Hugo part 2
I had to work on Saturday, so I took today as a comp day. How nice it is to have off during the week. It reminds me of my old life--one of sleeping in, watching The View in the morning and visiting coffee shops in the afternoon. Unfortunately, that old life also included waiting tables in the evenings, no health insurance and a general feeling of unfulfillment. So, I guess this new life is better. Although I do appreciate a week day off every now and again.
A few weeks ago I sat down to write a story about our new dog. I coined the story Hugo part 2, and although I could probably write Hugo parts 3, 4 and 5 now, I will go back to write about a dramatic evening Tim and I could have lived without.
It's funny, one of the things Cesar Milan repeats in his book and on his TV show, The Dog Whisperer, is the idea that owning a dog makes you a better person. You learn discipline and patience. If you learn to be a calm and assertive person, it will be reflected in the animal you own. The dog will be calm and submissive--a loyal pet. After owning Hugo for only five days, he gave us quite the scare. We both quickly realized how much we had grown attached to him in just that short period of time.
We left Hugo home alone for the first time for just a couple of hours on Labor Day, the Monday after the Saturday we adopted him. Since he is four years old and house trained, and since we didn't already own a crate, we decided to leave him in the bathroom to see how he would do. He wasn't bad. But, he wasn't good. He was whimpering when we came home, had chewed at the molding near the bathroom door and had knocked over the stuff that I had on the window sill--a basket of first-aid supplies and some make-up. The following Thursday, Tim had to work in the afternoon and had to leave Hugo alone for the second time. Since Hugo was so mellow, just calmly laying on the living room floor, Tim decided not to rile him up by putting him in the bathroom when he left. Instead, he shut our bedroom door and decided to give him roam of the rest of the apartment. Tim was only gone a couple of hours, but when he returned to the apartment, Hugo was gone.
From the damaged screen in the front window, Tim concluded Hugo had climbed under the metal gate covering the window, pushed out the screen and escaped. Of course, Tim immediately panicked. He called me at work. "I am flipping the fuck out," he said. I had never heard Tim speak in that tone of voice. He was upset. I became upset. I told him I was coming home.
I left work early, and the entire trolley ride home I fought back tears and had flashes of worst case scenarios. Maybe he went back to his old family, I thought to myself. Maybe I had seen too many of those Incredible Journey-type movies, but I knew his old family lived somewhere in Southwest Philly. It wasn't totally implausible. How would we ever find him? What if someone else found him and decided to keep him as their own? If they found him, they wouldn't know he was ours; they wouldn't know how to contact us. He didn't yet have a proper collar and tags. He had the collar from the shelter, but no identification with our phone number, no way for anyone to reach us. He had been micro-chipped, but someone would have to take him to the shelter for him to be scanned before finding out he was our dog. We felt like terrible pet owners.
When I got home Tim was out driving around. I immediately changed out of my work shoes, grabbed my phone and headed out the door. I was going to do the foot patrol. Just out the door I called Tim. He had been driving around for the last 40 minutes and suggested I go back in and call the shelter. Perhaps they would have advice on what to do. Before my call had even connected, I saw Hugo out the front window. I grabbed my keys and without even shutting the apartment door behind me I headed outside. There he was--in the front yard with my neighbor.
Apparently, Hugo was just hanging out in the yard when my neighbor found him. She recognized him, but was confused either about who he belonged to or which apartment we lived in because she left a Post-it note on the wrong door. She wrote, "I think I have your dog. Apt 3," but put it on the door of the couple who lives across the hall from us. In his panicked hurry, Tim didn't notice it.
After she put the note on the door, our neighbor took Hugo up to her apartment to give him some water and keep him safe. She found some random rope, made a leash and was taking him out when I saw him through the window.
I called Tim and told him Hugo was here, and I could feel the relief in his voice. I thanked our neighbor, found out her name was Mary and choked back my tears. When Tim came home, he looked at Hugo and said, "What're you trying to do to us, Man?" We were both so grateful that he was safe. Tim later told me that if he had seen his dead dog on the side of the road he would have lost it. It was an emotionally draining afternoon to say the least, but the whole situation made us meet our neighbor--something we had been meaning to do--and Tim went out and got a tags and a collar that night.
The next week we borrowed a crate from one of my co-workers. We're still leading up to leaving him home alone in it, and for now he seems to be doing better in the bathroom. Hugo still has some issues to deal with and his owners have a way to go too, but we're learning and happy to say our dog is still our dog.
A few weeks ago I sat down to write a story about our new dog. I coined the story Hugo part 2, and although I could probably write Hugo parts 3, 4 and 5 now, I will go back to write about a dramatic evening Tim and I could have lived without.
It's funny, one of the things Cesar Milan repeats in his book and on his TV show, The Dog Whisperer, is the idea that owning a dog makes you a better person. You learn discipline and patience. If you learn to be a calm and assertive person, it will be reflected in the animal you own. The dog will be calm and submissive--a loyal pet. After owning Hugo for only five days, he gave us quite the scare. We both quickly realized how much we had grown attached to him in just that short period of time.
We left Hugo home alone for the first time for just a couple of hours on Labor Day, the Monday after the Saturday we adopted him. Since he is four years old and house trained, and since we didn't already own a crate, we decided to leave him in the bathroom to see how he would do. He wasn't bad. But, he wasn't good. He was whimpering when we came home, had chewed at the molding near the bathroom door and had knocked over the stuff that I had on the window sill--a basket of first-aid supplies and some make-up. The following Thursday, Tim had to work in the afternoon and had to leave Hugo alone for the second time. Since Hugo was so mellow, just calmly laying on the living room floor, Tim decided not to rile him up by putting him in the bathroom when he left. Instead, he shut our bedroom door and decided to give him roam of the rest of the apartment. Tim was only gone a couple of hours, but when he returned to the apartment, Hugo was gone.
From the damaged screen in the front window, Tim concluded Hugo had climbed under the metal gate covering the window, pushed out the screen and escaped. Of course, Tim immediately panicked. He called me at work. "I am flipping the fuck out," he said. I had never heard Tim speak in that tone of voice. He was upset. I became upset. I told him I was coming home.
I left work early, and the entire trolley ride home I fought back tears and had flashes of worst case scenarios. Maybe he went back to his old family, I thought to myself. Maybe I had seen too many of those Incredible Journey-type movies, but I knew his old family lived somewhere in Southwest Philly. It wasn't totally implausible. How would we ever find him? What if someone else found him and decided to keep him as their own? If they found him, they wouldn't know he was ours; they wouldn't know how to contact us. He didn't yet have a proper collar and tags. He had the collar from the shelter, but no identification with our phone number, no way for anyone to reach us. He had been micro-chipped, but someone would have to take him to the shelter for him to be scanned before finding out he was our dog. We felt like terrible pet owners.
When I got home Tim was out driving around. I immediately changed out of my work shoes, grabbed my phone and headed out the door. I was going to do the foot patrol. Just out the door I called Tim. He had been driving around for the last 40 minutes and suggested I go back in and call the shelter. Perhaps they would have advice on what to do. Before my call had even connected, I saw Hugo out the front window. I grabbed my keys and without even shutting the apartment door behind me I headed outside. There he was--in the front yard with my neighbor.
Apparently, Hugo was just hanging out in the yard when my neighbor found him. She recognized him, but was confused either about who he belonged to or which apartment we lived in because she left a Post-it note on the wrong door. She wrote, "I think I have your dog. Apt 3," but put it on the door of the couple who lives across the hall from us. In his panicked hurry, Tim didn't notice it.
After she put the note on the door, our neighbor took Hugo up to her apartment to give him some water and keep him safe. She found some random rope, made a leash and was taking him out when I saw him through the window.
I called Tim and told him Hugo was here, and I could feel the relief in his voice. I thanked our neighbor, found out her name was Mary and choked back my tears. When Tim came home, he looked at Hugo and said, "What're you trying to do to us, Man?" We were both so grateful that he was safe. Tim later told me that if he had seen his dead dog on the side of the road he would have lost it. It was an emotionally draining afternoon to say the least, but the whole situation made us meet our neighbor--something we had been meaning to do--and Tim went out and got a tags and a collar that night.
The next week we borrowed a crate from one of my co-workers. We're still leading up to leaving him home alone in it, and for now he seems to be doing better in the bathroom. Hugo still has some issues to deal with and his owners have a way to go too, but we're learning and happy to say our dog is still our dog.