Mountain Mama

Labor Day weekend in photos

 

  

A Marriage and a Dog

I read a review once of the movie Marley & Me in which the reviewer said the movie is not so much about the dog as it is about the marriage. I think that if I were to tell you the story of my dog, Paco, it would be much the same. His story is so closely tied to the beginning of our marriage that it's hard to think of one without the other. Remembering the beginning of his life with us, I can't help but remember the beginning of us as a family.

Paul and I had been dating for three years. I was ready to move things along between us, and I had been staying at his place more through the week. I suppose he sensed my readiness for something more and this frightened him a bit. So one night we had a long and difficult phone conversation in which he told me that he wasn't sure he would ever want to marry and have children. I amazed myself with my calmness as I told him that it was fine if that's what he wanted but that I did want to someday get married and have children so if he did not want that eventually we would have to part. Not right away, but someday. When we hung up the phone I cried, and then I decided I would not stay at his place quite so much anymore.

Paul, on the other hand, was impressed with my handling of the conversation (I found out later during required premarital counseling with our minister). So impressed that he decided he wanted to marry me and have children with me after all.

Then came Valentine's Day of that same year, 1997.

Paul called me at work and excitedly invited me to lunch, saying "I think I've done a crazy stupid thing." Curious, I met him. When he got out of his truck, he set in front of me this tiny black and white puppy that took off spinning in all directions like a wind-up toy the minute its feet hit the ground.

"He's for you. Happy Valentine's Day." Paul said, beaming.

One of Paul's work colleagues had purchased the puppy, a Jack Russell terrier/Feist mix, at the flea market for his wife, who was a Turkish immigrant in the throes of studying for her American medical boards. He thought the puppy would keep her company. She thought otherwise and told him to take the puppy to work and not bring it back. (The wife, to her credit, was saving the poor dog because her husband, who knew nothing about dogs, had placed rubber bands around his muzzle to keep him from crying at night. To this day, Paco bears the scars of that fiasco).

Paul took one look at him and knew I would not be able to resist (nor could he, truthfully).

After that day I all but officially moved in with him. After all, we had a dog to look after together.

We played with him, stared at him while he slept, bought him tons of toys and treats, doted on him like a baby. When he cried that yelping cry at night I gave in and brought him into bed with me. He curled up against my body, fell asleep contentedly, and has slept like that most every night since.

We named him Paco because we read that dogs respond best when their name is two syllables with a consonant in the middle and a soft vowel on the end. We tried a few names but he most consistently responded to Paco, so we thought that must be the one he chose.

Four months later, he hiked with us to the top of Looking Glass Rock, sat watching as Paul knelt and asked gallantly for my hand in marriage.

Since that day Paco has been no less than our first child. Our friends will attest to this. We took him everywhere with us, arranged play dates, even doggie day care. We discussed his eating and elimination habits at dinner parties (I'm ashamed to admit). We discovered he likes catching frisbees, so we took him to the park nearly every day to play. We forced him on our families, even my mom who is not a dog person. And he made everyone love him, even (maybe especially) my mom.

He's our dog, our boy, our Paco-man.

Mostly, though, he is my dog. He loved me from the start with a devotion I will never know again. Whenever we traveled he paced and worried and moped, waiting for my return. When Owen was born and I was in the hospital for five days he all but wrung his hands as he worried over my absence. And when I did return, he was beside himself with relief and would not leave my side for some time.

He transferred some of that worry onto the baby. When Owen would cry, he would whine and pace between her and the nearest adult. He would put his paws on the edge of the changing table to supervise our care of her. He watched over her. 

                    

As she grew, he became her friend, too, often sleeping on her bed or following her as she learned to walk, then run. Her first word, after "Dada", I swear, was "Papo."

When Barrett came along, he was older, more sedate, but he befriended her as well. Let her poke and grab him, rest against him, ride him, and generally abuse him with her affections. He would look up at me with those soulful brown eyes, but he would not get up and move away from her.

I could tell you so much more about Paco. The time he won a frisbee contest. How watching him catch frisbees was like a visual definition of joy. How hyper and energetic he was. How my friend Dana brought her boyfriend over to see him because the boyfriend was considering getting his daughter a Jack Russell Terrier and how, after meeting Paco, he changed his mind and got a cat instead. How Paco always (still) likes to ride in the truck with Paul. How he was such a fierce protector of his family that the Terminex man (who had large dogs at home) was afraid of him. How Paul's nephews liked to make him growl and show his teeth but he never ever would bite anyone. How he loves loves loves belly rubs and closes his eyes with pleasure when you scratch his ears. How he sits with me and snuggles me when I cry, or am sick. How even now, when he is sick and dying, he wants most of all to be with me.

 

He was, and is, the best dog I've ever had in my life. I can honestly say that I have never loved--or been loved by--another animal more. Mostly, however, he is truly a part of the Paul-and-me, the unit that is the base of our family.

 

Saturday will be our 11th wedding anniversary. And sometime over the next few weeks, Paco will leave us at 12 years old. We have loved him, and he us, utterly and completely. He has brought us together and seen us through many ups and downs and changes and bumps and new beginnings. He has been a true companion.

Our lives, and our marriage, have been enriched by his friendship.

Rough Weekend

So...just to update you:

I did get sick. Thursday night, after writing the last post. Friday I spent the morning working on getting my grades in. Then the afternoon, evening, and the rest of the weekend were spent worrying over our dog, Paco. Long story there, details of which my friends and family are probably tired of hearing. Short version: he's been acting sick, we went to the local vet, who said there'd been a trauma and sent us to the Asheville emergency vet for a surgery that did not happen because they discovered instead of trauma, tumors. He's dying but we don't know how soon.

So, now I've decided to not go to the coast so that I can keep a closer eye on him. But I am sending Paul and Owen. Not Barrett because Barrett is firmly in her terrible two's right now and I do not want to torment Paul and all of the others on the camping trip with her-without-me.

Barrett and I will meet them in Durham on Friday because if Paco is okay by then, I'll feel better leaving him with my mom (the babysitter-turned-dogsitter) for the weekend.

I know. It's a complicated tale. But then again, that's my "simple" life.

Anyway, to add to our worried, grieving weekend, Paul finally succumbed to the stomach bug on Sunday morning. While we were staying at his parents', who are old enough that they do not need to be exposed to illness of any kind. And also where all of his siblings, their spouses, his nephews, his niece, and more were gathering for Mother's Day lunch. So we were able to spread the gastrointestinal joy even further (God I do hope not).

A little bit of a rough weekend we've had. But we're done with school/work and are ready for our summer. Today Paul and I each made a list of summer projects around the house. The lists are long, but so is the summer.

By the way, Owen wanted to make a list, too, in all seriousness. I transcribed it for her and will share it in another post. Trust me--it's better than Paul's and mine by far.

Happiness

 

Why all this embarrassment

about being happy?

Sometimes I’m as happy

as a sleeping dog,

and for the same reasons,

and for others.

                                                    --Wendell Berry

Wordless Wednesday

 

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Wordless Wednesday

     

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More Molly tales

I promise this is not becoming a puppy blog. I just thought this story was too good to keep to myself...

Last week we had a couple of days of rain, which prevented me from properly exercising Molly. I suppose I couldhave stood in the cold rain to throw a ball or Frisbee for her, but I just didn't want to. So she wasn't getting her proper exercise and, since she's been a bit of a nuisance to our neighbors already, I asked my mom to keep her on the porch most of the day while I'm at work. So one day I came home to find that in her boredom, Molly had dug into all eight of the pots my dad had planted for me on the porch. Bulbs and soil everywhere. Sadly, they were rooting and sprouting, too.

   

But that's not the best story.

One morning last week, after a night of being smacked in the face and kicked in the stomach by Barrett's tossing and turning, I woke before six and let Molly out. Paul had already been forced out of bed and onto the couch by Barrett. We standing at the coffeemaker waiting for our fix, when I decided that Molly was taking a little longer than usual in the morning, so I opened the door to call her. She came rushing in, prancing proudly...with a rabbit in her mouth. Fairly large one. She was so proud of herself and I was actually kind of impressed that she could catch an adult rabbit.

Unfortunately, though, the sight of my dog with a freshly killed rabbit in her mouth at 6am caused me to scream a little, which startled Molly, who promptly dropped it at my feet and ran to hide in the bedroom. Poor Paul had to dispose of it. All before the coffee finished brewing.

So, needless to say, we're still working on the Molly situation. Progress is slow.

Progress has been made, though, in that the whole family now agrees she can be rehabilitated and we shouldn't give her away. I guess they realized after my blog post just how all their fussing about Molly was impacting me. If I of all people was actually considering giving a dog away, it must have been serious.

They want to keep me from falling into the same trap again, however. Our neighbor (across the field) has a Great Dane who visits regularly and one day last week while I was at work, he brought three little puppies with him. As he was trotting back across the field, Mom noticed that only two puppies were following him. The third showed up at our dining room door, wagging his little tail as the girls oohed and ahhed over him. Determine to "save" me from him, Mom walked the puppy and both girls down to my other neighbor to see if the puppy belonged to him. When he balked, Mom walked the three back to the house, loaded them in the car, and took them to the neighbor across the fields.

When I got home, Owen greeted me at the door, saying, excitedly: "Mommy, we saved you from a puppy!"

Methinks they actually saved themselves and Paul. Although I do recognize that we have our hands full as it is, I often can't be trusted when it comes to cute little wagging tails.

Training has begun: A photo update

 

I bought a book to help us with Molly: Training Secrets for Labrador Retrievers. Paul and I have both read a little in it are trying to implement some of the lessons learned. It's actually given us a bit of insight into the psyche of the Labrador.

For example:

"Labs have to be in tune with their people in order to follow directions to birds that have fallen out of their sight. That's great for people who like constant canine companionship. It's bad for people who expect a dog to entertain itself. Some hunting dogs were created to hunt independently of humans. Terriers [like Paco] and hounds, for example, follow their noses or eyes and the person must try to keep up. Not so with the Lab. A good retriever must be attentive to the hunter...A dog that innately looks to humans for leadership needs human interaction. All dogs are sociable, but Labs are even more so than the average dog. They do not cope well with being banished to the backyard..."

And this:

"Labs were developed to use their jaws like a strong and dexterous hand. In the absence of bird to retrieve, they'll mouth and carry just about anything in reach...Any object within their reach become fair game to be toted around and most likely, chewed beyond recognition...The inclination to hold things in the mouth often includes human arms and hands...A Lab puppy truly resembles a little fur-bearing piranha...They trot around with an open mouth looking for something, someone, anything to clamp on to..."

Those two passages explain quite a bit about Molly's behavior. And now that we understand it, we can work with her to get beyond it, hopefully.

Paul started today with training her to walk on a leash.

 

Pulling behind. Not so great.

 

Doing much better.

 

Sneaking a peak back at Ma, with the camera...

For the record, for those of you who know more about dog training than we do, we did learn tonight (after this training session), that we should not have used a retractable leash for it. Still, it's a start.

I got her some bones, cow hoofs, and "approved" items to chew, so that we can distract her from chewing the things she's not supposed to chew. We also bought the neighbor's dog a new bed (not Dad this time, but the other neighbor--oops). I meant to get her some Frisbees and/or tennis balls so we can run her daily, but I forgot. I'll have to get those tomorrow.

She's such a sweet baby, despite her flaws. I hope we can teach her well.

Thanks, and a break

 

Thank you all for your comments and emails about the Molly situation. Hearing everyone's stories of pet-created destruction (including one from my brother-in-law and sister-in-law about their lab chewing up a cell phone and a brand new pair of prescription eyeglasses and a memory of another puppy we had once--Lucy--who destroyed a beautiful and expensive Charleston sea grass basket), I guess we're actually not doing too badly on the dog front. (Knock wood) We haven't lost anything truly valuable or highly expensive to Molly...yet. I do plan to try to get her into an obedience class as soon as I can, but the next one is not until Spring, unless I want to go to Asheville (which I don't). So I will endeavor to work with her myself until then, and try to create some consistency among family members in our commands.

Also, we do actually use a crate for leaving the house. We learned that lesson on other dogs. Crates are truly a wonderful thing for dog training and preserving one's house. And she is mostly supervised much of the day, except when she's loose in the yard. (We live in the country so I can do that. I just fear the day she destroys something belonging to a neighbor, one neighbor in particular.) I think her chewing is less because of stress and more because of boredom, so I'm also trying to make sure she has bones and toys for chewing.

I do appreciate all of the advice and solidarity, though. Maybe I need to go see Marley and Me.

I've decided to take a break this weekend. I'm sort of craving a holiday from technology in general and I'm really wishing I had a wood stove, so we could all just cuddle up in front of it and read books. But...I have no wood stove and I can't exist without technology, so instead I'm going to take a break from the computer. Just for the weekend. No Blogging, No Facebook, No Flickr, No...um...email. So, if you're expecting a note from me, hold tight. I'll be back. Monday.

Happy weekend.

Molly

 

Okay, I will concede (Paul, Mom, listen up): getting a puppy wasn't the best idea I've ever had. Even further, getting this puppy wasn't the best idea I've ever had.

Molly is now 6 months old. She weighs 56 pounds. And her manners are atrocious.

She jumps, she nips (okay, bites, but not seriously). She knocks Barrett down. She tracks in mud with her big feet. She gets mud from her big feet on our clothes, on our rugs, on our furniture (despite not being allowed on the furniture).

She digs holes in the yard. Lots and lots of holes in the yard. Big holes. Little holes. Long trenches.

She chews up the girls' toys. And all the shoes in our basket by the front door. And the paper recycling. And the old couch on our porch (see photo, below). She chewed our neighbor's dog bed (luckily the neighbor was my dad). She chewed Owen's acorn hat (yes, that one, the one that was so special because it had "a cherry on top"). She even chewed an outlet cover right off the wall.

She pretty much drives the whole family crazy. And it doesn't help that I'm a lousy dog trainer. Too inconsistent, too soft, too busy.

Everyone yells at her so much that Mom thinks Barrett believes her name to be "No Molly!"

Mom and I have had tense moments over her. Owen and I have argued about her. Barrett has cried about her. Even Paul and I had a curt exchange and about an hour of sullen anger...because of Molly. I considered that I might need to give her away.

But she really is a sweet girl. And I do believe she could be a good dog. And her bad manners are more my fault than hers because I have not been there for her, I have not worked with her or even attempted to train her (except a failed walk up the road on a leash...two girls and my camera in tow).

Now she's cost us a bunch of money. I took her in yesterday for a spaying...and nail clipping...and shots...and flea treatment...and heart worm treatment...and...and...and $$$$. Too much money to just give her away.

It's not the money, though. It's those big brown eyes. The way her ears flop forward, giving her a frequently quizzical look. The way she puts a paw on my leg and leans into my hand for a petting. She can be a good girl, I know it. If only I give her a chance. I owe her that much, don't I?