It began yesterday evening. We had been in and out so much between HIM working on the roof and me running errands to keep them in gloves and hydrated and fed. When we finally sat down to eat at 8pm last night, we realized that Bishop was not his normal self.
I’m the victim of domesticated animal violence…
Tuesday, June 8th, 2010
It’s been a rough few days for the poor baby. Let me translate. It’s been a rough few days for us.
Somehow I can’t emphasize enough that this dog, this Dane, this monstrosity of a pet…who I love as much as possible and waaaaay more than I ever imagined…may be the death of me. I know I’ve told you about stumbling over him. And while that part is most decidedly over, since he’s so big, it’s more like having a big kid than a pet, there are other challenges that come with his size.
Like all dogs, he likes to follow us around. This means we face a constant bottle neck in the hall as he realizes suddenly that we are coming back out of a room and he’s forced to walk backwards. (He’s not a fan of backwards.) He’s constantly under foot, which is more like constantly under elbow. He can stick his head in the sink while I’m brushing my teeth or washing dishes, while his feet are firmly planted on the ground. And that often means that I’m shoving his face away from the counter while I’m cooking. (That dog can drool!) He loves sticks, only his sticks are more like tree limbs. (Those he finds in abundance after Ed unloads his truck after work.) Did I mention he has poor spatial reasoning skills? Yup, nothing like having your feet swept out from under you by a dog.
Well, over the last few days I’ve been injured in three separate incidents. There was the near shiner that I told you about. HE assured me that the swelling was barely noticeable. And then HE couldn’t stop staring at it. Grrr.
Then there was the way Bishop hooked my nostril with his tooth as he spastically tried to snuggle me Monday morning. I’m probably going to eventually need a plastic surgeon. Know any good ones?
There was also my head injury on Saturday night that I failed to mention earlier.
And it is worth mentioning. For some reason, we were playing in the house with Bishop…again. And HE was on his knees on the floor. Not me. I’m too smart to get injured the same way twice. Luckily there are so many new ways to get injured that I should be set for quite some time. In this situation, I was running to get the cow that HE had thrown. It landed near the back door. And I was determined to beat Bishop there. The very real possibility that he would have his slobbery mouth all over the cow I would then have to touch was a motivating factor for my rush.
I won. I beat Bishop to the cow. Only, as I bent over to pick it up, he rammed my butt. And I went head first into the door frame and crumbled to the floor. It hurt. And it must have sounded as bad as it looked, since I heard HIM calling to me.
HIM: Um, baby? Baby!
When I opened my eyes, he was standing over me wearing a concerned look. And when I sat up, he gave my head a thorough examination. Bishop looked baffled. There was a definite ‘wasn’t me’ look on his face. After I was kissed and Bishop was banished to his couch/time out chair for playing too rough with me, the game was called on account of injury.
We had a discussion about the dangers of a rearing a Dane after my cheekbone finished swelling.
HIM: I told you that you’d have to be careful with him as he got bigger.
me: ME!? Bishop needs to be careful with me!
HE laughed and walked over to the puppy, sitting in his self-imposed time out.
HIM: Bishop, did you play too rough with Mommy?
(As if my face wasn’t evidence enough.)
There’s a real danger that I may soon end up the poster child for domestic violence. After a while, people may doubt that it’s the dog and think instead that HE is abusing me. As if. I’m more like the poster child for being on the receiving end of domesticated animal violence. Still, I love that pup.
Oh, and don’t think I’m the only one who has suffered Bishop’s mouth. HE lost a wallet…in the sense that Bishop ate it. At least he had the good sense to remove the credit cards and license first. Good puppy?
We’re leaving Friday morning to go to the beach. Ahh, I know you think it’s all about fun and games, but it isn’t. See, we’ll be working on wedding stuff. Specifically, we’ll be seeing the place we want to get married and talking to the event planners there.
Okay, he’s more like Baby Huey. Our baby weighed in last week at 115 pounds. And I realize I didn’t exactly mention the trip to the vet. I didn’t tell you how challenging it was to get him into the vehicle. I didn’t tell you it took two of us…me and Rachel. HE was still working and met me there. (Thank goodness, otherwise I’d still be wandering around that parking lot, wondering how to load the pup.) I didn’t mention that he took up the entire back seat. Most of all, I didn’t tell you how he launched himself out of the vehicle and over my head when we returned home. Yup. Scared the life out of me.
Our baby has developed a bit of a reputation. Where other big dogs are destructive, ripping apart upholstery, gnawing on wooden furniture, soiling the carpets, Bishop hasn’t. He has two weaknesses: stuffed animals, since they so closely resemble his own toys; and food. That dog loves food. (He takes after his mommy…)
And if it doesn’t…he’s hard not to love. His devotion is touching. His snuggling is moving. Really. I’m usually squished. And I can’t remember life before him. We wouldn’t have it any other way. In some ways, he’s a symbol of our relationship, another challenge that we face head on. In our world, don’t give us some wimpy…the bigger, the better.
The thing about Bishop is that he is sooo big that it’s easy to forget that he’s a baby still. He is constantly going through growth spurts. And every time we measure him, we’re pleasantly surprised with the results.
So, when last we left, I had been having a lovely day. Then, there was a knock on the door.
This is what a five month old puppy-cow looks like. Yes, Bishop has grown in the past few months. The kids have had an opportunity to spend more time with him of late since being in The Bubble hasn’t been the gut-wrenching, tension laden experience it used to be. Seems we have come to an understanding. And part of that understanding is that Bishop needs his mommy and his kids as much as his mommy and his kids need him.
To put it in better perspective for you…that’s Snickers. (Yes, that Snickers, who took out my knee and nearly blew me up on more than one occasion. Looks deceptively innocent, doesn’t he?) Well, he’s a black lab. And you can see that even though he’s full grown, Bishop, who is nowhere near full grown, is already the big dog on the block.
So Keenan and I went over. And we brought some of the food for the New Year’s Eve bash. I think you may have read that I had been baking cookies. Yeah, another four dozen cookies from two different varieties, both of which require refrigeration of the dough prior to baking. So…labor intensive. And I’m not the biggest fan of cookie baking. The only reason I do it at all is because I am a big fan of cookie eating…and there’s my constant bid for Mother of the Year. (Good news! New year, new opportunity!)
It’s a good thing 
Let’s start with the easy stuff. It all began this morning when I was talking to my mother and she noted that I’m in love…oh, and it’s with Bishop. And it would be hard not to love Bishop.
Okay. No one said raising a puppy-cow would be easy. In fact, most people warned us against it.
We picked up Bishop today! It went precisely as we expected. The breeders, who happen to be this really devoted family, had a difficult time parting with him. And who can blame them? It’s with a mixture of relief, trepidation, and sorrow that they are sending these babies out into the world. They can only hope that they have chosen families that will love these puppies and raise them as well as they raised the mother, Zoe. S and I are determined not to let them down.
As you can tell, he adapted pretty well. Soon he was playing outside, following both of us everywhere. We’re working on preventing him from eating grass. Let’s face it, no one wants the mess that would ensue. And I didn’t do all that Dane research so that he could eat anything other than the perfect puppy food for his size and breed.
And next to the potty training, our biggest challenge was going to be making sure that he was well-behaved and knew what was an acceptable chew toy. The breeders had warned us in advance that his immune system wouldn’t be Petsmart-ready, so we shopped before he came home. Little did we know that the breeders were going to send us home with a fantastic goody bag with a toy a ball, some food and baby shampoo. (I told you these were special people!)
I have a great photo of him taking his first nap with S, but since S still has this issue about his picture being on the blog, this one later in the evening was the best I could include. (That he would even allow that picture of his backside on here with Bishop was incredible. He’s coming around…)
And I just had to post one parting shot of him. Isn’t Bishop beautiful? Don’t get any big ideas. We’re getting him chipped. We have a yard with a locked gate. And our neighbors will shoot stangers on sight, no questions asked. Okay, maybe thay’ll ask one question. Then they’ll shoot. And trust me when I say that paintballs and air soft hurt.
One of our main happy thoughts for the week was that on Saturday, we’d get to go visit Baby Bishop. When bad things or sad things or anything happened, we’d turn to each other and say, “At least on Saturday we get to see Bishop.”
Look at that face. (Bishop’s, not Rachel’s.) He looks cute and sweet and innocent, right? Well, according to his current mama, he’s the bully of the bunch. (S was DELIGHTED at this news. He wants a gentle giant.) And he’s the biggest of the litter of ten. Yup. We know how to pick ‘em.
Well, after all that playing, which mostly involved a lot of us snuggling him and petting him. Then after the snuggling and petting, he grew…heavy…so, we let him play on the floor.
The funny thing was, while he was eating, one of his sisters walked over, squatted and peed right next to him. Really? So, our baby ended up eating while his tail soaked in her pee puddle.
It was hard saying goodbye to him. More than anything, we wanted to bring him home with us. We knew that he needed to stay and have his first shots on Friday. And we knew that we had a week of fence building and preparations to make before we were truly ready for his arrival.
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