The Next Dark Age

Back when I was researching adoptable dogs, I came across one that I thought was a good fit.  But when I read the adoption application for that particular rescue group, it asked some questions that irritated me.  One was something like:

“How much money are you willing to spend for the medical care of your pet?”

Well.  I had just spent a not-even-small fortune caring for a beloved pet in his last months.  Perhaps it was because of my emotional state, but I was offended.

I know why they ask the question.  They want to make sure that the first time there is an illness, the dog doesn’t end up back in a shelter (or worse) because the adopter won’t accept the expense.

I was still offended.

Interestingly, the question came up at my office today:

“Would you pay $3,000 for a surgery for your dog?”

“Um…yes.  I have, actually,” was my response.

The debate started because a colleague had recently made that decision – surgery to repair the blown ACL on a large 4 1/2 year old dog.

The debate was impressive.  The responses were everywhere from “No way” to “Absolutely” and everything in between.

“How old is the dog?”
“Is it life-or-death surgery?”
“Are there any other alternatives?”

It went on for awhile.

The end of the story is the best:  said colleague returned home after deciding to go ahead with the surgery.  He found his three children had set up a lemonade stand in the front yard with a sign:

“Our Dog Needs Surgery”

If that wasn’t enough, the dog was in the yard with them.  After they closed up shop, they handed their dad the $39 and change they had earned that day.

I feel like handing him some cash myself.

This week, we learned that Gibbs is ok with the storms.  After that first incident, we had another one come through Thursday night.  Because he had gone potty before it started, he pretty well slept through it.  However, he had gotten up onto my bed by then.  Friday morning, I had an appointment, so he went into his crate.  Then this happened:

It was officially the biggest one-day rainfall total in Chicago history.  When I got home, he was totally fine.  Excellent.

He learned to disembowel his toys.  Which means I may actually have to buy some for him.

And because Fluffycat like the updates, there have been one or two confrontations with Spooky the cat.  He moves in fast, which Spooky hates, but he seems to have figured out that the cat doesn’t want to play with him.  When he gets too close, Spooky will smack him and he will back off.  No drama.  This picture is cheating, in that I took it last week.  The point here is that sometimes, Spooky is the one that moves in and starts it:

He finishes up the puppy shots this week.  Then finally, we can take him out and around.

3 a.m. I am awakened by a thunder storm. I have four problems:

1. Said storm also awakened Gibbs, age 14 weeks.
2. Gibbs has outgrown his puppy crate and is sleeping on a fleece bed on my bedroom floor.
3. Gibbs did not wake me up at 2 a.m. for a potty break.
4. I need a potty break.

The only other storm we have had since bringing the puppy home was on a day that my mother was working from home. His response was to go into his crate and take a nap.  

As I mentioned, Gibbs can jump up onto my bed. At 10 p.m., he tried twice. But I put him back down on his floor-bed and he settled down. Awesome. 

So. 3 a.m. I don’t move a muscle, listening to what he will do and wondering what my counter-play will be. I know that if he gets up, he will have to pee. Then I will have to choose between taking him out in the storm and having an accident in the house. And I really had to pee, too.

He put his paws up on my bed and whined. I flew out of bed, turned on the light and told him to follow me to the bathroom. Solved that problem.  

Just as I was flushing, he started to go on the bathroom rug.  

“Gibbs, no!”

He stopped immediately. We raced downstairs and I put the leash on him. We stepped outside into the storm. It had let up a bit, so I wasn’t worried about being struck by lightning or anything. It took about 15 seconds of, “Gibbs, you have to go potty now,” before he did. For more than a count of ten, I might add. Then we raced back inside and upstairs where I grabbed a towel for him. Then he was in my bed before I had time to put on a dry shirt.

It has been years since I had a wet dog on my bed.

So. Now I have to decide if I am going to let him sleep on the bed. The “experts” say that they way to keep dogs from fearing storms is to make them a non-event. But we don’t have a normal routine yet! Does it make it a non-event to let him sleep on the bed or to make him sleep on the floor, all wet and anxious?

I let him sleep on the bed. And do you know what happened next?

Do you know what happened next?!

The cat came in. Jumped up on the bed and smacked the puppy.

I haven’t seen that cat in two days. He has wanted nothing to do with me and the puppy that I let bark at him. Now, at 3:15 in the morning in the middle of Gibbs’ first thunderstorm, Spooky wants to cuddle.

For God’s Sake.

By 3:30 a.m., I am happy to say, Gibbs was asleep on the other side of the bed. Spooky, curled up next to me, was staring at him.

Whatever, dude.

The morning routine went just fine. I am calling this a victory. Sort of.