Day 1
Cousin-dog Barley comes over for a playdate. She, Redford, and Violet are in the yard. I let Tulip onto the deck. She waaaaaaaags and runs to stick her nose through the slats to greet Barley. Barley wags too, then there’s a moment, a hesitation, which Tulip interprets as Barley challenging her innate worth, and there are teeth and snarling and barking from both sides.
Tulip goes in her crate.
(sigh)
I need help with this.
Day 2
Tulip and I are chilling on the deck in the afternoon when, what ho!, a squirrel!, running up the big oak in the back yard. Tulip catapults herself off the steps and sprints the 20 feet to the tree, then begins circling the trunk, leaping and barking. It isn’t a hunnert-yard-dash, but I’m freaking out. I call her back, take her inside, and shut her up with me in the spare bedroom. She’s panting. I lie down on the couch, pull her onto my chest, pet her, shush her. She won’t stop panting. Is this what a pulmonary thromboembolism looks like? Do I get her to the emergency vet? Is there anything they can do for her if I do?
For twenty minutes, I try to stop her from panting, when finally I realize it’s 90 degrees outside, my air is off, and I’ve got this pit bull pressed up against my warm body. Maybe she’s just hot.
I set her to my side and pet her head gently. Within three minutes, she stops panting.
Christ on a cross. I can’t feel my legs.
Day 3
We do the neighborhood loop real slow, as I have legdo from Monday’s and Tuesday’s workouts. Takes us almost an hour. As usual, Tulip doesn’t go #1 OR #2.
Nelly comes over to meet Tulip. She’s just put down a deposit on a place that allows dogs, and she’s been wanting a dog since she was six. Tulip shnurffles and kisses Nelly and luxuriates on her lap. Nelly says she loves her and she’ll let me know if the apartment deal goes through.
Later, while I’m on the phone with my sister, Tulip squats on the doormat and pees?!
I take her out to the yard, where she pees some more and poops. I guess she really had to go, and I wasn’t reading the signs. I think back; she might have been pacing while I was on the phone. I suppose I need to pay closer attention. I wish she’d just go on our walks.
I learned from my dog whisperer training guy that fence greetings are a formula for snarly barky nastiness. Doggies like to greet face to butt, not face-to-face, so when there’s a fence or other barricade, it forces them to meet head on, which can be problematic as illustrated above, on Day 1. Junior has done that to his bestest friend before. And to his brother.