All puppy all the time...

I’m beginning to feel like I’m turning into an all-puppy-all-the-time blogger and I suppose that’s been true lately. Keeping up with Maggie hasn’t left all that much time for anything else. Free time essentially becomes an opportunity for a nap and I try to indulge in that as often as possible. In keeping with the theme, I’ve been told by my new puppy guru that I’ve been approaching the entire housebreaking too much like a dumb human and not enough like a smart dog. So at her advice, it’s back to the drawing board with special high intensity crate training, no more roaming the kitchen during the day, and way more treats for doing her thing outside. As far as the poo eating, I’m promised it’s just a phase and sweet Jebus, I hope that’s true! The plan now is for me and Winston to wear her out so if you’ll excuse me, I’d better get back to my second job…

If anyone is interested, Maggie is has a pretty good grip on “sit” as long as there is a treat involved and started working on “down” tonight. I’m taking my comforts in the small victories at the moment.

Awe... shit....

I was thrilled this afternoon when I got to the house and found no poo in the breakfast nook where I have been keeping Maggie since she got here. Definitely some pee, but I can totally live with that on the linoleum for a few weeks right? All was right with the world and I put my little angles out and headed back to the bedroom to change before cleaning up the kitchen. That’s when I saw it… the giant pile of poo in the middle of the living room floor. So not only did she get over the gate once, but she climbed back over it and was sitting happily back in the kitchen when I got to the house. Knowing that Maggie is an escape artist, I suppose it was inevitable that she would find her way over the larger gate in the kitchen just as she had found her way over the last one. I had hoped it would take her more than two days, though. I know shit happens, but I would really rather it happen on tile or linoleum. So for tomorrow, we go to Plan B. Now I just need to figure out what that actually is…

Minimum safe distance...

Sometimes I think it’s a good idea that I live 800 miles from home. It’s the kind of mileage that gives one a minimum safe distance from family. I knew that my mother was going to have a small conniption when I broke the news to her that her second grandchild was also a dog. But I hadn’t planned on the rather blistering email invective that I got outlining all of the reasons why a second dog was a terrible idea and that a lab makes it even worse. I suppose it serves me right for convincing her that she needed to be part of the e-revolution in the first place. Now mother has never really been a big fan of the kind of animals that live in the house, where I have always been the one trying to drag strays home. That’s definitely not something I got from her. The reasons ran from “you’re too impulsive” to those dogs need more room than you have to she’ll destroy everything in your house. The real kicker was arguing that it would have made more sense for me to come home telling her that I got some girl pregnant. So much for logic.

So here I am, sitting here at the keyboard second guessing myself. It’s amazing that at 30 a guilt trip from my mother still has the old magic, no. But the kids seem to love playing together and I know I’m giving them both better homes than many other dogs out there. So chime in here, readers, have I done the right thing?