The most patient dog in the world...

Zoee is the most patient dog in the entire world. I'm quite certain that moving from the center of E's and my universe to playing second fiddle to a loud, hairless, non-mobile animal has not been the most fabulous thing in her world. Sure, she still gets plenty of cookies. She has a good amount of pets. She fully enjoys all the creature comforts a dog of her status needs, including beds on every level of the house in many different rooms. What she doesn't get is endless and undying attention when E and I are at home. Aside from all the attention we're affording this new guy, when the little man is asleep it's all E and I can do to keep from sleeping ourselves. Needless to say, Zoee's life has changed drastically.

I just keep telling her that when he can roughhouse with her, she's going to really like him a lot more.

I hope she believes me.

Our "first" child

Since bringing N home, Zoee has been super attentive to his needs. Since she's our "first" child by five years, we're trying very hard to not neglect her, despite the demands of parenthood. I think she realizes this, so she tries very hard to be patient with us and to help us out. One way of helping is to make sure everything is good with the little man.

For example - all tummy time is carefully supervised by Zoee. If any unexpected noises occur, she's quick to jump up and inform me of the little guy's need for attention. Notice below - she's watching me instead of him. This is because I got too close without announcing myself. Zoee had to make sure I was allowed near the little man.
She also offers suggestions about breastfeeding. I don't put much stock in her breastfeeding advice given she's got no experience. Plus, well, she's a dog. I pretend to listen though, because she's really trying to help. Good dog.

Also, remember how we read to N before we put him to bed? One of his books is called Bad Dog, Marley by John Grogan. It's the same guy who wrote Marley and Me. Anyway, there is a section of the book where all the characters say, "Bad dog Marley!" over and over again. Every time we get to that part, Zoee comes slinking in the room with big sad eyes, as if to say "I was just sleeping - what the heck did I do?". We've modified the passage to read "No Marley!". N can't read right now anyway and it saves our helpful puppy a lot of grief. Good dog Zoee!

They're going to have a good time

She's fairly accepting of him using her as a pillow, so I'm thinking when the ear-pulling and hair grabbing begins she'll be eternally patient. I'm almost postive that they're going to have a blast. This is emphasized further by her getting up with me for every 2 am feeding and sitting with us, her need to come get us when he's crying and she doesn't believe we're responding quickly enough, and her endless supply of tail-wags for him.

You're kidding me with this, right guys?

Our dog Zoee is a fantastic, loving dog who would do anything for you. She knows all kinds of tricks. She's about as patient as they come, whether it be little kids tugging on her tail or getting poked with needles at the vet.

Speaking of the vet - we went for the annual vaccinations this past Friday. This typically goes pretty well. The vet looks her over, tells us a few things, pokes her a few times, gives her a cookie, and we're out of there. Not this time...

For her whole life, Zoee has had something that some might refer to as a "weight issues". Some days are better than others, but for the most part, she's a little on the tubby side. We try. She's eating diet food. I try to resist her sad eyes begging for people food (except with the steak). She only gets one cookie per day. Rations are small.

This past visit, instead of finding her in completely perfect health with the exception of a little pudge, the vet also noted that she had some waxy buildup in her ears and provided us with multiple things to do to treat this problem. One of these things includes filling her ear with this fluid stuff, squishing it around for a minute, then letting Zoee shake her head out. Understandably, this is not something she looks forward to. After swishing liquid around in her ears, we then fill them with this ointment meant to reduce whatever wax is build up there. Our theory was to do this right before dinner, so she'd be so distracted by food that she wouldn't notice. Only, the vet pointed out that instead of a svelte 75 pounds, Zoee was currently weighing in at a whopping 84.6 pounds. So her food rations have been cut in half. Again. Diet food. Only now there's half as much of it.

All I can say is, the look I got after the ears were finished and I handed over the grub was about as withering as they come from dogs. I can only imagine that she feels we're not really holding up our end of the bargain. She's doing all her doggie duties. I know she's asking, "Where's the beef?"

It only took five years...

About five years ago E and I took one of those big steps in a relationship. You know the ones... First date, first kiss, first anniversary, first time you pack up and move across the country together... You know, the big firsts. Anyway, the big first we experienced five years ago was our first puppy together. You know her - Zoee. At only seven and a half weeks old, she was ours for keeps. Anything that is right or wrong with her is completely our fault.

E and I come from very different dog families. In my family, dogs live in the house. They follow you around from room to room and sleep in the bed with you. They curl up on your feet and go on vacation with you. Pretty much like furry children with less talking back. In E's family, dogs live outside. They never come in the house and you don't share your food with them. You never ever think of letting a stinky dog on the couch. They're fun to play with outside, but they are not at all like furry children.

When we adopted Zoee, we had to come to a middle ground. Okay, we came to a ground much closer to what I grew up with, sans dogs on furniture and sharing people food. Sort of. I have to say I agree with the whole dogs on furniture thing. It's pretty nice not sitting in dog hair. But I can't resist her chocolately sad doggie eyes. I always share.

E doesn't share. He tries to get me to not share. I know people food isn't good for her. But dangit, a few strawberries won't kill her! What's the harm in a little bit of baked potato? This is how these things go.

Tonight E and I had steak and vegetables for dinner. Great for the baby. Great for me. So healthy! But as usual, I wasn't able to finish everything. I had a tiny bit of steak left - enough to be a substantial treat for Zoee, but not nearly enough for leftovers. I'm used to resisting her pleading eyes, so I just left it there, sitting on the plate, looking all steak-y and delicious. I was getting ready to toss it out (*gasp*) when E said, "Why not give it to Zoee? We don't want to waste perfectly good steak."

I almost fell off the couch. Both Zoee and I had a great time feeding/eating steak. Even E got into it. It only took five years, but I think we might have converted completely to my family's way of thinking regarding puppies. Well, except for the couch thing. I've been converted in that regard.

She's in heaven

If only new stuffed animals gave me this much joy...

Weekend away at the Su-J

This weekend we visited my grandparents. There are few things in this world that Zoee enjoys more than heading to their place. (These include belly rubs, peanut butter, and sleeping in the sun on the porch, but little else.) My grandparents have a pond, into which someone can always be conned into throwing a tennis ball for retrieval. Seeing as how she's a retriever, this is quite possibly the best thing EVER. From the minute we got there until the minute we left, Zoee was seeking out new and innovative ways to find herself in the water. Needless to say, she's covered in mud and dirt and couldn't be happier.

It's bath time now - the happiness had to end sooner or later.

She only wishes every afternoon looked like this.

Desparation

My dog is fiendish when it comes to her walks. She's very particular about them. We need to go promptly between 6 and 7 am (at least we get an hour of leeway there!) and we need to leave EXACTLY when we get home from work so that she can sniff her way around the neighborhood. Today we haven't left promptly upon arriving home from work, and she looks desperate. She packing maniacally - walking from her leash to us and staring at us with rolled back ears and sad eyes.

Why can't we leave? WHY?

We're leaving now... No worries. She'll survive.

Corn chip feet

There are some things most dedicated dog owners know, but will be reluctant to tell for fear of sounding absolutely bonkers. Corn chip feet is one of those things. That's right, feet. I challenge you to find a dog owner who doesn't know that dog feet smell like corn chips. It's happened to the best of us, without our knowledge or consent. You're sitting there, scratching a happy dog between the ears and you catch a whiff of something all too familiar. Is someone having Frito pie? Is there bean dip you're missing out on? Someone, somewhere very near you, has opened a bag of corn chips.

It takes a few minutes to realize that no one is in fact eating anything. You start looking around, sniffing for some errant chip that escaped during your last shin-dig. Nope. Nothing. Your dog looks at you and sniffs around as well - they are, after all, happy to help. Your sniffing leads your right to... The feet. Corn chip feet.

I firmly believe that any dog owner that won't own up to this knowledge either has an outside-only dog, is lying, or has completely lost their sense of smell.

I know you're tempted to try it.

My dog, part bovine

Our dog loves our backyard. Especially now, the new and improved lawn - with sprinklers! You might think that she loves to frolic, to fetch, to sniff... Well sure. Those are all fine and good. But why do all that when you can EAT? The backyard is our dog's salad. Bermuda grass? Might as well be arugula. Canna lillies? You must mean cucumbers. Alfia, no, you are actually spinach.

I've got to get the dog off the greenery before I'm out of yard altogether. We might as well have a goat.

What's that smell?

We have a Labrador Retriever. These dogs are known for their oily furry coats that help protect them from the icy, freezing waters off the coast of Newfoundland. In Texas in July we don't have any icy, freezing water. We have, instead, blistering heat. Dogs like ours aren't designed for this type of weather. They develop distinctive methods of overcoming the heat. Some pant. Some chill out in pools. Ours... Smells.

I'm pretty sure the smell is a byproduct of our dog trying to overcome the heat, and not actually the method she's using to overcome it, but regardless... The musty, dank odor following us around lately isn't something rotting in the wall - it's the DOG.

To overcome this we bathe her. Or, E bathes her. We would both do it, but there's not really room for all three of us in the shower. That's right - the SHOWER. To bathe our dog we don't head out to the backyard like your normal dog owners. We take to the showers. Years of apartment and townhome life have made us grow accustomed to bathing our 82 pound dog indoors, and well, old habits die hard.

Bathing the dog in the shower is, er, interesting. It requires quite a great deal of finesse and a certain willingness to be soaked. Somehow the act of cleaning the dog results in a great deal of getting dirty. Not only do you have to bathe after the whole ordeal, but you have to clean the shower as well.

Needless to say, tonight was the last bath until we can't stand the smell again. About a week from now.

Water dogs and the lake

Our first day on Lake Ray Hubbard...

She's supposed to be a water dog. In fact, I've seen with my own eyes her amazing ability to swim with multiple retrieved objects in her mouth all at the same time. So today, when the boat was sitting in the slip after hours of work preparing for this moment, we were sure she'd want to go. We're certain of it. Yes, we think, our Labrador will LOVE the feel of the wind in her face, the algae-salt smell of lake water, and the beautiful sunny day we've chosen to go out on the lake.

At first, she couldn't get enough of it. I mean, it is in fact a lake. A really large lake full of wonderful things like fish and birds. But after we finished idling out of the marina and actually started zipping around the lake, she quickly dissolved into a quivering mess on the floor of the boat. It's CHOPPY, she tells me, with terrified eyes. Do you realize that at this speed any one of us could quite easily be thrown from the boat? She is quite concerned for our safety.

After finding a nice cove near the dam to turn off and float, she seems to relax. She once again realizes that, hey, we're in the water! Gasp! She jumps on the back of the boat and dives into the water. Yay! But wait, how do you pull a Labrador back into a boat when they're soaking wet and dog paddling off the back? Not very easily, I'll tell you that much.

Our first day on the lake for this season was a huge success. Hooray for sunshine and water. The pairing is better than peanut butter and chocolate. Less fattening too.

Next time we're getting her one of those dog life preservers with the handle to pull them out easier though. For her sake.

A dog for our dog

Months ago we decided that when we finally got a yard, we would get another dog for our dog to play with. A dog for our dog, if you will. Well, we finally have said yard, and have decided that the time is ripe for getting a new member of our household. So when in an exciting circumstance E noticed a flier for a person needing to find their dog a home, we jumped at the chance to look into this. Please understand. We aren't ready to commit to the whole puppy thing again. It was great - cuddly and furry and cute... But it was also stinky and messy and full of NO! and STOP THAT! So we've decided to get a more mature dog-puppy to avoid (hopefully) these things. We were thinking 6 months to a year, but hey, we're flexible.

So there is a person at work who for unknown reasons needs to get rid of her six year old Boston Terrier. Oooh cute, I think! They're so funny looking with those giant bat ears! How fun! I'm positive about everything, including this dog. Fabulous! But six? Maybe six is too old. I don't know, let's give it a shot. What could it hurt, anyway?

So off we go, headed to someone's house we've never met, but who assures us that her little dog "can handle herself" with big dogs because she was, and I quote, "raised with pits"! I have no idea what she means by this, because I've met some very nice pit bulls in my day. Maybe this is to make me believe that this little dog is tough? I don't know. Anyway, we get to her house and she is sitting on her porch. Waiting for us. While smoking. And wearing a mu mu. Oh, and no shoes. Yep, that's right. No shoes. She says to us, "She's a good little dog, but I'm going to be honest... She will pee and poop in the house." E and I exchange furtive glances. She scurries inside, cigarette hanging from her upper lip, calling back to us "Lemme git er!" She brings out the most pathetic looking creature I have ever seen. This poor dog seems to be absolutely terrified of me, E, the flowers, the rocks, the sky... Even the AIR seems to freak her out. I immediately realize that I am not the right person to love and nurture this little bug-eyed animal, no matter how terrible I feel for it. However, we hold the dog and talk to her and even make a big show of learning what she likes and doesn't like. We learn that she likes to sleep in bed - under the covers, eck - with you and likes for you to kiss her all over her neck. She likes to chew on a stuffed animal and chase balls. She was even hit by a car once. We learn all of this mostly because we can't figure out how to say nicely, um, thanks for the coffee but we aren't going to have a second date.

I'm sorry Zoee... We're going to have to find you a buddy next weekend after this weekend's extravaganza of family fun is over. Trust me, it never would have worked between the two of you.

Co-conspirators

Him: Outside on the porch on the phone
Me: Cutting up a miniature watermelon (her favorite summertime treat)
Her: Staring at me with those big brown eyes
She thinks we're co-conspirators. She thinks because HE can't see us I will give in. My willpower is strong. Her eyes are stronger. I'm trying to hold out. She's drooling. Long strands of slobber pool on the tile. I wince and look away. She's just sooooo sad. If only I would give her one small ball of watermelon, everything in the world would be okay. But no, me, with a heart of stone, ignore the big imploring eyes. I can't look at her. I finish cutting up the melon and toss the hollowed out rind into the trash. This is her absolute favorite part. Have I forgotten that she loves the little parts of melon that I can't manage to get out with the baller? It's her job to remove all remnants of melon from inside the rind. Why am I depriving her of this privilege? She stalks off, upset. Wounded. For the next hour or so, I will have to throw a tennis ball and scratch her belly to make it up to her.

She's very high maintenance.

The most horrible dog parents e-v-e-r

Note the look of desperation...

Zoee is on a diet. This is a highly contentious point in our household. Zoee has always been ridiculously motivated by f-o-o-d and t-r-e-a-ts and d-i-n-n-e-r that we have taken to spelling out things despite the fact that we have NO small children in our house. Because of this, our beautiful dark chocolate brown Labrador retriever quickly turned into a king-sized candy bar. About three weeks ago Zoee needed to visit the vet, and it was quickly discovered that my poor dog had a staph infection. In her bits. Seriously. This happened. It was due to, as the vet so delicately put it, the overabundance of chubbiness in her belly region. As penance for my terrible dog parenting, I am now required to swab her nethers with what amounts to medicated wet naps.

Oh. My. God. Really? Really.

I also have to put the dog on a diet. I cannot even tell you how much more painful this realization was for me than having to rub down my dog's personal area with swabs. Zoee looks at me with those big dark eyes and furrowed eyebrows as I munch on my delicious dinner and asks silently, "Why do you hate me so?" I don't! I don't! Alas, if only she spoke English.

Only 7 more pounds to go, then she can have treats again. One would argue that is what got us here in the first place, but we'll just have to cross that bridge when the big happy tails get us there.