It is one thing when I fail to maintain my own weight through diet and exercise. At 5’ 10”, I can carry an extra ten pounds with little more than a strained waistline (and an occasional flying button). Goose, on the other hand, is officially fat. Since his last visit to the vet he has gained 9 pounds. He is 61 pounds. I can’t feel his ribs. His fur coat is looking a little tight. I don’t know how this happened. He doesn’t get all sorts of treats, just a cookie here and a bit of lamb trachea (larynx?) there.  We only feed him one cup of dry food twice a day. I am beside myself. I have a child that could be considered obese. Do dogs have a BMI?

So, now what? I have to reduce his food by one third. Great, that won’t feel like deprivation. I suppose more exercise is in order too. I have seen doggie treadmills in the catalogs that clog my mailbox. What do you think it would take to get Bob Harper to go all “Biggest Doggie Loser” on Goose’s ass? Does Jenny Craig have a canine program, because damn that Sarah Rue looks awesome? My husband, Bob, even had me ask the vet if it could be a thyroid disorder (too much Oprah?). It wasn’t.

We have to guard Goose’s feelings. I don’t want to do anything that might damage his self-esteem or cause an eating disorder. What might that look like? Milk bone wrappers hidden in the couch and Beggin’ Strips boxes strewn about. And the purging, well I can’t begin to imagine. Lets not even get into the cost of therapy.

I have never had a chubby pooch before.

Larry was tall and skinny.

Mike is svelte and athletic.

In their old age our Golden Retrievers, Casey and Lucas, had some weight issues, but Goose is not even two.

Somehow Goose has moved into the portly zone without our notice – it happens, right? No need to panic and start inquiring about doggie gastric bypass yet. We’ll just begin the eat less, move more program and by we, I mean both Goose and I. Who knows, maybe in my efforts to whip him back into shape I’ll find inspiration. I can still feel my ribs, but my equivalent of his”fur coat” is a little tight these days too.

Goose does not have that type of identity crisis. He knows he is a dog. The issue is Goose thinks I am a dog as well.

Sometimes this misconception manifests itself in really cute ways. Goose almost always sleeps with his head touching some part of my body. The other morning he curled up around my head and actually rested his little head across my neck and went back to sleep, much like the piling puppies do when they are new.

The problem arises when he tries to engage me in some kind of play as if I were another dog. When he is amped up, and Mike is out of reach, he will paw at me to get my attention. It isn’t a gentle action; it actually leaves marks and hurts. When I don’t react, he begins to whine and make all sorts of noises. If I still don’t engage, then the yelling begins. OK, technically I guess it is barking, but it sounds an awful lot like yelling to me. See for yourself:

I don’t know who is more frustrated in this clip, me because I don’t know what his deal is or Goose because he is being very articulate about his desires….. just in DOG.

Last year a family of squirrels took up occupancy in our attic. Our attic is essentially a crawl space and because their residence was above the guest room, it took some time before we realized that we had squatters. I actually didn’t believe Bob until he showed me a squirrel head sticking out of the house. It seems they just moved in and began to remodel. They needed to add some additional entrances to their new place to bring it up to squirrel code so they began with a sliding glass door here and some French doors there (without the actual doors of course). The upside was that we hired some hunky young men to humanely evict our deadbeat tenants and relocate them to some subsidized squirrel housing otherwise known as a forest preserve. The downside was that the perimeter of our attic had to be sealed and the whole process cost a hunky arm and a leg.

Squirrels in the city aren’t unusual, you say. No, they aren’t, but how about rabbits? Yes, we have a small community of bunnies living in and around our yard. They don’t live exclusively in our yard, but they spend an inordinate amount of time in our yards given that we have dogs. Dogs, I might add, who are decidedly anti-bunny. If I were a city rabbit, I might chose to spend my time in a dog free zone, but not these rabbits. They not only hop around our yard, they have discovered where in the yard they are safe from, but not out of sight of, the canines. The result is a bark-fest that would make one think the canine world as we know it is coming to an end. Mike begins with a deep menacing repetitive bark and Goose chimes in with a squeak/bark that sounds a bit like he is being stabbed. The only solution is to run outside with my wet hair in a towel turban and chase the bunny off. The rabbits are apparently (and rightfully so) frightened of a crazy, yelling lady in her bathrobe flailing after them, but not barking dogs.

Lastly, there is our field mouse issue. Every year, although there isn’t a field around for miles, we have field mice that come to visit. They must take the train. After the first mouse came years ago we hired an extermination company to come and put out little crawl-thru restaurants that serve canine safe poison. We have also purchased traps that “humanely” execute mice by electrocution when they stop by for some peanut butter. Both methods have worked in the past to rid us of our unwanted house guests. Our dogs are both uninterested and ineffective in this endeavor, by the way. Apparently our current version of Stuart Little is too refined to dine at the crawl-thru restaurants because the tell tale trail he leaves behind is not green which would indicate a shorter life expectancy. And he may have a peanut allergy or at least an aversion because he hasn’t touched our “humane” traps, though he has left a trail around them as well. This mouse (and I need to believe there is just one – so shut up) is starting to get on my last humane nerve, but I have no idea what to do about it.

Squirrels, rabbits and field mice may seem like cute helpless little creatures, but you’ll change your tune when they have moved in, damaged your property and/or disrupted your life. Then you will believe, as I do, that they belong exclusively in the suburbs and Disney movies.

They were very excited and once they had traded toys several times with minimal growling, they set about to the real work of disemboweling their new toys. First, locate and remove all squeaking objects. Second, pull out all stuffing and separate limbs from torso. Lastly, diligently attempt to defleece the poor toys.

As we opened gifts the boys were given some good tasting treats to occupy them.

Mike finished his early and wanted to help open gifts.

After the gifts were opened the boys engaged in a rousing game of tug of war with one of the sad fleece toys.

By midday we had all hit the Christmas wall and it was time for a family nap.

It was clearly a very happy holiday.

I still live by those words and I really do my best to be certain that anything that means something to me is out of canine reach. And when a possession falls prey to a pooch, I usually move past it by scolding myself for its placement. I also provide a cornucopia of approved chew toys:

That said, I may have underestimated Goose’s animosity towards throw pillows:

And I was unaware that  he had developed a taste for leather or maybe it was cashmere:

But I have my limits and these are just a few of the canine casualties of Goose’s puppyhood. The good news is that each time my blood pressure begins to rise and I contemplate calling a parental help line, this is what is looking back at me:

And seriously who could be angry at that face?

So by way of an update:

There was talk of Goose’s weight. Someone (Bob) thought that there was too much of it. I maintained that his torso is just larger than his legs are long due to the mixing of the breeds. Or maybe his head is smallish. It was decided that before all this weight talk caused Goose to have body dysmorphia (and no one wants a bulimic dog, let me tell you) that we would consult a professional. The World’s Best Vet reassured us that Goose is perfect, but we are moving him from puppy food to adult food. They grow up so fast.

Also I have had a toothache. I went to the dentist to have the source of the pain identified. The tooth that received a crown six months ago may have cracked further under pressure (who knows the stress a royal molar faces). The solutions offered were a) a root canal or b) extraction of the tooth and then there was something about a titanium rod and bone growing and five thousand dollars and OMG! And here is my first, and possibly only, opportunity to say that I would rather have a root canal and mean it.

Lastly, I have been cheating on my blog. Not with another blog, that would be unseemly. I have been taking a creative writing class and it may have been sucking all the creative out of me. I could be a one trick pony. I am definitely a one trick pony. Luckily it is only a six week class and I will be filled with “creative” once it is over. Sadly it is only a six week class and I am really enjoying it.

Take that crickets!

Many years later, when my grandmother passed away, my mother inherited the little dog figure. My little brother grew up with it in her home. That home was never without a real live dog or two, so the statue may have been neglected during that period of its life.

When my mother passed away this little dog was the only one of her possessions that both my brother and I wanted. We sifted through an entire house, an entire life, without one single debate about the future of anything except this one figurine. Even that debate was brief and seniority won out.

The little dog statue now lives with me. It is one of my treasured possessions along with the grandfather clock that belonged to my grandfather and my grandmother’s rosary beads. The little dog reminds me of a simple and innocent time. It sits on a bookshelf in my living room surrounded by books, family photos and knickknacks.

The weekend that we brought Goose home to live with us, I walked by the little dog statue and stopped in my tracks. I hadn’t thought of the statue consciously but apparently it has been imprinted on my brain. I grabbed the little dog statue and ran back into the kitchen to show Bob my discovery.

Goose was clearly meant to be with me. In a way, he has always been with me.

I know this happens all the time and I know it happens to children as well which is, of course, more tragic. My questions where dogs are concerned are these:

Why do people insist on taking their dogs with them everywhere?

and

What makes them think that their dogs want to go with them?

I have larger dogs so even if I were inclined, it would be inconvenient for me to load them into the car every time I ran an errand. And to my knowledge they don’t make purses for eighty pound dogs, not that I could lift it if they did. Regardless of how much my departure may seem to distress my dogs (and by now it really doesn’t) I know their secret. Sure they are excited to see me when I get home. Of course they make a huge production to welcome me. This is all a ruse to disguise the fact that while I was out – they slept.

Now if I have a choice between a nice long nap and being carted around in someone’s purse – I choose nap. Nap vs. car ride? With my nose out the window? This one is a bit more difficult, but still I choose nap. Nap vs. sitting in your Camry while you enjoy a Cobb salad? Yup, you guessed it. Nap.

Leave your dogs at home people. Dogs are not, despite what Paris Hilton and her ilk may convey, an accessory. If your dog is destructive when left to his own devises – crate him. If he has separation anxiety put on a nice CD or the television. Maybe the separation anxiety is yours – work it out. If you can’t find a way to safely leave your pet at home while you run errands or meet a friend for lunch, then maybe you shouldn’t have a pet.

And really, if you don’t have the common sense to know that a dog will not survive for two hours in a car in 90 degree heat then there are no maybe’s about it.

Case in point: Mike the yellow lab, a friendly docile breed, no? Yeah, no. He apparently missed that day in lab school. He is the Labrador American version of Cujo, but only when he is on his leash. And only to other dogs who he could swallow whole or who could kick his ass with one paw tied behind their back. It is usually at the vet’s office or on walks where we are treated to this behavioral anomaly. And I can joke my way out of his menacing growl when it is directed at a Mastiff – “Really, Mike? You want to go there?” But when he goes all mean-ass-guard-dog on a Yorkshire terrier puppy, I am at a loss.

As it turns out, however, Mike is not a mean dog. He actually plays well with other dogs when he is off-leash. We think that is has more to do with protecting Bob and me from the dangers of miniature dachshunds and Great Danes.

Goose on the other hand is trying to live up to his name and honks incessantly at everything. It is unnerving. And he is relentless. Our neighbors, the workmen, our neighbor’s workmen, the kids on the trampoline down the block: anything can set him off. Being a canine of smaller stature (because he is NOT a litte dog) he has a less dignified bark as well. It is not actually a yap, but it is way too close for me.

Lastly both of these beasts are determined to be the next sled dogs for the Midwestern Iditarod, should one ever be held. They will choke themselves horse as they drag us down the street, making walks a pleasure for all (if by pleasure you mean sore rotator cuffs and leash burned hands). Oh and did I mention that Goose barks at people and Mike growls at dogs? Yeah, there are a bunch of both of those on walks too.

Bob and I are of the school that there are no bad dogs, just lazy owners and to that end we have enlisted the help of a trainer. We have purchased harnesses at her suggestion that reduce the ability and inclination to dislocate the leash holder’s arm. We are also trying to employ training techniques to discourage their bad behavior. It seems we are to distract the dogs from the object of their anxiety and reward then with hot dogs and other treats for any good behavior.

We have had a couple of somewhat successful walks so far, but as with any training exercise, repetition is the key. The really important part of the training is to break them both of their respective aggressive behavior. The leash pulling should go away too, but if we haven’t kicked that by the first snowfall then I say we just buy a sled. After which we can reward ourselves with hot dogs and other treats. Why should the dogs get all the good stuff?

Luckily this whole process isn’t at all exasperating:

Then the humping began. If friends don’t let friends dry hump, then certainly one shouldn’t let one’s puppy frantically hump one’s grown dog. But all of this behavior is harder to prevent than you might think. Up until now the only real solution is separating them and that is torture for all four of us; auditory torture. Goose loooves Mike and needs to be near him for the chewing and the humping and just pleeeease let me out of the crate, I promise I’ll be good. There is however a more permanent solution, at least so we hope. It is the exorcism.

So we made an appointment with our priest (or vet) to perform the ceremony (or surgery). It is time to get the devil out of our little Goosebump (or get the little bumps out of our Goose). I am told there won’t be any head spinning or projectile vomiting in this version.

There are many reasons to neuter your dog. The real reason for performing this ritual is of course to control the canine population. We are not, strangely enough, going to breed Goose although I maintain whatever mix he is could absolutely be the new designer dog. He doesn’t fit into a purse, but neither does a Puggle. And Puggles are so 2007 anyway.

All that responsible-pet-owner stuff aside, if one byproduct of this exorcism is a little less humping and a little more peace, then I am all for it (I am guessing Mike will be on board as well). The downside of the surgery is how utterly pathetic a puppy looks in a lampshade:

So not the life of the party, this week anyway.