The adventures of Foster Dog
As of this writing, I have Dog Guilt.
The dog pictured is named Marci, and she is at my home while I am at Starbucks. She's a rescue dog I'm fostering, and I'm writing a whole big post about her which I'll post today or tomorrow. She has many fine qualities, many comical ones, and many really mellow ones, but the quality I'm concerned with now is a typical shelter dog case of separation anxiety. She whines and yaps whenever I leave the house, so I've been following the conventional wisdom and not making a big deal of my departures or arrivals, leaving for a few minutes at a time and coming right back to show that's what happens, then increasing the amount of time I'm gone. I'm also supposed to leave the TV on and give her a treat that happens only when I'm leaving for a slightly longer period. Right now is a trial of leaving for about 2 hours, to help build up for leaving her for about 4 hours at a time when I go back to work tomorrow (my new schedule will involve coming home at lunch to let her out to pee.)
It's for her own good. It's my job to teach her how to live in a house and deal with everything that happens, to make her more adoptable. It's my job to be firm but loving and be the Pack Leader and all that. I'm not hurting her.
But maybe she's hurting her. I don't really know what her anxiety level is, and I can barely stand that I'm causing her any anxiety at all. Don't even start me about how one of my cats has been reacting. I hate hate hate all Animal Worry.
If anybody would like to comment and tell me I'm not an ogre, you're welcome to.
At least I can't hear her.