Apr. 16th, 2011

splitbeak: (Default)
Getting up at 7 every morning is weird. It's like being back in school without the weekends. I'm trying to talk Bailey into some kind of arrangement where I take him out at 7 to take care of business, then he lets me go back to sleep. That seems fair to me. I'll even give him half an hour to run around like crazy first.

But no... this does not seem to work for his royal highness.

Well, to be fair, maybe we are coming to some kind of accord. I have to put him back in the crate if I go back to bed, because someone has proven time and again he will randomly go on the carpet if I take my eyes off him for a second. The first time I demonstrated operation please-dear-god-I'm-a-night-owl-lemme-alone!, Bailey wailed his head off the second I put him back in the crate and did not let up even after the two hours it took to break me.

This morning when I tried it, he gave me a couple minutes before getting into it and actually gave me a reprieve after about 20 minutes. I can work with that. Of course, an hour later his benevolence ran out and the howling returned. And like the idiot I am, I gave in to his terrorist demands and let him out. To prevent the return of sleep (oh sleep, where art thou sleep?), I curled up on my couch instead. Bailey was content to just sit next to the couch while I didn't sleep.

The birds came to visit me on the couch too. This was actually the best part. Rockne and I had a long talk for about an hour (I swear, we really can have entire conversations with body language and kisses. I'm not crazy!). By the end of it, Rockne apologized for his aggression earlier this week - first towards Bailey, then me - and promised his temper tantrum was over. I in turn, promised I did not love him any less because of the pooch.

My apartment has become a soap opera, no lie. And not even a good one.

On a positive note, this morning Bailey displayed the first hint that this housebreaking thing may actually happen!!! :) :) :) He actually did a little dance and hovered in front of the door. Let me out, fool! I did, he ran up the stairs, I opened the door, and off he went to fill the cesspool. Queue Handel's Hallelujah Chorus and a happy Snoopy Dance.

Of course, said pooch then had to ruin it an hour later with an unauthorized leakage. Like, srsly? No meal/significant water drinkage in between toilet runs, just, "Oh, I think I'll go now." Dude! Grrrr. One step forward, three steps back...

I swear, this dog is a ninja. Go on, you try catching him in the act. He can be anywhere, at anytime, but you'll never know, for he moves on tiny (actually, rather large) cat feet (don't tell him that) and makes no sound as he passes. I swear, half the time I turn around to look at him, only to discover he's laying on my feet and I didn't even notice, he'd settled so quietly and lightly. And I'm usually one of those hyperaware people that's hard to sneak up on/hide from.

I suppose the potty training might be working if now when I manage to catch him in the act, scream, "no!" he stops right away and heads straight for the door. I'll take that to mean he knows what he should be doing if the carpet's not an option. Now I just need him to know the carpet is never an option.

I can't wait until he's housebroken. I don't mind cleaning up the mess, but the lingering smell is killing me.

Aggravating training aside, he's such a sweet boy. I do like him very much and he's a lot of fun to play with. Look, I'm actually tempted to talk to people about him - 3 blog posts in 1 week - I never talk this much! Sorry to all those I'm spamming with these.

An Irish Blessing

May the road rise to meet you.

May the wind be always at your back.

May the sun shine warm upon your face and the rain fall soft upon your fields.

And until we meet again, may God hold you in the hollow of his hand.

August 2011

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