Mother and Child Reunion

As some of you may know, last year I made the difficult/easy decision to have Gracie move into the home of my amazing dog walker, Nina.

Nina was always very understanding when I'd complain about my love/less than love relationship with Gracie. She'd give me great advice, which I would either adopt and experience great failure, or would just look glassy eyed at her and say, "umkay" (yes, Nina I will start brushing Gracie's one crazy tooth. Umkay).

I would always joke, "Gracie you go live with Nina-New-Mommy" and laugh. Nina would respond that she'd take Gracie in a heart beat. But the guilt would come crashing down on me like big boxes of heavy guilt that rained down from Planet Guilt and I could not taker her up on it.

One day, Nina suggested she take Gracie for a week, just for a bit of respite. And I figured I could do that. After all, Gracie had stayed with her when Brian and I had gone away on vacations. I felt no guilt about that, so this would be no different.

So off Gracie went one Sunday afternoon with her little suitcase and promises that she'd be good for Nina while Mommy enjoyed not screaming and crying by 4pm every day. Is this what having a colicky infant is like? For 10 years?

At the end of one week, I asked Nina if she could do another week.

By day 10 I asked Nina if her offer to adopt Gracie was still on. And it was. And I could have wept with relief.

And horrible crushing guilt.

Followed by more relief.

After about two months of Gracie living with New Mommy, Nina brought her by one day.  She was soft and shiny and had a little pep in her step. She'd lost a couple pounds (She weighed 30 pounds on her last day with me, which was about 10 pounds too much. That's a lot on a little dog). I held her for a couple minutes and then got frightfully misty.

Gracie seemed pretty non-plussed.

Whatevs, old mommy. I'm living the high life now.

Anyway, that was all 14 months ago. She's lost a total of 10 pounds, and as Nina reports much of her odd behaviour has gone. No more having to pee at 3 am. And 5 am. And 7am. No more barking at all things in general, but molecules specifically. No more incessant whinging (pronounced Whin-Jing). I've had several little visits with Gracie but this past weekend, we had her for the whole weekend because Nina took her family to do something to do with bikes that sounds awful if you're a sedentary adult who likes TV and snacks. Say, like me.

Within two seconds of Nina saying "bye bye little Boo" to Gracie and shutting the door, the weird Gracie behaviour started up again - the whimpering and begging eyes and the tap tap tapping on the floor, trying to tell me she wants something, but I never get it right.

 THIS DOG IS A BOTTOMLESS PIT OF INDEFINABLE NEED. It's like playing a guessing game except it never, ever ends and the only way to win is to go sit on the front steps, alone, with booze.

So when Sunday evening rolled around and it was time to pack little weirdo off to her new family, it was not without both sweet frosted relief and a big dollop of shame.

Even though it has all worked out for all involved, I still feel like I've failed Gracie. I want to be like those mega tattooed women who rescue death row pit bulls and reform them into 75 pounds of muscle-y adorableness. I want to be the kind of person who does not project my fears and insecurities onto an innocent Sheltie. I want to be the kind of person who doesn't think her dog is judging her, and finding her very much wanting. But I am not that person. I am weak, dammit. And Gracie's will to be anxiety provoking is strong.

So maybe it's not  just me. And it's not just Gracie. Maybe we're just wrong for each other. Breaking up was hard to do, but it was the right thing to do. It was a mutual thing.

I still love the little bitch, dammit.

Respite

I’ve said countless times here that I do not manage stress well. Thank you, Crazy Doctor, for giving me the phrase “low tolerance for frustration”, because it sounds so much better than “suckie”. 

I don’t like loud noises or relentless annoyances. 

So why did I get a sheltie?

Because I am super stupid, that’s why.

I love Gracie, I really do. She can be very sweet and cute. And I know that most of the problems I have with her stem from my own deficiencies as a dog mommy. I’ve spoiled her because I’ve been too lazy to train her consistently and I fail to remember that she’s a dog and that she’s not driving me crazy on purpose.

She is, however, still driving me crazy.

That is why I’ve asked my Sainted Dog Walker, Nina, to take Gracie for a week. A week of respite. A week of sleeping in until 6am. A week of not having to run through a list of potential items that Gracie might want several times before she stops whining long enough to indicate that yes THAT is what she wants. A week of not yelling “shut up shut up shut up”.

There are only two potential problems with my plan. One: I will feel terribly guilty, or; Two: I will really like it, and will move away without telling Nina so she is forced to keep Barkerella and I am free free free.

Gracie will be 10 in June. I admit to asking Brian “when will she die?” on more than one occasion. 

I know, I know. That DOES make me a bad mother. I am a bad person who doesn’t deserve to live.

Ok, now that that’s out of the way, will someone please take my dog? 

If it wasn’t for the crushing guilt and shame I’d feel, she’d be living at Aunt Nina’s permanently. But this week of respite is a good option for now. It gives me a week to catch up on some sleep and, as Brian says, will hit the “reset” button on Gracie as she’ll be in the care of someone who actually knows something about dogs and is under the illusion that Gracie is quiet as a mouse. 

Looks cute, but can kill you with annoyingness.

Right.


The only downside to this week off is that I'll have to be more vigilant about monitoring Sam's activity. Gracie is our little Hall Monitor Tattle Tale and barks like she's on fire every time Sam even thinks about doing something naughty. So sometimes I can leave the room and just think - it's ok, Gracie will tell me if Sam's up to no good. Unfortunately, she'll tell me if he simply shifts position, and she'll continue to tell me about it, loudly, for some time afterward.

So as I celebrate my Gracie-Free week, do not judge me too harshly. Or go ahead and condemn me. I won’t notice. I’ll be too busy moving freely from room to room without incessant barking accompaniment and sleeping undisturbed to care.

Thank you Nina. Thank you.

People of the Dog Park

Sam, our 8 month old black Labrador Retriever, is doing very well. 

He’s a good dog, and a mellow puppy, as it turns out. Gracie is still not thrilled with him and barks a lot about it. 

I have a kerchief AND a bow!

Maybe she needs her own blog where she can vent about things that bug her. Maybe I’ll set it up for her. It could be called “Everything is Awful and I have to Scream Contstantly. Give Me a Cookie. Um... No, Put Peanut Butter On It First”. 

Ah poor Gracie. I complain about her a lot, but she’s just doing what Shelites do: be awful. I do love her, in my fashion. She’s getting on and is a bit stiff legged, so she doesn’t get a second long walk in the afternoons as does our heavy duty digbat, Sam. Our blessed dog walker Nina, owner of Boardwalkers, takes the dogs in the morning so I can get things done, but the afternoon shift is mine.

I take Sam down to the beach and although standing in cold sand/snow while ice pellets blast horizontally into your face sounds glamourous, it’s not quite as awesome as it sounds.

Off Leash Dog Area. Super cold and icy blasty.

Luckily, there are sometimes people there that help you pass the time, and they have dogs that help Sam burn off steam and kibble. Everyone is cold and some of them have to pee and some of them have busy busy lives. But they are all there because they are doing right by their dogs, and giving them a chance to have unfettered play time, a luxury, I know, for many.

There are, of course, going to be a few people who are just a pain in the ass. Either their dogs are precious prima donnas who will turn to dust if Sam so much touches them with his paw, while others seem to think it’s “just playing around” when their dog is drawing blood from Sam’s ear. And not in a good way, I mean. People are people. I get it.  But dogs are neither fragile lilies or armored tanks: Unless they are.

Did I see that outfit at Anthropologie? 

And then there are the folks who really want to give you helpful advice on how to raise your dog. This can be a good thing or a super annoying thing, and it depends entirely on how it is delivered. People who talk like they are experts on all dogs - well, unless they are Caesar Milan, I roll my eyes in their general direction. Helpful tips are great. Know it alls are tedious. 

For the most part, people are pretty friendly, understanding and casual. I like that. And I’ve met some people who I look forward to seeing, even though, to be honest, I have no idea what their names might be. Our conversations are usually pretty basic: dogs, the weather, other people’s dogs. But sometimes you just spill your guts. You have NO idea why you just told a basically complete stranger your deepest feelings on a subject, but you feel better afterward. It’s the same with bartenders, hairdressers and the internet. Some people/venues are just beacons calling to hear your dirt.

I’ve been on both receiving and emitting (emoting) sides of the “dog park feelings purge”. Maybe it’s a false trust nurtured by the consistency of seeing someone every day: they’re always there for you. Maybe it’s the anonymity that conveys a sense of safety. Or maybe you’re just so damned cold that all the blood has left the discretion part of your brain in an attempt to keep your hands warm, and you just can’t stop talking.

I’ve met some good friends through walking Gracie: Sarah and her dog, Emma, being the prime example. 

Emma. Part Shepherd, part pretty.

And Robert and his dog Rufus. We miss you Rufus!

 Met Robert in the dog park the day that I’d asked my then boyfriend to move out. Robert gave me some boxes to help get the ball rolling. I would be married to Robert now if I hadn’t met Brian two years later. Plus, Robert likes guys and stuff. 

Another gal I got to know through walking Gracie was Liana, who I don’t see since I moved out of my condo. Her dog, Tatchi, was the only dog Gracie would ever play with.

Yes, there was a time when Gracie would actually play.

There are many other nice folks. I guess having a dog is kinda like carrying a sign that says:

It’s hard to be anti social with a Labrador Retriever at your side.

When I go down to the off leash dog park with Sam in the afternoons there are a few people I glom onto. Sam plays well with their dogs. 

Sam, Rosie and Ruckus. Up to NO good.

Sam and Yetta the Dane.

And they are good company. There’s Andrew and Wendy the dog walkers from Paws In Motion. Good, good people. Don’t know their last names. Always happy to see them. Sam loves their boxer client, Bully.

Bully and Sam

 A little too much, maybe?

 There’s the girl who’s dog is named Baylin or something like that. She’s very sweet. 

Bailen

The guy who lived in Sweden for 3 years who is a great story teller and you just KNOW he’s only telling you the least shameful stuff. The socially adept teacher with the dog named Peaches, who can make conversation with ease, with anyone (I love people like this). The portrait artist who, like me, prefers cats (www/philipdandurand.com). 

The people of the dog park makes tolerable standing in gale force winds while your dog grinds sand and mud into his fur. So People Of The Dog Park, I salute you. Thanks for letting my dog drag your dog around by the face. I really appreciate it.