got him, but with time he learned better habits and warmed up to us. He turned into a great dog, and we’re really happy we had the chance to have him in our lives for 8 years.
Oh sure, he had some bad habits. It’s hard to say what was worse: chewing underwear, or eating from the garbage can. Considering one ends up being more expensive than the other, I think the scales tip more to the underwear chewing. But he also loved to eat paper, and especially paper from the garbage.
We discovered this early on, and quickly bought a garbage can with a lid. It was one of those lids that swings open, rather than closing tightly. Naturally, we found him one day with his head sticking through the lid with the most innocent look on his face. He was pretty pleased with what he did, if not a little bit confused at our reaction.
We definitely have gone through our fair share of toilet paper with Hank in our home. Not because he learned to use the toilet or anything – but he seemed to love grabbing the toilet paper off the roll and eating it. Not all of it – just some of it. Often I would come home and find a trail of toilet paper – all still connected to the roll – going from the bathroom to the bed. Again, he was always fairly pleased with himself.
Here’s an audio clip from a podcast I recorded with my friend Mike that describes one of these occasions:
Hank loved to play, and his favourite toy by far was a ball. Any ball. If it was round and bounced, he wanted it. He could even entertain himself with it, but
he really loved chasing after it in the field and running. The funny thing about when he played fetch was that he would take the same path running back to us each time. He was terrible at tracking anything but a ball, but somehow, he knew which way he ran back each time.
Ropes and bottles were among his favourites too. While really not great for his teeth, one of his favourite things to do with bottles was to chew them to bits. The first step was always to pop the lid off, and then he would methodically chew at it until it was flat. This was sometimes very helpful if we had a lot of recycling to go through.
He also really loved his walks. He knew too, when I grabbed my headphones, it usually meant walk time. This was a matter of disappointment for him whenever I was grabbing my headphones for a different reason. Still, he would wag his tail at the sight of them, and go absolutely crazy at the sight of his leash.
I think one of the more comforting things about Hank was actually when he would settle down after a long day of play. He had this way of curling up into a ball, or snuggling up next to you to make sure he was as comfortable as possible. He was warm, he was soft, and he was safe.
He loved sitting on my lap, too. If there’s one thing I’m sad that I missed out on in his last few days, it’s that he didn’t get to curl himself into my lap. He was just too tired and physically unable to do it. But I know that he would have felt a lot better if he could have.
In Memory of a Great Dog
To be totally honest, doing this post has probably been one of the more helpful things I’ve done since Thursday. We still haven’t cleaned up the house – his hair is everywhere, and we are slowly moving his toys and things into one spot.
But we can clearly see how much he ran this home, and how much of it was his.
Another thing that helped me out was an article a friend sent me yesterday from Psychology Today. “Getting Over Rover: Why the Loss of a Dog Can Be Devastating” made a lot of sense to me, and meshed with pretty much all of the reasons why we had such a tough time dealing with it in the first few days (and we’re still dealing with it).
I still hear his bark when we walk in the door. I can hear him grumble and sigh as he tries to get comfortable at bed time. But more importantly I can see his big smile and wiggly tail. We’ll get over his loss, and more than likely welcome a new dog into our house. But for now, we have 8 years of memories of a great dog.
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