pupdate
Because I know everyone lives for these!
After his Saturday with Squabby trauma, Cobie lay around like third base most of Sunday, and worried me by not finishing even Saturday's kibble ration until Monday morning. I'd take him out--and it was a glorious indian summer weekend!--but he would just poop and then lie around, offering up the mystery of, if he isn't eating where is all the poop coming from?
I thought of taking him to the dog park, but he is conflicted about the dog park, seeming to both love it and yet be very anxious about it, running up to dogs and then streaking away and diving for cover under the nearest picnic table, bench, or hapless bystander. So I decided a quick trip with me to drop the netflix in the mail was enough, beautiful day or not. And he didn't yack on the seat during the ride, so I was already beating the odds.
But then a friend posted on her FaceBook that she was at their dogpark (in AZ) for the first time, and I felt like, I should take him but... Then Mr Moth came in and I decided to foist the decision off on him. "Do you want to go to the dog park?"
"I was going to blow the leaves," he said, settling the matter until five minutes later when he said, "Sure, let's go."
So we went to the dogpark, and there were other dogs there, yay! And Cobie bristled some but nothing like usual, and he has still not got the hang of allowing the buttsniff, he never hid under any furniture at all. He didn't only play with the dogs his own age (and thus half his size) either.
He's six months old. Here he is last week. The other dog? His mother. He's a moose, I tell ya.
When it was time to go, he trotted right to the gate, stood for his leash, went willingly to, and into, the van, stood to be harnessed, didn't yack again.
He was all mellow, so I tried something I would not have dared a month ago, which is to lay on the sofa while watching tv...and not only do I still have my face, he got up and lay behind my knees.
Snuggles!
Laterer still, I needed to put something in the oven and I said, "Back, back, back...sit." He did it no problem. But...BUT!! When I needed to take something out of the oven, I said, "Back..." And he backed all the way up to where he sat before...and SAT.
This morning after Mr Moth left for work, Cobie sneaked into bed with me and actually lay there like a sensible dog instead of playing Bilbo Flees the Mountain where I am the mountain, Oliver is Bilbo, and Cobie is a Warg.
More snuggles!
He whines to go out now, instead of staring at the door and trying to will it open. AND...he scratches to come in. Which means he can go out by himself for short stretches.
He's not just getting big, he's growing up.
Here he is, waiting patiently to be released from the van. The door's open, mind you.
And still waiting.
Which is not to say I think it's going to be sunshine and rainbows from here on out, because while I typed this I got to feeling all warm and fuzzy toward him and gave him my plastic lunch bowl to lick. He took it in the living room and rendered it into shrapnel in about forty seconds flat. He's still a hurricane. But maybe he's becoming a hurricane I don't so much mind living with.
So, yeah. I have hope.
After his Saturday with Squabby trauma, Cobie lay around like third base most of Sunday, and worried me by not finishing even Saturday's kibble ration until Monday morning. I'd take him out--and it was a glorious indian summer weekend!--but he would just poop and then lie around, offering up the mystery of, if he isn't eating where is all the poop coming from?
I thought of taking him to the dog park, but he is conflicted about the dog park, seeming to both love it and yet be very anxious about it, running up to dogs and then streaking away and diving for cover under the nearest picnic table, bench, or hapless bystander. So I decided a quick trip with me to drop the netflix in the mail was enough, beautiful day or not. And he didn't yack on the seat during the ride, so I was already beating the odds.
But then a friend posted on her FaceBook that she was at their dogpark (in AZ) for the first time, and I felt like, I should take him but... Then Mr Moth came in and I decided to foist the decision off on him. "Do you want to go to the dog park?"
"I was going to blow the leaves," he said, settling the matter until five minutes later when he said, "Sure, let's go."
So we went to the dogpark, and there were other dogs there, yay! And Cobie bristled some but nothing like usual, and he has still not got the hang of allowing the buttsniff, he never hid under any furniture at all. He didn't only play with the dogs his own age (and thus half his size) either.
He's six months old. Here he is last week. The other dog? His mother. He's a moose, I tell ya.
When it was time to go, he trotted right to the gate, stood for his leash, went willingly to, and into, the van, stood to be harnessed, didn't yack again.
He was all mellow, so I tried something I would not have dared a month ago, which is to lay on the sofa while watching tv...and not only do I still have my face, he got up and lay behind my knees.
Snuggles!
Laterer still, I needed to put something in the oven and I said, "Back, back, back...sit." He did it no problem. But...BUT!! When I needed to take something out of the oven, I said, "Back..." And he backed all the way up to where he sat before...and SAT.
This morning after Mr Moth left for work, Cobie sneaked into bed with me and actually lay there like a sensible dog instead of playing Bilbo Flees the Mountain where I am the mountain, Oliver is Bilbo, and Cobie is a Warg.
More snuggles!
He whines to go out now, instead of staring at the door and trying to will it open. AND...he scratches to come in. Which means he can go out by himself for short stretches.
He's not just getting big, he's growing up.
Here he is, waiting patiently to be released from the van. The door's open, mind you.
And still waiting.
Which is not to say I think it's going to be sunshine and rainbows from here on out, because while I typed this I got to feeling all warm and fuzzy toward him and gave him my plastic lunch bowl to lick. He took it in the living room and rendered it into shrapnel in about forty seconds flat. He's still a hurricane. But maybe he's becoming a hurricane I don't so much mind living with.
So, yeah. I have hope.