Sunday, October 17, 2010

The Puppy Loses his Mind

I was going to write today about the apparent genetic predisposition to hurting oneself accidentally, much to my fourteen year old son's dismay (since he has told me already he does not under any circumstances want me blogging about him).  But that post will have to wait.  I got distracted by two things: a visit from my very best friend in the world and my dog's discovery that his daddy went on a trip without him.  Both of which threw our golden retriever puppy, Jackson, for a very big loop.

Justin and Jack spend an inordinate amount of time together.  Because Justin works from home, he's been Jack's "primary caretaker" since we brought him home at eight or nine weeks of age.  While I was out bringing home the extremely meager bacon three days a week, Justin and Jack were developing a relationship.  A huge relationship.  And Jackson is attached to his daddy.  Believe me when I say attached.

Justin left early yesterday for his guys' weekend in New York and I happily anticipated a smooth forty eight hours of watching chick flicks, enjoying a Sunday without football in October (which, if you know my husband, you'll know doesn't ever happen), and a joyous visit with my best friend, who I don't get to see nearly enough.  What I didn't plan for was Jackson's discovery after twenty four hours (okay, this puppy might be a little behind - no he's smart, really) that Daddy was GONE!!!!

Saturday went pretty well.  Jackson slept most of the day and seemed to enjoy my company.  Then Sunday arrived.  Jack realized that Justin hadn't come home yet.  Between that realization and the fact that my friend arrived, this dog began the longest whining fest in the history of the world.  And I've raised three children, so I get whining.  So how do you make a dog stop whining?  You give him treats, right?  Uh...wrong.

Which leads to my own discovery of the weekend.  If you give a dog enough treats, it affects their digestive tract.

Jackson is my first dog.  I'm a lifelong cat lover and owner.  I don't know from dogs.  I mean, yeah, I know that they're sloppy and messy.  I know they poop and pee in the yard and you have to clean it up.  I know (now)  that they're very expensive.  I know that you can have a wonderful, adoring, beautiful friendship with these creatures.  But here's what I did not know about dogs.  Um, dogs get gas.  Really bad gas.  I don't mean polite little toots.  I mean big, ripping farts and they don't care who's in the room either.  In fact, Jack will actually clear the room.  My friend and I sat and talked and listened to the dog fart.  And then it hit us both.  Can dogs actually smell that bad???  Apparently.

Would it have been different if Jackson had been a girl dog?  Now there's a question, because according to us girls, we don't get gas, right?  So if the dog had been female, would she have had the self-respect to excuse herself to, well, take care of business?  Somehow I think it's a species thing and not a boy/girl thing.

Luckily, my friend is a dog person.  She has two dogs of her own (are teacup chihuahuas technically dogs?) and she thought Jack's little (okay, huge) gas attack was funny as hell.  Thank God.  I'm going to have to see if there might be some kind of doggie training class that will teach my mutt that it's just not polite to fart when you have company.  Ever.  And if you really have to fart when you have company, for God's sake could you please go into another other room?  Preferably behind a closed door in a room with an open window?

Oh and Justin?  I'm ready for you to come home now....

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