This is Bubs:
This, it seems, is Bubs' bitch:
So, here we were over at Casa dePartypants, thinking that we had a "perfect" new dog whose cuteness was rivaled only by fluffy baby kitties wearing fluffy bunny costumes, and whose obvious adoration and complete and total devotion to his owners was rivaled only by that S&M dude that lived in that box in the gun shop in "Pulp Fiction".
Well, we were WRONG. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Not about the cuteness thing- that's so obviously true- but we were pretty much wrong about everything else.
I was feeling so smug- I thought that I was totally the "Alpha dog" in mine & Bubs' relationship. He follows me around the house, he snuggles with me constantly, he freaked out when I left the house with out him, he completely lost his shit (and it was sooo cute when he did- he would run around wiggling his but, smiling and emitting a cute little howl) whenever I came home after being gone a while, and he was very protective and territorial of me where the Mr. and the cats were concerned. He didn't seem to want to warm up to the Mr, but we figured that would change over time. The fact that he peed on the Mr's stuff and peed on lots of other things when we left him home alone seemed just like normal "new dog" separation issues.
Um, yeah...not so much. I'm not so much the "Alpha" as I am the "Asshole".
(And, on a side note: I am neither an idiot nor a novice when it comes to dogs. I grew up with them- big ones, small ones- I get it. I think we were just hoping that we had stumbled upon the one dog in the universe that was pretty much "wash and wear" no training needed. It's funny what you'll start to believe if you tell yourself it enough. Like that time I kept telling myself that cake for breakfast is a healthy lifestyle choice and that all of my pants "must have shrunk in the dryer". )
It seems we have been doing every single thing wrong with the little dude: how we walk him, how we snuggleandloveandkissandspoon him, how we look at him, how we feed him, how we walk up and down stairs with him, how we try and not let him chase the poor kitties, how we breathe the same air...
...well, maybe not the last one, but you get the point. Us = WRONG.
So now we're embarking on a massive training plan, one I've dubbed Bubs' Intensive Training Camp Hellyeah! or BITCH, for short.
It's actually going well, so far. He has taken to walking properly on our walks with little or no struggle anymore (behind me or to the side of me, no pulling on the lead), he chases after the cats less, he won't walk up or down stairs until I tell him it's OK, he's learning "stay" and "come" and "fetch Mommy a cocktail". (Well, in all honesty the "fetch" thing isn't going so well- he always forgets the olives in my martini, and between you and me, the guy can't make a margarita for shit.) His freakouts when I'm out of the house for a while have lessened considerably, I don't think he's peed anywhere in the house in a few days, and he's starting to figure out that his reign as King of the Casa is coming to an end.
He's still perfect in my eyes (almost never, ever barks, sleeps through the night without so much as a wimper, snuggles like a champ, and when he looks up at me with those googly-woogly eyes I still melt into a big, sloppy puddle), but it will be some work before he's perfect in my HOUSE.
I've got all the "basic training of my dog" bases covered, but none of the literature seems to address the whole "stopping your dog from shedding" thing, or the "how can I make my dog's farts of death smell like cupcakes?" thing.
Happy Friday, my incorrigible little alpha bitches. Happy Friday.