We just took in Sophie to get fixed the other day and I can safely say that her insanity level that first night we brought her back was off the charts - in the negative direction. Never in my life have I seen her lay quietly in a chair all evening. She didn't even bark when a commercial with a doorbell played.
Well, actually, she did try to bark. I should give her points for effort. She kind of lifted her head up a centimeter and made a rather pathetic, half-hearted "arf." It was the quietest bark I have ever heard. Satisfied with her effort to warn me of the people maybe at my door, she slowly lowered her head and went back to sleep.
Smiley and I had debated whether or not to get a collar of shame for her; the vet had explained that Sophie had been being good about not chewing her stitches and that we could always grab one at a pet store if needed.
Thankfully, we did go ahead and get one right then, because although all night Sophie was a quiet, mild mannered pup, the moment we lay down to go to sleep, she turned into a comparable whirlwind of activity as she tried to go to town on her incision. This is, of course, compared to her spending all evening asleep. She made a few attempts to chew on her stomach area and, upon being unable to reach, satisfied her craving by chewing on her back paw for a few minutes, which was one of the only places she actually could reach.
We're supposed to keep her on restricted activity levels for the next 10 days, so looks like Sherlock will get to jog alone with me for a few days. Or, lately, it's been getting ridiculously warm in the afternoons, so maybe this is the excuse I need to not jog again.
Showing posts with label insanity chart. Show all posts
Showing posts with label insanity chart. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Monday, September 26, 2011
A little story called "dogs are just better than cats"
I get it. Cats are self-reliant, independent and don't need much care beyond a place to go and some food. But me, personally, I like dogs. I like knowing that when I get home, my puppies are going to go to crazy level 9 (refer to the end of this article for the chart) because they're just that happy to see me.
Ok, ok. They're happy to know that they get to go for a walk and have food. But the important part is that they direct this happiness at me.
So take last night. My husband, sister in law, and I went down to their parent's house for dinner. My in-laws have an adorable calico cat, an outdoor car that loves to roam their 10 acres of land. This cat seems to like me alright and I always make it a point to go outside when I visit to give her some pets.
But it's not that easy.
Last night, like most nights, the cat came near the house when she heard the car. She always keeps a large distance from moving cars which I am always thankful for. I headed around back and then the dance began. First, I can't look at her. If I look at her, she will look back with a sort of terrified yet proud look and she won't come any closer than five feet.
If I make any movements, she'll dart away a few feet and then slowly come back in. I assure you, I have never hit or hurt her in any way to make this a reasonable behavior.
So as long as I sit in the grass avoiding ant bites for a good five minutes, she'll come up to me close enough that I could pet her at this point. But no, I need to wait until she's sniffed my legs and then she'll brush up against me and then - only then - can I pet her.
Oh, then she started purring like this was the highlight of her evening and I couldn't help but get a smile on my face as I picked her up and she nestled up against me with her eyes half closed and happy.
And I guess it's normal for cats to drool when they're being pet? And that this does mean they're happy? Because that happens. She keeps it real.
In any case, keep in mind that I have been trying to win the love of this cat for over two years now, and it still takes me that long to get her to let me pet her - even though she clearly enjoys the attention once she gets it.
So to contrast this, Sunday night was the first time that I had gone over to my husband's cousin's grandma's house. As it turns out, she has four dogs. And the moment I stepped into the house with my husband and sister in law, half of those dogs, a Pomeranian and a curly gray mop of a dog breed I don't know, came over, happy to see newcomers.
The third dog, a Labrador Retriever mix who turned out to be 14 years old (according to what I was told), was slightly more sedate, but leaned her head over from her spot by the counter so that I could give her nose a pet. Her tail wagged back and forth slowly but steady and I could have sworn she had a smile.
The fourth dog was also interested in us, but significantly more nervous. Apparently a shih tzu/ yorkshire terrier blend, this tiny pup looked like she might have weighed two pounds, if that. She would come close enough to sniff at our feet when she thought we weren't looking, but would run under the couch if we tried to pet her.
Basically, what I'm saying is I don't know why cats have to act like 2-lb tiny puppies meeting me for the first time. I just don't care for that.
Ok, ok. They're happy to know that they get to go for a walk and have food. But the important part is that they direct this happiness at me.
So take last night. My husband, sister in law, and I went down to their parent's house for dinner. My in-laws have an adorable calico cat, an outdoor car that loves to roam their 10 acres of land. This cat seems to like me alright and I always make it a point to go outside when I visit to give her some pets.
But it's not that easy.
Last night, like most nights, the cat came near the house when she heard the car. She always keeps a large distance from moving cars which I am always thankful for. I headed around back and then the dance began. First, I can't look at her. If I look at her, she will look back with a sort of terrified yet proud look and she won't come any closer than five feet.
If I make any movements, she'll dart away a few feet and then slowly come back in. I assure you, I have never hit or hurt her in any way to make this a reasonable behavior.
So as long as I sit in the grass avoiding ant bites for a good five minutes, she'll come up to me close enough that I could pet her at this point. But no, I need to wait until she's sniffed my legs and then she'll brush up against me and then - only then - can I pet her.
Oh, then she started purring like this was the highlight of her evening and I couldn't help but get a smile on my face as I picked her up and she nestled up against me with her eyes half closed and happy.
And I guess it's normal for cats to drool when they're being pet? And that this does mean they're happy? Because that happens. She keeps it real.
In any case, keep in mind that I have been trying to win the love of this cat for over two years now, and it still takes me that long to get her to let me pet her - even though she clearly enjoys the attention once she gets it.
So to contrast this, Sunday night was the first time that I had gone over to my husband's cousin's grandma's house. As it turns out, she has four dogs. And the moment I stepped into the house with my husband and sister in law, half of those dogs, a Pomeranian and a curly gray mop of a dog breed I don't know, came over, happy to see newcomers.
The third dog, a Labrador Retriever mix who turned out to be 14 years old (according to what I was told), was slightly more sedate, but leaned her head over from her spot by the counter so that I could give her nose a pet. Her tail wagged back and forth slowly but steady and I could have sworn she had a smile.
The fourth dog was also interested in us, but significantly more nervous. Apparently a shih tzu/ yorkshire terrier blend, this tiny pup looked like she might have weighed two pounds, if that. She would come close enough to sniff at our feet when she thought we weren't looking, but would run under the couch if we tried to pet her.
Basically, what I'm saying is I don't know why cats have to act like 2-lb tiny puppies meeting me for the first time. I just don't care for that.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
The epic puppy fights
Just as soon as I typed that title out, I figured I'd better begin by stressing that these are play fights and have nothing to do with football or blood or anything else involved in illegal and cruel dog fighting activities.
Paranoid? Yeah, maybe a little.
My goal for this morning (oh wait, it's the afternoon already? Well, look at me accomplishing my afternoon goal first thing!) is to attempt to describe what it's like to watch my puppies play fight. As you might know, they are (full grown) tiny dogs. Sophie is about 5 lbs and Sherlock, around 10. They get along well and sleep cutely in a pile when it is cold outside. But they also wrestle each other for fun, and watching that is more amusing than eating funfetti cake.
It starts with the tentative paw swipe. Sophie is usually the aggressor, but Sherlock will lead on occasion. Sophie quickly closes the distance between the two, perhaps with a tiny dog growl, and then goes for the throat.
It doesn't take long for her to realize that her tiny little mouth will never fit around Sherlock's neck, so she tries to squirm around him and goes for an ankle. Sherlock counters by moving his leg up and then pawing at Sophie as he attempts to go for the throat.
He doesn't make it either. Sophie employs her favorite defensive maneuver and flops onto her back and starts kicking upwards. This pretty much puts her ankles in Sherlock's vicinity and he takes the opportunity, attempting to latch on to a squirmy Sophie leg.
Like a bug on her back, Sophie squirms to the left and then to the right as though she is trying to flip herself back over. After hours of observation, I have determined that this is a ploy. When she goes to the side and Sherlock ducks down, following her paws, she springs back onto her back in a calculated move. You can almost hear her thinking, "Look. My paw was there. Now it is here. Now it is over here. I will keep moving my paw to avoid losing this fight."
This, despite the fact that she's technically the one pined to the ground. Oh, Sophie.
Some minutes will go by in their back and forth brawl. My favorite part is when they start to get tired. Then, as long as they think no one is looking, they'll both lie next to each other, their mouths around each other's ankles, making the most minimal movements possible. If I crane my head to see it better and they notice me, it's like a shot of espresso.
"Back to level 7 insanity," thinks Sophie and she flips back onto her back and starts squirming anew. Repeat forever.
By the way, I think that's the first time I've made use of my insanity chart here. As a brief overview, the Insanity Chart refers to how much crack it appears that our puppies have ingested. For those without small dogs and especially without terriers, let me assure you that small dogs and ESPECIALLY terriers, are very energetic.
So my husband and I have taken to assigning the various levels of insanity to their energy. Typically the dogs hover around level 5. But at certain times, bouncing off of the walls every time someone looks at them isn't good enough. They must tear across the hallway as though they are being chased by hot lava or perhaps scary carpet monsters. They jump on and off of the couch and the armchair seventeen million times in a row. They shake their tiny puppy toys into a blur of teeth and fur. This is insanity level 10.
The chart pretty much tops out there since to run any faster would require doggie steroids and we are a performance-enhancer free family. But one time, Sophie went to insanity level 11. That, however, is a story for another day.
Paranoid? Yeah, maybe a little.
My goal for this morning (oh wait, it's the afternoon already? Well, look at me accomplishing my afternoon goal first thing!) is to attempt to describe what it's like to watch my puppies play fight. As you might know, they are (full grown) tiny dogs. Sophie is about 5 lbs and Sherlock, around 10. They get along well and sleep cutely in a pile when it is cold outside. But they also wrestle each other for fun, and watching that is more amusing than eating funfetti cake.
It starts with the tentative paw swipe. Sophie is usually the aggressor, but Sherlock will lead on occasion. Sophie quickly closes the distance between the two, perhaps with a tiny dog growl, and then goes for the throat.
It doesn't take long for her to realize that her tiny little mouth will never fit around Sherlock's neck, so she tries to squirm around him and goes for an ankle. Sherlock counters by moving his leg up and then pawing at Sophie as he attempts to go for the throat.
He doesn't make it either. Sophie employs her favorite defensive maneuver and flops onto her back and starts kicking upwards. This pretty much puts her ankles in Sherlock's vicinity and he takes the opportunity, attempting to latch on to a squirmy Sophie leg.
Like a bug on her back, Sophie squirms to the left and then to the right as though she is trying to flip herself back over. After hours of observation, I have determined that this is a ploy. When she goes to the side and Sherlock ducks down, following her paws, she springs back onto her back in a calculated move. You can almost hear her thinking, "Look. My paw was there. Now it is here. Now it is over here. I will keep moving my paw to avoid losing this fight."
This, despite the fact that she's technically the one pined to the ground. Oh, Sophie.
Some minutes will go by in their back and forth brawl. My favorite part is when they start to get tired. Then, as long as they think no one is looking, they'll both lie next to each other, their mouths around each other's ankles, making the most minimal movements possible. If I crane my head to see it better and they notice me, it's like a shot of espresso.
"Back to level 7 insanity," thinks Sophie and she flips back onto her back and starts squirming anew. Repeat forever.
By the way, I think that's the first time I've made use of my insanity chart here. As a brief overview, the Insanity Chart refers to how much crack it appears that our puppies have ingested. For those without small dogs and especially without terriers, let me assure you that small dogs and ESPECIALLY terriers, are very energetic.
So my husband and I have taken to assigning the various levels of insanity to their energy. Typically the dogs hover around level 5. But at certain times, bouncing off of the walls every time someone looks at them isn't good enough. They must tear across the hallway as though they are being chased by hot lava or perhaps scary carpet monsters. They jump on and off of the couch and the armchair seventeen million times in a row. They shake their tiny puppy toys into a blur of teeth and fur. This is insanity level 10.
The chart pretty much tops out there since to run any faster would require doggie steroids and we are a performance-enhancer free family. But one time, Sophie went to insanity level 11. That, however, is a story for another day.
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