Taking a Puppy Pounding
What I'm about to describe may sound overly dramatic but it is my honest attempt to describe what I go through every time there is a large change in my life (e.g. new job, new baby, new puppy).
Where did my strong, confident, do-it-all and barely complain (ha ha, little joke there), nearly 31-year-old self get to? I've turned into a quivering pile of Jello since we brought Rags home. The kids and I love him dearly (the kids 99% of the time, me about 90% of the time), Stu tolerates him, but I am so stressed out I believe I've managed to scare away my womanly time for the first time in my fertile life. I am so late I actually bought and used a pregnancy test this morning, even though there is about a .02% chance I'll ever be pregnant again. The test was negative. Hallelujah!
I knew what I was getting into. At least I thought I did. But I don't remember Rosko being as stubborn about potty training as Rags is. Or maybe it's like childbirth and I just conveniently forgot about it. Or maybe I've become less patient over the last 8 years (since it's only been 6 days since we got Rags!), though how I could be less patient after all the patience I've been forced to learn over the past 5 years, I don't know. Or, maybe it's that all my patience is used up on little humans and I have nary a patient bone left in my body to give to a wretched pup?
I knew that there would be some transition time where I felt yucky in my own skin and my house looked foreign to me. I have a love/hate relationship with change. I constantly yearn for my life to be new and exciting and full but when I add something large to the equation, my psyche fugues out on me for a while and it takes me a few weeks to reach my new equilibrium. I'm proud of myself for forcing myself to do this time and again but each time, I loathe the "change management" period and hope that it will be faster and easier than the last time. It never is.
I am feeling better today and I truly believe that God put some special people in my path yesterday to help me along to my new feeling of homeostasis in my world. First off, I took both dogs to the vet yesterday for a check up. I mentioned to the vet that I was feeling frustrated that I was unable to snap my fingers and have Rags house-trained in an instant. Secretly, I was wondering if the little farm puppy was born one lightbulb short of a chandelier but the good Dr. made me feel much better (sort of) when she assured me that if one's dog is 75% reliable by the time they are 6 months old, they're doing just fine. This made me happy that Rags is not demented in some way but made a little bile rise in my throat to think about soaking up puppy pee for another 5 months. Later last night, I took Rags to our first Puppy Kindergarten class. The instructor started out the class by asking a few questions and it was like I was starring in some artsy movie scene where the majority of the room fades to gray and the subtly dreamy lighting rested only on me. I felt like she was addressing me personally when she asked for a show of hands for how many people had raised a puppy before. I smiled and raised a paw. Then she followed that up with, "And how many of you forgot just how hard this is?" I shot my hand to the sky. She went on to explain that she had bred and shown dogs for many years and has often wondered what she'd gotten herself into raising another puppy. Thank the Lord I'm not an evil dog mom for dreaming up plausible excuses for the rescue organization and my children for why I needed to return the puppy.
Today, Rags has peed once on the kitchen floor and pooped and peed in his kennel. These accidents were each my fault for not watching him closely enough and not letting him out often enough. But when I took him out of his kennel about an hour ago and he licked me and breathed that puppy breath on me and stared at me with those limpid brown eyes and snuggled into my legs like I was the most cherished person in the world, I made myself look to the future when Rags will be our next Rosko and I will adore him for the perfect, loving, family dog I know he'll grow to be.
Where did my strong, confident, do-it-all and barely complain (ha ha, little joke there), nearly 31-year-old self get to? I've turned into a quivering pile of Jello since we brought Rags home. The kids and I love him dearly (the kids 99% of the time, me about 90% of the time), Stu tolerates him, but I am so stressed out I believe I've managed to scare away my womanly time for the first time in my fertile life. I am so late I actually bought and used a pregnancy test this morning, even though there is about a .02% chance I'll ever be pregnant again. The test was negative. Hallelujah!
I knew what I was getting into. At least I thought I did. But I don't remember Rosko being as stubborn about potty training as Rags is. Or maybe it's like childbirth and I just conveniently forgot about it. Or maybe I've become less patient over the last 8 years (since it's only been 6 days since we got Rags!), though how I could be less patient after all the patience I've been forced to learn over the past 5 years, I don't know. Or, maybe it's that all my patience is used up on little humans and I have nary a patient bone left in my body to give to a wretched pup?
I knew that there would be some transition time where I felt yucky in my own skin and my house looked foreign to me. I have a love/hate relationship with change. I constantly yearn for my life to be new and exciting and full but when I add something large to the equation, my psyche fugues out on me for a while and it takes me a few weeks to reach my new equilibrium. I'm proud of myself for forcing myself to do this time and again but each time, I loathe the "change management" period and hope that it will be faster and easier than the last time. It never is.
I am feeling better today and I truly believe that God put some special people in my path yesterday to help me along to my new feeling of homeostasis in my world. First off, I took both dogs to the vet yesterday for a check up. I mentioned to the vet that I was feeling frustrated that I was unable to snap my fingers and have Rags house-trained in an instant. Secretly, I was wondering if the little farm puppy was born one lightbulb short of a chandelier but the good Dr. made me feel much better (sort of) when she assured me that if one's dog is 75% reliable by the time they are 6 months old, they're doing just fine. This made me happy that Rags is not demented in some way but made a little bile rise in my throat to think about soaking up puppy pee for another 5 months. Later last night, I took Rags to our first Puppy Kindergarten class. The instructor started out the class by asking a few questions and it was like I was starring in some artsy movie scene where the majority of the room fades to gray and the subtly dreamy lighting rested only on me. I felt like she was addressing me personally when she asked for a show of hands for how many people had raised a puppy before. I smiled and raised a paw. Then she followed that up with, "And how many of you forgot just how hard this is?" I shot my hand to the sky. She went on to explain that she had bred and shown dogs for many years and has often wondered what she'd gotten herself into raising another puppy. Thank the Lord I'm not an evil dog mom for dreaming up plausible excuses for the rescue organization and my children for why I needed to return the puppy.
Today, Rags has peed once on the kitchen floor and pooped and peed in his kennel. These accidents were each my fault for not watching him closely enough and not letting him out often enough. But when I took him out of his kennel about an hour ago and he licked me and breathed that puppy breath on me and stared at me with those limpid brown eyes and snuggled into my legs like I was the most cherished person in the world, I made myself look to the future when Rags will be our next Rosko and I will adore him for the perfect, loving, family dog I know he'll grow to be.
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