Broken Hearts and Farewells

I haven't posted in a long long while. I was too busy living to write about it. I've had lots of ideas, but no urge to type. I find now that I must.

Over the time I blogged, something that started as a business and craft site very quickly became Guess What The Dog Did. Bander has always had a way of doing that, making everything revolve around him.

I've posted endlessly about his fears, his quirks, his anxieties and his need for prozac. I've shared his surgeries and his truly mind-boggling level of financial support. There are also things I didn't say much about, and I hope they were understood - his dignity, his endless patience, his courage, and his unbelievably sweet disposition. Along with his high level of dependence on us, came a level of trust in everything we asked of him. He was a perfect gentleman in restaurants, at the vet, or in noisy crowds.

Yeah, that's past tense you're reading. Because he is crossing the bridge tomorrow, and we are already reeling with pain and loss.

With Bander's death, the blog ends.

Old Dog, New Tricks

When we got the Bander-Boo, he was terrified of cars. Since he's also afraid of rain, thunder, airplanes, being left alone, firecrackers, and Wes Craven films, this isn't a big surprise.


Well, we got the chance to take a drive just for funsies the other day. And you know, there's hope for Bander the Neurotic Wonder Dog yet. Because look at this:





Is this the face of somebody who's afraid of cars? No, in fact, this is the face of somebody who has figured out that we're in the drive-through waiting for cheeseburgers.

He didn't get one, don't be silly.

He gets McNuggets.

Uninvited Guest

A few days ago I wandered out into the back yard where Bander was relaxing, to find an unexpected visitor. It was a Miniature Pinscher that lives a couple of blocks away.
If you're not familiar with the MinPin, they look like tiny little Dobermans:


They're little dogs, about the size of Chihuahuas. Now, we have a large yard, and the fence is not in the best condition. We've repaired any holes that Bander might get through, but since Bander is about the same size as Tom Hanks this just meant a few planks. If we want to patch all the holes that Little Dog can get through, we'd pretty much have to replace the entire fence. Since we have a really big yard that's a big expense, and we're renters, so forget that idea.

I know where Little Dog lives. I've taken her home a couple of times, but she gets out of her own yard just as easily as she gets into mine. Her owners haven't been home when I went by, but you can see evidence of many, many attempts to patch each and every hole. Clearly they're failing, since all the other neighbors have told us that Little Dog runs all over the neighborhood all the time.

Lately, though, she comes straight to my house. I'm pretty sure that Little Dog is in heat and she seems to have chosen Bander as her life partner. This is a poor choice since I estimate that Bander outweighs her by 85 pounds, and he lacks some of the essential equipment for the job. He was neutered before the rescue group even put him up for adoption, so Little Dog has missed the window of opportunity by oh, four and a half years or so.

This does not keep her from trying. She dances around Bander and wags wildly. He's not so happy to have other dogs in his space. but seems to tolerate small ones better than big ones. He hasn't tried to eat her yet but I bet he's considering it.



She's showing signs that she'd like to live here, although she's clearly well fed and cared for, and we are NOT in the market to own a highly active but not terribly bright Little Dog, particularly one that is an escape artist.

Right now Bander and I are hiding inside with the doors closed pretending that we're not home, while Little Dog prances around impatiently on our back porch. I hope she finds a different boyfriend soon, because I'd like to go outside at some point this summer.

The Sky is Falling

Have I mentioned that the dog is afraid of thunder?

Well, welcome to springtime in the South.


Tuesday night we had some intense rain and thunder in small cells, which scared the bejeebers out of Bander-Boo. He generally reacts by huffing and pacing and panting and trying to get our attention. Jessie can sleep through the antics, but I'm a light sleeper and I can't. On the basis that at least one of the three family members should get a decent night's sleep, I always get up, take the dog into the living room, and close the bedroom door. The dog then proceeds to get on my very last nerve while keeping me awake until the weather clears.

Tuesday, that was bad, but not awful - I ended up going to bed at 10:30, getting up at 2:00, going back to bed at 4:30 and getting up again for the day at 6:00. Five hours, rocky but manageable.

Except that it rained and thundered again last night. Started at around 10 pm and didn't stop until 4 in the morning. So I fell asleep at 4 am and got up for the day at 6:30, a very short 2 1/2 hours later.

Guess what's predicted for tonight?



I can't be mad at the dog for being afraid. He's not doing it on purpose. And the most effective way, we've learned, to handle his fear is to ignore it. Not to comfort him or yell or do anything at all.

And I can't be mad at the dog today, either, because dogs don't go "ooo, I bet she's just cranky over last night, or that time I said mean things about her sister." Dogs are the ultimate Zen masters - they live in the NOW. This is why punishment in general doesn't work well as a training tool, because dogs just don't connect past actions to current reactions.

All Bander knows today, right this minute, is that he's tired, too. He didn't sleep any more than Mama did. He tried to find a quiet place in the yard but didn't get much farther than the back steps.

I am doing my very best to be patient. But god help people who cross my path. I will therefore stay home today, and prep for the coming storm. By napping, if I'm lucky.

My God, A Day Off

I've been locked in the soap room for a solid six weeks now. Except for the days I'm locked in the wrapping room. So I was really thrilled to take an actual entire day off.

Jesse and I are still exploring the area, so we decided on a drive. Bad dog-parents that we are, we took Bander to doggie day care for a bath and some baby sitting. Then we took off to take a look at one of the resort areas, Perdido Key.

Perdido Key looks mighty fine from the air, and not so shabby from the ground. It was a little surprising that the beaches were dead empty - even on a Wednesday in February, in California you'd never get an empty beach.

We were driving east (toward the top of the pic) along the water, noticing how we seemed to have the place all to ourselves. We'd gone out with some notion of getting lunch or something, but a lot of the restaurants were still closed, so we kept heading east until we crossed over into Alabama. (This includes driving through, I am not making this up, Floribama.) We finally paused in Orange Beach, Alabama, for coffee and beginets.

Beginets are one of my favorite things about living in this area so far. It's like a donut lived a saintly life and then came back as something better. And then that something better got deep fried and sprinkled with several pounds of powdered sugar. Jesse had never eaten a beginet, and kept arguing that we could get mayonnaise at home. I swear he goes deaf sometimes just to spite me.

So, I knew that beginets were delicious. What I didn't know is that it's not advisable to eat them in a moving car, and certainly not while wearing dark clothes. Because the minute that you hit a bump, this hot fresh delicious confection turns into Satan's Fritter of Doom and bounces out of your hand and leaves powdered sugar donut prints down the front incline of your clothes, so that if you go out in public for the rest of the day everyone will be able to look at your shirt and secretly condemn you for being a sloppy eater while simultaneously being jealous of the beginet that you obviously had earlier. Plus you attract ants.

We tried to get past the problem by eating faster. Bigger bites, simultaneously. Jesse found that his sugary bite glued itself to the roof of his mouth, rendering him unable to speak and warn me not to take a big bite. Which is too bad, because I took a giant bite and then inhaled or something and accidentally sent about six pounds of sugar rocketing up into my sinuses from the inside. If I had only had a blowhole I would have looked like Old Faithful.

We pulled the car over and got out, hoping to stop wheezing and finish our breakfast but the wind whipped the box top out of Jesse's hands and then plastered me with a drift of sugar from head to foot. We threw the damn things away.

We were stopped at a perfectly lovely state park but I was pretty bitchy about being lightly glazed so we didn't stay for too long. Approximately a nanosecond. But Jesse did take a photo to prove that we were there.

Anyway, we drove home, had a late lunch at a decent (but not wonderful) Mexican restaurant, and picked up the dog. He had been bathed and perfumed and smells like a big green apple with horrible breath. Plus we smelled like donuts but didn't bring him any so there's a sort of cloud of resentment and Jolly Rancher dog farts in the house now.

I think it's time to go back to work.

Happy New Year, too!

Well, happy-ish.

I am sad to report that things did not work out with Sandy. The two dogs started out tolerating each other, then moved on to being grumpy with each other, then open dislike. Within a couple of days we were experiencing physical violence, and had to break up a couple of nasty dogfights. Sandy actually bit Bander, which stunned me - they're both so very sweet with people, but hoo boy, not each other.

I talked to a couple of experts and got confirmation of my fears - that the best course of action was to return her to her owners, and give up on the adoption attempt.

I hated doing it. She was a great dog, and as far as the people part of the equation, we were an excellent match for her. But the stress was just too much for Bander, and the poor guy has been through too much to have his home turn into a place where he gets attacked.

So she's back with her former owners. They'll be looking for a home where she can be the only dog. If you want a great girl that loves kids, and don't have a dog right now, drop me a line and I'll hook you up. In the meantime, she gets all my mojo for a good home.

Bander's Christmas Present

Meet Sandy.

Although we might change her name, because it's too close to Bander and they don't know which one we're calling. She's a half-lab, half-St. Bernard girl, about 2 years old. She's a good 30 pounds smaller than Bander-boo, which puts her at about 60 pounds.

Of course, just because we got him a girlfriend doesn't mean that Bander is entirely on board with the idea.

They're learning, and having the usual jostling for position. Well, actually, Bander is quite clearly the alpha, which doesn't surprise me a bit; but she's young, and has to learn not to be in his face all the time. It's only been 24 hours, and she's here on a one week trial, so we have time to see whether they work it out.

They do well chasing squirrels together. Bander spots them and barks, and Sandy runs over to see what all the fuss is about.

Finally...

Maybe we can sleep tonight.

The long and winding road

So, you know that we hated our time in El Paso.

Two things you need to know about what happened next:

First, El Paso is barely over the edge of the Texas state line. It’s damn near New Mexico, at least as far as geography goes.

Second, Texas is big.

Vast.

Wide.

A complete pain in the ass to drive across.

However, since we had accidentally holed up in El Paso like bats in a cave, we were behind schedule.

We made good time today – 550 miles of it. From El Paso, we’re now in San Antonio, and in a MUCH nicer hotel.

The storm is over, the dog has relaxed, and all is well. Of course, we have thunderstorms waiting for us during the rest of the week, but we’ll cross that horrifying panicked dog bridge when we come to it.

In the meantime, we’re taking an extra day here to rest after the long day’s drive. We went through a part of the state called Hill Country – a much greener and prettier terrain than we’ve seen so far. If you’ve never traveled across the American Southwest, you may not realize how much desert there is – but trust me, there is an endless expanse of cactus and dust storms and sad dried up lizards. It’s nice to finally see the landscape changing.

Jessie and I are driving in separate cars, which is a pain in the ass because there are a lot of things to talk about and we’re too brain damaged to remember what we wanted to say long enough to get to the next rest stop. Among other things, we’ve seen a lot of cars with California plates, loaded up with the family belongings. Apparently we’re not the only rats leaving the ship.

I also saw a pickup truck loaded down with the back end of a pickup truck, towing a trailer made from the back end of a pickup truck which was holding a couple more back ends of pickup trucks. I guess there’s a thriving market for pickup butts out there.

And just in case anybody is wondering about yesterday’s dog panic – he’s better today. And yes, he’s on anti-anxiety meds. He’s seen a trainer (clicker method). We’ve consulted a veterinary behaviorist. I have indeed heard about Bach Remedies, DAP collars, and I’ve tried a vet recommendation of using Benadryl to sedate him.

As far as I can tell, he’s impervious to everything with the possible exception of a big rubber mallet, and I’m going to try that next.

We're Still on the Road to Morocco.

Oh dear Zod.

Passover El Paso...
...Passing El Paso...
...Pass the El Paso sauce...
...El Paso de la gone.

Any of these would have been better titles than:
Eleven minutes into yesterday, the Dog, the occasional center of our tiny universe, began to pace. Not surprising, as there was a storm a-brewing outside. We were at four thousand feet above sea level, or so, the winds were fierce and the walls were thin.

Pacing begat huffing, which begat panting, that begat twitching. This in it’s turn began a chain of dog bedroom olympic events:

1. Jump onto the bed. Points for distance, height and accuracy. If you can land on someone’s privates or sore spots, gain additional points.

2. Breathe Fire. Marks for huffing directly into the face and/or drool hitting between the eyes.

3. Sitting, timed event. Cumulative, bonus points for sitting on someone’s head.

4. Freestyle dance. Artistic expression, avoid the Russian judge.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

We tried everything we could think of to get and keep the dog calm. Jackie even tried going to the truck to see if that would convince him. Some time around three, we taped our eyes open and tried to make for better ground.

Which brought us to El Paso.

We were originally planning to have lunch and continue to Fort Stockton, I think it was, but ended up in a Motel, hoping to catch a few hours and press on. Another windy room, and Jackie was way too exhausted to continue.

So we stayed for the day.

It may be a lovely town, but what I saw off the I-10 did the city no justice. Abandoned buildings, the smell of industry, incessant trains, a giant sign pronouncing that Jesus Lives. It reminded me a lot of downtown L.A. or the back side of the San Pedro docks, sans the water.

Then I turned on the t.v. to hear that dry cleaning chemicals, rocket fuel and other crap was found in the local water. Not a pretty snap shot, sadly.

With winds gusting to 100 mph, w decided to stay the night, and let everything subside. We tackled the dog in shifts, alternating walking, and resting and sleeping and whining and bemoaning our lot, for something like 24 hours, without the cool ticking clock thing from that show.

The motel had cable, and HBO, even, so we watched ‘Taken’. A fun once movie, in my opinion, although it was on two or three times. Then we watched something with Brad Pitt that was absolutely fascination and engaging.

The winds died, and all of us passed out. At 5:30 this morning, we showered and escaped El Paso.

Did you know the speed limit during the day is 80 MPH in Texas?

Yeah, not fast enough.

Everybody Loves the Bander

I think I mentioned earlier that Jesse and I went out of town for a few days. We met my mom and her husband in Carmel-by-the-Sea, one of the most gorgeous little towns I’ve ever seen.

Carmel is tiny, one mile square, and it’s known for being one of the most dog-friendly places in the world. We tested the boundaries, because Bander went on the trip with us, and we took him everywhere.

EVERYWHERE.

If you want a lot of attention, I recommend getting a big white dog with soulful eyes and putting a bright red cast on his leg. Then go for a very slow walk. Honest to god, people were pulling over and jumping out of their cars to look at him. Then they’d say something stupid, usually a variation of this: “Oh my god! Is he OKAY?” while staring at the cast.

Well, to be quite honest, no, he isn’t okay, which is why he has a cast on. But I spent money I didn’t actually have yet in order to get him terrific medical care so that he would be okay someday, and that’s why I dress like a bag lady and he has a big red cast. But Carmel is lovely and I was in a good mood so I didn’t say that.

I did briefly toy with the idea of looking at the dog in horror and screaming to Jesse “Honey! The dog has a cast on his leg! When did that happen? Who did this to him?”

I also considered saying “Oh, he’s perfectly fine, but I’m trying to train him to limp so I bandaged him up.”

Since people were eyeballing me suspiciously to make sure I wasn’t a dog-abuser, I didn’t do either of those either. I just told the story of him jumping off the roof to try and follow our cars and then watch their eyes well up. The dog and I can really work a crowd for sympathy. If I had had the foresight to have Jesse pass a collection plate, we could have made out like bandits.

Anyway, Bander got to go everywhere, and be the king of Dog Mountain. Even his 'doggiesitter' du jour, thought their matching casts were cute.

He sat in various restaurants, and servers brought him plates of diced grilled chicken, generally serving him before serving us. He sat inside the Post Office, under the “Service Dogs Only!” sign while I waited in line to mail a package, and the line would have moved faster except that the employees were all petting him instead of opening another window.

He laid in the middle of a king size pillowtop bed, managing to hog the entire thing. I swear he was smiling while he did it. He got petted by strangers so much that he had bald spots where the hair wore off. The B&B where we stayed took his picture for the guest book. If I hadn’t had to sign the credit card slip, they never would have noticed I was leaving.

Then he took a fistful of Benadryl (wrapped in liverwurst by his sneaky mama) and snored in the back of the SUV all the way home.

He had a much better time than we did.

Everybody loves the dog.

Bander, the Bionic Dog

You may have noticed we haven't mentioned anything about Bander getting the cast off yet. After a week with no improvement, we shelled out money for some MRI soft tissue scans, and learned that the damage to his wrist was a lot worse than anyone thought - as in, he snapped every single connecting ligament.

That gave us three options, per the vet - one, very expensive surgery. Two, amputation of the leg. Three, put him down. Since both two and three were impossible, unthinkable, and just generally not happening, we went for the expensive surgery. This involved fusing the affected joint and inserting a steel plate to stabilize the whole thing.

It's been eight weeks now, and here are the first x-rays of the nearly-healed repair job:































Impressive, no?

The downside is that we still aren't allowed to walk him much, and he needs another four weeks in the cast. He always had a lot of energy to burn, and has a bad case of cabin fever, so any little behavioral problems are magnified a million times. The separation anxiety that caused him to jump off the roof in the first place? Yikes. Bring on the puppy Prozac! (so not kidding, here.) And some training. And he needs company while we're at work.

So. He now has a vet, an orthopedic surgeon, a behaviorist, and a pet sitter. The freakin' dog has a staff of FOUR. I, of course, just have Jesse, but since he only has me we just order each other around a lot and nothing gets actually done, because we're too busy catering to the dog.

It's a good thing he's cute.

Hot Dog!

Crazy Contest Entry Three:

About twenty years ago, a good friend of mine, Larry, had a black lab that loved chasing and retrieving stick, balls, squirrels etc. But as a playful dog also loved being chased.

Anyways, we were in the barnyard burning some brush and branches that we had cleared previously. We set the fire far enough from the barn so as not to cause any catastrophes. But as the brush pile went down the sticks got farther from the fire, thus we started to toss branches and twigs farther to reach the fire.

Little did we know that "Randy" the lab was watching excitedly. Stick after stick went flying past him. Longing to do what labs do best, instinct took over and he charged after a stick that Larry threw.

Unfortunately, in his excitement, he grabbed a short branch from the fire and ran with it. I saw it first and chased after the dog cursing. Larry also freaked out and joined the chase. This just thrilled the dog.

Now he was running everywhere with this flaming branch.

We had the dog cornered and the thankfully the flames died down to coals on the stick end. Carefully we approached the dog talking low and cursing it sweetly.

Larry reached out slowly for the stick. But the dog knew better and off he went...STRAIGHT INTO THE BARN!!! Screaming, we gave chase as the dog ran straight to the fresh bails of hay and lay down.

Instantly the loose hay on the floor caught fire.

But as we caught up with him and stamped out the fire he ran and started more fires. With no water, and a super dry barn our fight was lost.

The fire spread fast and furiously. And while we were fighting valiantly, the stupid dog was smart enough to leave and ran to the barnyard, still with the now smouldering stick. We escaped and could only watch from a distance as the barn burned to the ground.

Larry built a new barn and started anew.



The dog still goes after sticks and squirrels.



But during brush fires, he was chained up.

Just to be safe.

Leader of the Pack

August Crazy Contest Entry Two:

Jen invited me to join her for a dinner party one summer's even many moons ago. She prompted me that her and her boyfriend were experiencing problems in their relationship, and to expect some peculiar behavior from him. I figured they'd had a typical argument, and assured her they'd be fine. To my bewilderment, "Pete" was exceptionally strange that evening in his mannerisms and conversation. It was at dinner that I figured out what was wrong.

He announced proudly at the table that he'd decided to live a lifestyle of a different sort, that he was by nature the Alpha male of a dog pack. My girlfriend cringed in embarrassment.

I didn't know if he was joking until their dog sauntered in the room and Pete proceeded to "dominate" the poor creature. I stared gape-jawed as the poor beast rolled onto it's back in submission and Pete got down on all fours and bit it's scruff. I shot a look of sympathy to Jen, and the room went silent.

The awkwardness subsided when Pete and the dog went outside. Until Jen's Dad bellowed "BAH, YOUR BOYFRIEND IS AN IDIOT!!". We craned to see out the window he was standing in front of. The dog ran past full tilt heading down the street, followed moments later by Pete in pursuit, and completely in the nude.

We decided to make a quick and polite exit.

My husband whispered in my ear as we left that it was a 'good time to go before Pete tried humping anyone's leg'. I snorted louder than I meant to.

As for Jen, she broke up with Pete soon after, and has since married a nice human :)

For Bander's Blog Buddies

Just a quick pic, for those who miss our dog.

A Quick Bander Update

It's been a few days, and he's gone through a couple of splints. He's like the rest of the family, tough on things. He's not as sad as he was, although on his last trip to the vet, they decided to try and used a couple of sheep worth of padding and a bit of green tape to keep it together.

So here he is all happy, on the way to the vets.

Since then, he's been more tired. But I think that's because without the splint, he feels the ankle/paw soreness more. I guess it keeps him from doing further damage; it must be working, because he certainly has spent more time not trying to drag me across the planet.

In fact, he's spent all his time doing what he does best; being a doorstop. This is where he stayed for about an hour, before I had to carry him down the stairs. He's not allowed up or down them, so if he wants to hang out with me while I do stuff, I've gotta carry him.

But he's adapting. I mean, he found the most comfy place in the house, and staked his claim.

So if'n you're wondering how he doing, he's a little better and a little more shrweepy.

It'd be nice if I could work this hard.

Update on Bander

He's not broken, anywhere. Sprained, bruised, and drugged out of his mind, but not broken.

'El Doggo' has gone around the block and sat in the grass for a while, so he's doing o.k., albeit he's slow and awkward. In fact, he snuck upstairs while I'm posting this and is lying down behind me right now.

I think he has a knife or a machete in his good paw.

I don't want to look and find out.

Pieceing all the information together, he climbed over the computer desk, chewed through a drawing board that was propped against the window, busted through the screen (that was the crashing noise everyone heard) walked to the corner of the roof, and jumped down.

He left his mark in the asphalt.

I need to put a sock or something over the bandage; a one block walk has begun to wear through already, which you can kinda see in the main pic.

Thank you, everyone, for your well wishing and kind words.

We'll keep you updated on his progress!

Crazy comes on four feet, too.

I am posting this quickly while I wait to hear from the emergency vet. I had some fun stuff planned for today, but I didn't get to it, because I've been entirely focused on Bander.

And here's what Bander did to distract me: while I was gone doing a massage, and while Jesse was at work, he jumped out a second floor bedroom window. I'm pretty sure he broke his right front leg. At the very least, he has some pretty heavy bruising and sprains.

The neighbors heard breaking glass, and ran out to see what the noise was. They called Jesse at work and told him what happened, and then took care of Bander until I could get home and drive him to the emergency animal hospital.

I was pacing too much, so they sent me home, but he's getting pain meds and xrays and a splint and all sorts of expensive things. I get to go pick him up in an hour or so.

What kind of crazy dog jumps out a second floor window? He had to get up over the top of the computer desk to do it, too. And he launched himself right through the screeen, and broke a couple of roof tiles. I know he landed on his feet because there are toenail divots in the asphalt.

This is not the kind of crazy I enjoy. Poor dog.

Back in the Saddle Again

Well, I’m healthy again. Healthy-ish, really.

Because I’m still pretty tired.

But a big thank you to all the people who wished me well – it was very sweet, and even in my delirium I appreciated it.

And of course, I’m behind again on posting.

There’s an actual reason this time – it isn’t that I didn’t have anything to say, but that I had something I didn’t WANT to say. Not terribly long ago, you might recall me posting about Duke, a neglected puppy with a burning need to love somebody. We spent a lot of time with Duke over the last couple of months. Walks, games, sometimes just getting on some clean grass and petting him for a while.


And now?

Duke is gone.

It turns out that my neighbors were not only lousy dog owners, they’re rotten tenants, because their landlord had specifically forbidden them to have a dog. They might have gotten away with it, had other neighbors not complained about the smell and condition of their yard. Anyway, one day last week, Jesse went out to get Duke and found an empty yard. Duke has gone to live with a relative, so the kids can still see him and he can kind of stay in the family. This relative has other dogs, so I’m really hopeful that Duke has gone to a better home. At least he won’t be alone so much.

As much as I know that it was better for Duke to get a new place to live, I do miss him. Jesse and I offered to take him, but I think they wanted to keep some ownership. I suppose it would be hard to watch your dog, living two doors down. And during the last couple of weeks, Duke had been showing a preference for our house instead of his own, so there might have been some hurt feelings.

I don’t know all the reasons they decided not to give him to us. He was a complete knucklehead, had too much energy, needed lots of training, and was honestly pretty obnoxious.

I miss him anyway.

I hope you’re happy now, Duke.

Good boy.

Going Walkabout

So I’ve been reading my prior posts, and it looks like I should have called my blog “A Million Little Things That Piss Me Off”. So, perhaps I’ll talk about the dog again, because he never makes me mad. Well, ALMOST never. Well, not so much mad as … cranky.

I have a very high standard of what it means to be a dog owner. You have this creature who utterly depends on you to provide a decent life, and to meet his needs. I knew about that when I was out looking for a dog to adopt, when I was selected by my current four-legged companion. (It was very clearly his choice, not ours.)

We asked a lot of questions to make sure we were compatible and could provide a good home. One thing about our house is that we do not have a yard – we live in a condo, with a small rear patio, largely covered in concrete. We told the dog rescue lady that we should have a relatively inactive dog. I’m pretty sure we used the phrase “couch potato”, because we wanted him to fit in.

She assured us that Bander was indeed a couch potato, and that we were a perfect fit. He needed a home so badly and had already started bonding with us that I’m sure she would have said anything to make it work. I think she also said he pooped Krugerrands, which turned out to be another lie.

Anyway, the things that were true were these:

1. He’s a great dog.

2. He was in desperate need of a home.

3. His house training is perfect.

As it turns out, he regards the patio as a room with no roof, so it’s a little bit too perfect. Here’s another piece of truth – couch potato is a relative term. He does sleep a lot, but he needs the rest because this dog seriously needs to be walked for MILES every day. The schedule looks something like this:

(click for a big pic)

8:30 – dog insists on walk. Husband declines.

8:32 – Husband gives in.

Lather, rinse, repeat; all day.

The schedule includes a long afternoon walk – by “long” I mean a couple of hours. When I come home at night, I walk the dog and give my husband time to inspect his blisters. After dark, we take him together around the block. The final walk of the night is generally around 11pm.

I’ve considered hiring a dog walker, but I can’t imagine what it would cost to have somebody here all damn day. Luxury for us is renting a cabin up in the mountains, that has a large fenced yard, and letting the dog run in and out all day while we lie on the couch and complain. Maybe January or so we’ll do that. Until then, I think I’ll probably solve it by... ...Whoops, gotta go. The dog wants a walk.