Dogs At Work

My three office mates.

Reacher, my Boxer, along with Vega and Panzer, the German Shepherds, are considered working breeds. Yet they obviously aren't well suited for writing, editing or emails. Yet they're at work with me every day. It helps that the office is just upstairs from my kitchen.

While Reacher, Vega and Panzer aren't much help with the hands-on aspects of my business, they do provide company for me in this solo operation. They also give me a reason to take a break now and then since I would otherwise have the tendency to power right through the day (and sometimes into the evening) when a deadline is looming.

However, three dogs in the office doesn't mean they always lie quietly at my feet, lulled into a trance by the clicking of the keyboard. In fact, there are times when they are chasing each other from my desk, into the hall, down the steps and back up again.

When I'm on a phone call, inevitably a disagreement breaks out over which one has rights to a particular bone. I just give them the evil eye, sign "shhhh" by putting my finger to my lips and shoo them out of the office while attempting to keep track of my conversation. Depending on the decibel level I sometimes have to offer the client an explanation for the ruckus.

When I explain that I share my office with three four-legged friends, the usual response is, "You're one lucky dog!" 

I think so, too.

I Spoke Too Soon

Turns out I was a bit premature in my Growing Responsible blog a few days ago about Vega and Reacher. I had given them a "Get Out of Jail Free" card instead of crating them every time I left the house. Amazingly, both dogs were performing spectacularly.

Until today.

Reacher chewed the toe off one of my shoes - J-41 Jeep-engineered sneakers described in an advertisement as "a casual sporty style designed for everyday use whether you're playing outside or running around town. The pull-on design makes it easy to get going when you're in a rush."

The right shoe is ruined. So, now I'm down to just a left J-41 which really won't allow me to play outside or run around town whether I'm in a rush or not.

How do I know Reacher is the culprit? For one thing, he had "I AM GUILTY" written all over his cute Boxer face. In addition, these sneakers have a rubber outsole. And he has destroyed a rainbow of rubber flip-flops in his short life. It's part of his M.O.

So for now, it's back to the slammer for Reacher when I have an errand to run or someplace to go. I'm not sure if he'll ever be up for parole again. 

Achoo!

The other day Reacher started sneezing. The day after, the sneezing lessened, but he had

a cough. Then that cleared up, but the sniffles began. 

Hmmmm .... Can dogs get colds?

Since it was the weekend when his symptoms began, the vet's office was closed and I was hoping to avoid the dreaded and expensive trip to the animal emergency hospital, I turned to the next most reliable source for help: the Internet.

I just Googled "do dogs get colds" and voila, I got 118,000,000 hits! All sources seemed to agree. Yes, dogs do get colds. And the symptoms for a dog are pretty much the same as for a human -- sneezing, coughing, runny nose and possibly runny eyes.

Reacher's eyes are fine. And he hasn't been lethargic or refused food or water. Quite the contrary. He is eating, drinking and playing as usual. In fact, he is is sticking to his exercise regime of doing his daily laps around the house. And he's started a new hole in the yard that's getting larger and larger by the day.

Being the responsible dog owner that I am, I did call Reacher's vet on Monday. She said unless his symptoms continue beyond a week or worsen there's no need to bring him in. So hopefully, the cold will disappear as quickly as it began.

In the meantime we'll both have to put up with his runny nose. I try to wipe it since Reacher's not good with a Kleenex. But like most young boys, he prefers to take care of it himself. In his case though, he uses his tongue.

Growing Responsible

The Sentry

I've gotten brave recently and have been allowing Reacher and Vega to roam the house when I leave. It used to be that I'd have to crate them lest they destroy one thing or another while unattended.

All I have to say is: so far, so good. I'm not sure why I decided to throw caution to the wind and give this plan another whirl. I've tried it before on several occasions .... with poor results.

Not so long ago, Vega chewed an impressive hole in my new duvet cover and the down comforter underneath. I knew something was up when I came home and saw tiny white feathers sticking to her lips. She's also eaten a 30-year-old starfish that was a momento from my honeymoon in Cozumel, Mexico.

She's been fond of books as well. The incident that disappointed me the most was when she devoured an old copy of "A Child's Garden of Verses" that belonged to my mother. I'm pretty sure Vega didn't appreciate the illustrations or the poetry.

Then there's Reacher. In the past, he hasn't necessarily waited until I've left the house to do some damage. He would just slip into an unoccupied room and help himself to a pillow, sock, roll of toilet paper, a flip-flop or two, you name it. And like Vega, he was a book lover, too. 

I started by leaving them uncrated for just 30 minutes to an hour at a time. They are slowly earning my trust. Maybe it's because they're maturing: Reacher is about to turn two and Vega is two-and-a-half. Who knows.

In any case, I'm glad I've got Vega patroling the premises. (Let's face it, Reacher is just there to keep her company). In the past, I've been tempted to post a sign: "A protection-trained German Shepherd guards this property. Please let her out of the crate upon breaking and entering."

Taking Turns

Panzer (left) and Vega are worn out from chasing tennis balls.

When you're Vega and Panzer, an evening chasing tennis balls is about as good as life can get. 

Since the rain cooled things off a bit this evening, I leash up both of my German Shepherd dogs, pocket two tennis balls and stuff one "Chuckit" plastic ball launcher inside the waistband of my shorts. I bring the ball launcher as much for Vega's and Panzer's sake as for my arm's sake, because as my father once told me, "You throw like a girl." 

As soon as I send one ball sailing both dogs are off like a shot. They don't seem to understand that there's a ball for each of them and that I've already got the second one locked and loaded. So I wait. 

Vega's a bit faster - or maybe Panzer just defers to his mother - but in any case, she grabs the ball and races back with Panzer hot on her heels. 

She drops the ball at my feet, they look at me expectantly and I explain how this game can work for both of them. I show them the two  balls. I tell them I'll throw both in quick succession, one for each of them.

Then I let the first ball fly. It's immediately obvious my instruction fell on deaf -- or should I say dog - ears. 

Vega's in the lead so I call out to Panzer. He turns his head and I send ball number two in his direction. Vega snatches up ball number one. Panzer grabs ball number two. They both return their respective balls to me. And all is right in the world.

We continue in this fashion until their tongues are hanging out and their panting is heavy. If alone, Vega would tire of this game of her own accord. The same for Panzer. But when I bring them together, chasing the tennis ball becomes a competitive sport. And neither dog is willing to be the first to give up.

Being the leader of the pack, I have the good sense to call it an evening. We all walk home. The dogs are worn out and spread themselves across the floor where, lucky for me, they've been ever since. 

Turns out, Vega and Panzer are right. An evening chasing tennis balls is about as good as life can get - for a dog owner and her two tired dogs. 

Rain, Rain, Go Away

On rainy days, the energy that Reacher, Vega and Panzer usually expend on a brisk walk or a good run gets channeled indoors. And while I am perfectly content to curl up with a good book when the skies open up, the dogs don't see things quite the same way.

So, what's a three-dog owner to do when facing a forecast of 100% rain all weekend long? Throw caution - and good sense - to the wind.

That means heading to the dog park with all of them - because no one else is fool enough to be there.

The park is polka-dotted with puddles, not to mention mud, and the rain continues to come down at a steady pace.

Neither Reacher, Vega or Panzer seem to notice. They have the place to themselves and take off at a dead run once the enter the gate. They spend the next hour or so chasing balls and each other.

I am wearing a rain slicker, so even I am enjoying myself, mostly because I am enjoying them. And of course, I am looking forward to a quiet evening with that good book I mentioned earlier.

As time ticks by, the dogs are becoming muddier and muddier, but I prefer to think of it as more and more worn out.

When I deem they are tired enough, I call it a day and herd my three friends back into the van. Once home, I corrall them one by one into the shower for a good scrub. Of course, following that procedure a thorough bathroom scrubbing is required as well as a load of laundry to wash and dry the dog towels.

To those of you who may not think all that work was worth the effort, I say you're all wet.



  

Missin' The Mayhem

Our family's first wedding was just around the corner. Lots of friends and family were coming to town for the big event.

And those folks would be in and out of the house on their way to and from the various activities. So, the decision was made to send my two four-legged boys to camp. In other words, they were agoing to be kennel bound - in both senses of the word.

Vega, being the chill girl of the house was allowed to stay home.

Reacher has had the pleasure (or pain) of being at the kennel only once before. Judging from his body language when I dropped him off, I'd say he remembered. He was acting a little bit nervous. Panzer, unaware of the plan, was his usual hectic self and ready for action.

As I already knew, having just one dog in the house makes feeding time easier. It eliminates the need for tag-team walking. And there's no around-the-house races or wrestling matches to break up because they've gotten out of control. Fewer dogs, means less dog hair and therefore less cleaning. (In fact, while the boys were gone, I didn't pull out the vacuum for two days!)

Admitedly, Reacher and Panzer are the troublemakers in the family. And with those two in the house, it's like the Allstate commercial says - mayhem is everywhere. But what's life without a little mayhem? A little bit lonely, I'd say.