Suddenly *Not So* Single Journey

He’s a growing boy…

Saturday, January 2nd, 2010

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.

So this is how Rachel spent part of her New Year’s Eve, hanging out with Bishop.  Yes, he really does take up half the couch.  And yes, Rachel really was pleased to have him lounging all over her.  She was less pleased when it prompted a must-have-Benadryl allergic reaction later.  That’s when I was more pleased.  Benadryl causes drowsiness.  On the downside, Rachel even talks in her sleep.

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.

Bishop is so big in fact, that he can get into mischief the ordinary dog couldn’t.  For example, the other night, Sam called and asked if I’d be willing to spend some time with Bishop since he was still working and the poor puppy-cow had been locked in a kennel all day.  You can imagine my response.

me: Heck, yeah!

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!)

Well, Rachel was at a friend’s house…and it was the first time she would try out the new key after the lock change…and the key didn’t work…and it was cold and rainy…so I came home with Keenan to let her in.  Yup, we left the puppy-cow unattended.  Sam assured me he had always been good when left out, never really made a mess or was destructive.  I left the kids at home, returned to what I am now going to refer to as ‘the scene of the crime.’

Bishop was sitting by the door, eagerly awaiting my return.  We played.  We snuggled.  Sam returned and I made ready to leave.  He went in the kitchen to get a water.   Only then did I notice the aluminum foil on the ground.  And only then did I notice that the cookies were no longer on top of the microwave a good four and a half feet off the ground.  Nope.  There wasn’t so much as a crumb left.  Four dozen cookies.  Gone in what was probably a matter of minutes.

It’s a good thing I love that puppy-cow.  It’s a good thing I didn’t have my heart set on eating cookies.  Some might argue he was saving me from myself.

So, if we chalk everything up to a learning experience…what knowledge was gained from this?  Well, don’t leave food anywhere but inside a shut cupboard or inside a fridge with a baby Dane on the prowl.  Don’t leave the baby Dane unattended even for a moment.  And you probably should not leave me in charge of him at all.

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And they called it puppy love…

Tuesday, September 22nd, 2009

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.

See, he’s absolutely gorgeous, for one thing.  And if that weren’t enough, he’s completely taken with me.  We women know how easy it is to succumb to that kind of adoration.  He follows me everywhere…EVERYWHERE.  I haven’t had this much company in the bathroom since the kids were in diapers.  There’s something comforting about hearing his big feet padding alongside me.  It’s when he stops that we have issues.  And I can only imagine that the issues are going to get worse.

He’s already a big boy, but we have acknowledged that he is going to be HUGE.  And I mean MASSIVE.  Right now, the place that he feels the most secure is with me, behind me, or in between my legs.  In the not so distant future, I can absolutely see him knocking me off my feet.   And when some people use the expression that something is going to be the death of them, they usually mean it figuratively.  Me, it’s not such an impossibility that this dog won’t cause my death.  I back up and stumble over him all the time.  So, for future reference, it was nice knowing you.

Then there’s the constant chewing issue.  We have so many dog toys scattered around the living room that it looks like a bomb went off.  And what does he want to chew on?  Let’s see…me.  Mostly me.  Oh, and when he’s not chewing on me, it’s whatever is near me.  This morning alone, it was the coffee table, which has legs like 3×3 posts and he can wrap his mouth around…and the top of the coffee table, which is a wood and stone slab a good three inches thick.  And then we were in the kitchen…so much for the cabinets.  And when I sat farther from the coffee table, it was the area rug that S and I picked out last fall.  Thankfully, we’re not attached to any of it.  (And yes, we are attempting to correct these issues and redirect his attention to an acceptable plaything.  I never would have thought of that!)

But other than these few downsides (imminent death and constant destruction), how could I not love Bishop?  He greets me with the same enthusiasm whether I’m coming back in from getting the mail or from having been at work all day.  He lays all over me and snuggles me.  And if I could just get him to stop using me as his favorite teething toy, we’d get along even better.

I also happen to love the way he tilts his head when I talk, like he’s really listening and processing what I say.  His father, S, does the same thing…with completely different results.  S will listen to what I say, internalize it, and get it.  Bishop…not so much.  Take a few moments ago, for instance.  (And for your benefit, I will also be playing the role of Bishop for this exercise.)

me: (after investigating the chewing sound emanating from under the computer desk) Hey! No chewing on the power cord.

Bishop: (quirking his eyebrows)  Well, okay.  (and the chewing ceases)

A few moments pass…

me: (in response to the chewing sound AGAIN)  Hey!  No means no!

Bishop: (dropping his head in dismay)  Really?  Is that your final answer?

me: What did you think I said?  Not now?  Maybe later?  No!  No.  Chewing. On. The. Cord.  (Sometimes you have to speak slowly and use smaller words.  Helps with the breakdown in communication.)

So, while he has stopped the chewing, he’s currently dreaming while I type.  And I can only imagine the cute little puppy dreams he’s having.  I bet, in his dream, he’s chewing on piles and piles of cords and he never even gets shocked or yelled at.  On the other hand, the way his legs are moving…maybe he’s dreaming about my sneaker that he strolled off with last night right in front of me and I had to retrieve.  Yup, he looks like he’s playing keep away to me.  And he seems really happy.

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Training a puppy-cow…

Saturday, September 19th, 2009

Okay.  No one said raising a puppy-cow would be easy.  In fact, most people warned us against it.

Everyone: What would possess you to want a dog that big?

me: I’ve always wanted a dog I can look in the eye, saddle up, and ride around the neighborhood.

or:

me: It’s S’s dream dog.  And if we’re going to get a dog, might as well give him his dream.

My dream dog wasn’t about a particular breed.  I wanted a family dog, a dog that would make me feel safe, a dog that would be affectionate, a gentle giant.  It has worked out rather well.  And for the training, there have only been a few accidents.  And they are mostly our fault.

Our first mistake was leaving Keenan in charge of Bishop.  I later found Keenan watching television in his room while Bishop christened the living room.  In Bishop’s defense, all of his accidents have been on the wrong side of the back door.  And the second accident that caused my lousy morning, because I need one more thing to do in the morning, was when a breakdown in communication occurred between me and Rachel.  I thought she was watching him so I could post.  She thought her hair was more important.

The end result was that the moment I  noticed Bishop had grown suspiciously silent, it was already too late.  He was trying to sneak away from a softball sized pile of poo in the living room, which is a true challenge since his paws are so large I can hear him walk and because I could have spotted a poo that size from a football field away.  So, it was the stick his nose in it, bring him outside, set him in the grass bit.

Then he tried to help me clean up.  Only, as you may have guessed, he was something of a hindrance.  In utter frustration, I brought him to our bedroom and rather unceremoniously dumped him on his father, who couldn’t grasp why I was in such a huff at 6am.  (He should have seen me at 5:55am.)  Without Bishop trying to sniff the poo and/or walk through his pile, the clean up went amazingly fast.  And we’re still on the first can of carpet cleaner.

The key to potty training our puppy-cow seems to be that we need to take him out the minute he wakes, every time he wakes.  We need to take him out after every time he eats or drinks or thinks about eating or drinking.  If he walks to the back door, near the back or even glances in the general direction of the back door…we take him out.  Oh, and by ‘we’ I mostly mean me, or someone directed by me.

And now it has occurred to me that this training a puppy-cow isn’t just an act for Bishop, he’s training us, too.  We are learning his little tells.  We can read the signs.

S: (one morning at o’dark thirty) Did he pee?

me: (mumbled as I crawled back into bed) I think so.  He kind of squatted.

S: Was his tail in a question mark or a lightening bolt?

me: (tired and annoyed) What?

S: The question mark is when he pees.  The lightening bolt is the other.

me: (thinking)  Hard to tell in the dark.  Does it really matter?

And apparently it did.  And I still don’t know why.  And he finally let it go so I could go back to sleep.

The bottom line is that we’re good for Bishop.  We’re going to shape our puppy-cow into a gentle giant.  He’ll be a model for all Danes to come.  And he’s shaping us, too.  S is getting up earlier…than he’d like.  The kids are taking on more responsibilities…than they’d like, but not more than they can handle.  (They’re not a fan of poop patrol, the daily cleansing of the yard.)  And me?  Last night, Bishop made my dream come true.

We were talking to Spring and Jay.  Now that they live just down the road, they can pop in once in a while.  We were in the living room, joking around as Jay told some story about the past.  And suddenly I felt it.  Bishop had his head on my feet.

me: S!  Look!  (And I pointed.)

S: (smiling) Just what you wanted, baby.

me: (tearing up a little)  I know.

See, Snickers, the neighborhood pooch, was notorious for using my feet as a head rest or to keep his hind end from touching the wet grass.  And the night before Bishop came home, when he was doing that mutually beneficial act (my feet were cold), I had hoped aloud that our baby would do that.  Dreams do come true.  My life proves it.

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Bishop came home!

Sunday, September 13th, 2009

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.

Bishop is his dream dog, and after only a few short hours, already his pride and joy.  The kids, while able to go with us to bring him home, are staying at Spring and Jay’s tonight while we try to get him acclimated bit by bit to his new setting.  As much as they think they are missing out, soon enough they will appreciate how much work it is to raise Bishop right.

Our first task, right form the start, was to make sure he was well-trained in every respect.  With that in mind, we began to adhere to a strict hourly pee schedule.  And like the proud parents we are, we have recorded every stinking moment for posterity.  I couldn’t resist snapping a picture of him peeking out from under S in response to his first time being on the grass.

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.

Oh, and as for his size…Bishop gained nearly three pounds since we saw him last week.  Our baby weighs 18.4 pounds.  And he’s only 7 weeks old.  That’s right.  He’s a veritable munchkin.

As we were driving home, S looked over at him, half asleep in my lap.

S: Grow my pretty.

me: Bishop, he never says that to me.

S: (looking at me) Shrink my pretty.

For some reason, the kids found that to be very funny.  Okay.  It was funny.  Just don’t encourage him.

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!)

Bishop has enjoyed trying out all his toys.  And little Alpha male that he is, I am his favorite wrestling toy.  So, I’ve spent a ton of time saying, “Not the mamma.  Don’t bite mommy.”  And then I’m shoving an acceptable replacement in his mouth.  Luckily, he’s taking to that training method really well, too.

All I know is that things are going very smoothly thus far.  He has gone potty outside about five times and even pooed twice.  (Don’t you hate those parents that always feel the need to discuss their children’s toilet habits?  Don’t you hate that I’m suddenly one of them?)  It’ll taper off, I promise.  I’m just so stinkin’ proud right now.  And we did have one slight accident.  He literally turned around from drinking some water and started to squat on the tile floor.  S picked him up and rushed him outside.  I grabbed the Windex and paper towels.  Go team.

We were warned that his mother, Zoe, wouldn’t eat in her new surroundings for three days.  I was concerned that might happen with him, but he had adjusted to that nicely as well.  As soon as he returned from his first potty break outside, he went for the water and food bowls.

We already have them raised up to prevent bloat.  See, big dogs are at risk of their stomachs twisting after eating and drinking and playing.  So, we have to make sure that he’s pretty mellow before and after his feedings, and that his bowl is elevated so that he doesn’t suck in too much air during those eating and drinking times.  S plans to ultimately build a stand for him, but for now we’ll just keep raising with household items.  Pretty resourceful, huh?

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 yes, that is my sofa pillow that is propped under King Bishop’s head.  He’s also sleeping next to his current favorite toy.  It’s the squeaky cow, just as I predicted.  He hasn’t mastered all the squeaks yet, which may be why I’m still sane.

Though nap time has gone smoothly, I worry about tonight.  S swears he’ll take turns with me if it comes down to it with night time potty runs.  Shoot, that’s more than I could have hoped for.  Yay!  Dare I also hope that he’s sleep for a good stretch at a time?  Yeah, I’m hoping.  (Please don’t let me be as sleep deprived as I was when my kids were infants.)

Half the neighborhood has already stopped by to meet him.  No one has pet him yet.  We’re a little strict.  And none of the other dogs in the nieghborhood have been able to hang out with him yet.  We’re holding off until he has his shots all done.  Everyone has been very understanding.  (Okay, the people have, but right now, I can hear Snickers pacing around outside the back door, waiting and hoping to be let inside.  Sorry, McSnick.  No Bishop for you!)

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.

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Visiting Baby Bishop…

Sunday, September 6th, 2009

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.”

Our one regret was that the kids wouldn’t be able to go with is.  Rumor had it, their father was taking them out of town that day to go to a concert, so they wouldn’t be able to join us.  And Rachel had shown a wee bit of bitterness about that.  It wasn’t that she didn’t want to go to the concert, it was simply that she wanted a chance to bond with the new baby.

Imagine our delight when we discovered that the concert was a no go, so they would be able to join us.  So, here are some updated photos of the hour or so we spent playing with the newest family member.  The little guy now weighs in at 15.6 pounds at six weeks old.  Yup, he’s practically anorexic.

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.

Have I mentioned that we suffer from the Clifford Complex?  We have a gift for growing the largest dwarf and toy breeds EVER.  I can, and have, picked the runt of the litter, only to have it turn out to be HUGE.  (Or at least way larger than expected.)

So, to hear that he’s already the biggest one…I shudder to think what will become of him.  I think we just love them too much and they have to grow larger to contain the love they have for us in their hearts.  (Oh, mush mush!)

Or, it could be the feeding.  I can never let an animal or human in my presence go without food.  You’d think I was one of those Italian grandmothers.  (Mangia! Mangia!)  I’m not Italian…I don’t think.  (I’m imported, so my family history is something of a family mystery…)

Anyway, Bishop and the kids bonded.  Of all the puppies in the litter, they agreed we had made the best choice.  And imagine, we did it all by ourselves without their interference help.  We’re so big!

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.

And that’s when the real fun began.  He was a lot more active and alert than he had been the previous week.  So, we spent a significant amount of time trying to keep him from teething on everything he came in contact with.

Baby dogs will chew on anything you value, like shoe laces, flip flops, and whatever item of clothing you happen to have nearest its mouth at the time.  S and I tend to be on the same page.  We looked at each other…

me: I’m just thinking about all the stuff he’s going to ruin.

S: Luckily, I’m not that attached to the coffee table and end tables.

me: Just as well.

(Another puppy walked three feet past me and took the largest baby poo I have ever seen.)

me: How do you feel about the carpet?

S: It makes a good training carpet.  Better now than when we finish remodeling.

The little guy takes after me.  Once he was done playing, he wanted to eat.  At first he was hovering, not wanting his butt to touch the floor, then it was too much for him and he just laid there eating with his head in the bowl.  (I admit there have been mornings when I would have liked to do that.)

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.

We were talking and draining all Dane knowledge we could from the breeder.  It was a little quiet.  And that’s when we realized that Bishop had fallen asleep with his face in his food.

Go on.  I can almost hear the collective “awww, that’s so cute!”  It was cute.  And what was even more cute was when S realized that as Bishop’s father, he couldn’t let him sleep there with his face in the food bowl and his tail soaking in pee.  So he climbed into the pen and picked up his baby boy.

As he lifted Bishop, his eye fluttered, food fell off his face, and he roused a little.  (Too cute.)  Then S laid him down on his bedding.  Bishop opened his eyes briefly, saw that it was S leaning over him, and fell swiftly back to sleep.  Given what we how, how rough the puppies were beginning to play with each other, we knew that he was probably used to sleeping with one eye open.

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.

Still, what can I say?  The heart wants what the heart wants.

We have agreed that we will not return until he’s ready to go home next weekend.  It’s too hard seeing him and spending a week talking about him.

The excitement is mounting.  We’ve warned the kitty-cows.  And I’m not sure there is high enough ground in the house for Sophie to escape Bishop once he’s full grown.  So, we’d better train him right.

I’ll look forward to updating you as he grows.  S said I can measure him on the garage wall just like I do the kids.  Yay!

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Meet Bishop!

Monday, August 31st, 2009

Every once in a while S will get this wild hair.  He decided on Saturday that we should meet up after he finished work to go look at dogs at Petsmart.  They usually had rescued dogs there.

So, he called me and gave me my warning.

S: I’ll be home in fifteen minutes.  Be ready to go.

me: Do I have to be pretty?

S: Only if you want me to take you out in public.

me: Damn it!  (I was in the middle of cleaning the house and hadn’t gotten to the cleaning me part yet.)

I did the wicky-quick get ready thing and ended up being ready just as he walked in.  We drove to PetSmart only to be very disappointed.  No dogs this Saturday.  We drove to another pet store, PetLand.  No big dogs.

Disappointed, we headed home.  Well, we aren’t easily deterred, so we started looking online, first (you guessed it) Craigslist, then the Charlotte Observer online.  And that’s where we hit the jackpot.

S and I needed something to look forward to, something to be really happy about.  And we found it.  We drove to Indian Trail after being given directions, and found an owner who was looking for good homes for a litter of Great Dane puppies.  While S talked to the owner, I was passed this little guy.  (He’s only eleven pounds right now.)

I stood there snuggling him, letting him nuzzle into my neck and give me the occasional lick.  It was love at first lick.  And then he was told the price of this rare Harlequin Great Dane, which is about the same time that I moved to pass him back.  This puppy was pricier than we had anticipated.  And the purchase was entirely on S, since I am for lack of a better word…broke.

We drove away disappointed.  I knew it was eating at S.  He had wanted a dog for so long.

S: I’m doing the budget.

me: And?

S: I think we can do this.

Next thing you know, we’re turning around.  And he’s calling to warn them that we’re showing up with a deposit.  We return and fill out the paperwork.  Okay, I’m doing paperwork and he’s paying.  It’s  a nice little system we’ve managed to work out.

S is grilling the woman for more information about the breed.  All her responses are positive.  Most of our fears are soothed.  Apparently Danes sleep about nineteen hours a day, so we don’t have to worry about him being too sad without us while we’re working, or too destructive.  Despite their large size, they have a very slow metabolism and don’t eat that much.  (He must get the metabolism from me, the not eating much would be S.)  There was one question that S was very excited about.

S: How big will he get?

Owner: He should stand just under five feet.

I look at S.

me: Oh good, because I’ve always wanted a dog I can look in the eye, saddle up, and ride around the neighborhood.

S: And how much will he weigh.

Owner: Probably about 170-180 pounds.

S is beaming now, the excitement palpable.

me: At least he’ll outweigh me.

We stayed to pay with him about an hour.  They are going to start calling him by his name: Bishop, which doesn’t seem so strange given the fact that his parents are King Elvis II and Princessin Zoe.  He’s AKC purebred and we can look up his lineage.  I’m less concerned about that.  I want a nice family dog.  S wants a son.

S: This is going to be the son I always wanted.  And you didn’t even have to get fat.

me: Yay.

S: You know he’s going to take up a lot of space in the bed.  You may want to start sleeping on Rachel’s trundle.

me: I’m being thrown aside for a dog?

S: I’m kidding!

And I think he is, mostly.  He’s very excited and has taken to dreaming about him.  Bishop is too young to come home for two more weeks.  The delay is KILLING S.  We’re going to visit him and take more pictures next Saturday.  We had hoped to take the kids, but they will be with their father and have plans.  They, too, are very excited about this puppy.  They are less excited about the fence building that is about to be their new task in the coming weeks.

Bishop is the topic of conversation around the house.  S can’t wait for him to Dino me.  (a la Fred Flintstone) or drag me around on the leash.  He can’t wait for his boy to scare off the first pizza delivery driver and all of Rachel’s potential boyfriends.  (Sorry, Rachel.)  And he can’t wait for Baby Bishop to grow into his bark.  By the way, he hopes to stud out his boy, so if you have a female Dane and you want a shot at a rare Harlequin…let us know!

All I know is, we now have a puppy-cow.  With his coloring, he’ll blend.  And I, no doubt, will have plenty to share about his transition into the house and the next formative year.  We’re raising a Great Dane.  Time to update the About page.

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