Ruby Meets Moose

Ruby and I took a trip to Petco this afternoon. I needed a harness for her, since she's turned stubborn lately and I don't like yanking on her neck, some treats, and some new food for Sophie. Sophie, who, if we aren't careful, is going to earn a spot on The Biggest Loser - Pet Edition, if they have one. I don't want Jillian screaming at her, so we got fatdog food (they call it 'Weight Management' but come ON, if her weight was properly managed, she wouldn't NEED fatdog food), and also fatdog treats. I think since Ruby has come home, Sophie has been getting a few more treats, a little more food, etc. Capitalizing on her unhealthy relationship with food. And it shows. When she sits, she looks like Jaba The Hut. But prettier.

Anyway, while we were at Petco, Ruby met a new friend. His name is, appropriately, Moose, and he's an English Mastiff. Currently about 150 pounds, but bulking up. He was a rescue dog to the family that brought him in and they have only had him a few weeks. Big sweetheart, but HHHHHUUUUUUGGGGGGEEEEEEE. I had to take some pictures so I remember when she was that small.

That is all. Carry on with your Saturday night.

From a B to a D in 12 hours

Ruby's feelings are beyond hurt this morning. I yelled at her, which is rare, but I was really steamed. She pooped on the rug in the hall and then peed on her bed, all a good 45 minutes after she was outside and did BOTH.

So two things I've determined.

1. When it is cold, and early in the morning, I have to be more stubborn than her about making sure she drains the tank and empties the load entirely. Fortunately, I'm the middle child and was raised right. So stubborn comes easy.


2. I realized that we don't have a word for going outside. Most times, I take her out, or carry her, or drag her. But I've not used a word to associate with that. In hindsight, I think she was trying to tell me she needed to go, but I didn't see the signs like I usually do. I was distracted with cooking.

Effective immediately, Ruby is learning a new word. OUT. She gets a treat to GO out, since dragging seems cruel and carrying is not going to last much longer. And I repeat the word a thousand times while we're there. She learns quickly, so I'm hoping I can associate OUT with getting to the door and doing the business outside and we can move on from this potty business.

It's all about communication.

And yes, she's still adorable. My expectations are realistic, even if from time-to-time I show exasperation on an unhealthy level.

It has been an active week around here. Ruby has learned what a typical 'kid week' is like. Which means there are kids to play with all the time, days are long, Mom comes and goes a LOT, and Ruby gets to ride in the car!

One thing that became abundantly clear this week was that this puppy has ZERO tolerance for extreme cold. It was miserable here this week, teens during the day, around zero at night, with wind chills in the negatives even at the warmest part of the day. I took her out one night to potty, Tuesday I think, and within 5 minutes, she was absolutely chilled. If a dog could cry real tears, she would have. Huddled against my legs whimpering in the wind and cold.

I picked her up to carry her home, put her inside my coat and instantly felt cold eminating from her. And seriously, we were out long enough to walk about 8 houses away. I got her home and sat with her still inside my coat for about 15 minutes. She was almost lethargic, like she was slipping into some sort of hypothermic coma, if there is such a thing. It was really scary. So, no more walks until it warms up, and the next night, I made her a coat. It has a polar fleece lining, a sturdy cotton outer shell, and seems to keep her very warm. At least warm enough to do her business and get back in the house. Plus, she doesn't hate it at all, and I think she looks fabulous. You can't see the polar fleece in the picture, but it says Bow Wow and has bones and paw prints on it. It was on a remnant rack for $4. The entire coat cost me less than $13. So when she out grows it, I'm out very little.

Her sleeping through the night was, unfortunately, due only to the extra activity with cousin Murphy. As soon as Murphy left, my interrupted sleep continued. For the most part, she only gets up once at night. What time 'night' starts depends how long I can stay awake. If I make it to 11, she's up once. The night I went to bed at 9, she was up at 12:30 and again at 3. But the good news is, she seems to really be telling me she has to pee. Her kennel is dry, she's serious about waking me up from her kennel, she pees the instant she gets outside, and then she settles right back in to sleep with nothing more than a few grunts and snorts as she gets comfy. During the day Monday and Tuesday both, she made a mess of her kennel. Not sure what's up there. Kevin lets her out around 6:30 before he leaves, and I've been taking 'lunch' early and am home most days by 11. Seems 4 1/2 hours isn't too much to ask, but I don't have a tiny bladder, so I'm not a good judge. Its all manageable and improving in little ways all the time, so that's good. The potty report this week is a solid B. From me. Nobody else seems to be able to read her and know when she needs to go out, so everybody else in the house has cleaned up pee this week. But not me. :)

OK enough.

Ruby's current weight is anywhere between 15.2 and 16 pounds. Our scales are never the same twice (for example, MY weight is usually off by about 20 pounds). We've noticed she's getting taller, and her feet seem to be getting bigger every day. She has a terrible time with hiccups every time she eats, which may have something to do with the fact that she lays down when she eats. So I raised her dishes up to the lowest level tonight. I did notice that she ate without hiccups, so maybe that's the trick. One more notch up and Sophie won't be able to get to her water. Someday, I think I'll be able to put Sophie's food and water UNDER Ruby's.

Sophie is more tolerant of play. And very tolerant of Ruby's compulsion of biting and hanging off Sophie's neck fat. When they 'play' together, all I can think of is this:



Zamboni continues to get closer and closer, but manages to stay a safe distance from Ruby. Usually on the back of the couch. But twice this week, I caught him stalking the puppy, running away, but not too far. And a few times, Ruby has pinned him against a wall resulting in a whole lot of hissing and projectile shedding. But he knows how to get away. If he wants to.

I've started trying to teach Ruby some manners. And she's responding so far. We've mastered SIT and are working on WAIT, DOWN, and SHAKE (just because it's adorable). She's learned not to jump up, but still LOVES to be in my lap. Especially when she goes for a ride. That's not going to last long and she's going to have a hard time understanding. But I enjoy it, so I'm letting it go for now.

I still can't believe how big she's going to get. I don't think she's going to be able to do THIS forever.

Meeting Murphy

Ruby's 'cousin' Murphy (with Pam and Halle - pictured) came to visit Friday afternoon. Murphy is 87 pounds of lab/retreiver energy sprinkled with a little slobber, and a 'you can't make me' attitude. Not knowing how she would react, I kept her off the floor for a little bit while Murphy and Sophie got reacquainted. Eventually, she had to get in the mix. She got stepped on a few times, but nothing stopped her from mixing it up, or at least standing on the sidelines barking furiously at the display of Sophie's brute strength vs Murphy's size and boundless energy.

What was really cute was the way Murphy's play changed from Ultimate Fighting Champion style with Sophie to this delicate slap and tickle with Ruby. Every so often we had to put Sophie away so she didn't have a stroke from all the physical activity. Ruby and Murphy then had some alone time and Murphy brought the play down to the little one's level. It was very cute. Shy, Ruby was not, but she also seemed to know that when the other two were playing, she needed to stay on the outside and just bark. All-in-all, all three dogs were very well-behaved.

Ruby, I've decided, is one of the smartest dogs I've ever known. All she needs is consistency. I started making her sit at the end of the driveway, without treats or any reward other than an exuberant 'good puppy!' when she did well. It only took her a couple of times to understand what sit means, and now she'll do it no matter what. It is so important to me that I have control over her because her size will have the potential to give her an advantage. I'm going to start spending some training time with her every week, not that we seem to have a lot of the initial items worked through.

The nighttime routine is perfect right now, but I think part of it is her being worn out from all the play with Murphy here. But I hope it sticks anyway. Last night she was in her kennel sleeping soundly from 11:30 until 6:40 this morning. The night before it was just about an hour earlier than that. Both times with no accidents. So nice to be able to sleep all night again. Ruby is still not a fan of the cold weather, but we've had some weather luck lately. With temps in the mid 40's nearly every drop of durty old snow is gone. So Ruby has gotten to explore the back yard a little more. It's so wet and sloppy that we don't spend a lot of time out there, but it was nice to see that she doesn't so much hate 'outside' as she hates 'freezing cold outside.' And rain. This morning it was raining and she was being a total wimp about it, got stubborn and then came in and left me a lovely present on the living room floor.

Last night after Murphy & Co. left, Ruby and I went for a walk where we met Walter, a 2-year-old Shih-Tzu/Yorkie mix (I like to think he's called a Yorki-Shitz). Walter was almost exactly Ruby's size and desperately wanted to play. But she was huddled behind my legs like a scared little puppy. Funny that 87 pounds of Murphy didn't look like a challenge at all, but 12 pounds of Yorkie-Shitz and Ruby's is reduced to puppy tears.

I realized this morning that measuring her weight doesn't give the perspective as much as her height. Great Dane's are measured to the shoulder (all dogs probably are, I dunno) so I taped a piece of paper on the dining room doorway and made a mark this morning. At 15 pounds, Ruby is 12" high at the shoulder. I wish I had thought to measure her height when I brought her home almost two weeks ago because she is visible bigger, but her weight isn't out of control. I know most of it is in her height. Starting to see some serious muscle definition in her shoulders and legs. She is definitely going to be a strong girl.

Oh well, more later...the beast is ready for a walk around the block. Temperatures are supposed to dip again this week, so we better get the walk in while we can. Come on spring!!

NO-NO RUBY/RUBY NO-NO!!!!

• My feet.


• Kevin's shoes.


• Coffee table.


• MY FEET!!!


• Blind cord.


• Chair leg.


• Socks from the laundry.
  
• Pajama pants from the laundry.


• My toes while folding laundry.


• Computer cord.


• Lamp cord.


• Couch (the whole thing).


• Sophie's bed.


• Railing.


• Jamie's hair.


• Towel from the laundry.


• Living room carpet.


• My shoes.


• Laptop (the whole thing.)


• Wii remote.


• Bathroom door.


• Licking the toilet.


• My coat, as it was pulled to the floor.


• Kevin's slippers.


• My slippers (feet included.)


• My hair.


• Zippers.


• Sophie's leg.


• The bottom of our bed.

And it's only been a week. ;)

Ruby did well yesterday and last night. Kevin moved her kennel downstairs next to Sophie and she was much more content. After bedtime, she awoke at 12:30 and not again until 5am. If I hadn't needed to empty MY bladder at 5, I know she would have slept later.

She spent most of the evening in trouble for something. Mostly for biting and trying to eat the legs off any piece of furniture. I've no idea why they're so appealing, but she is truly obsessed.

I find it humorous that Ruby and I share similar views on daily exercise. It sounds like a great idea, and I want to like it, but getting started is the hardest part. Once I get going, though, I feel pretty ok. Ruby is a pull-start puppy. I drag her out the door. Noting each day that I won't be able to do that forever. I stop, she whines at me, I drag her a little further, and then I stop again. After a few seconds of standoff, she concedes and trots along after me. By the time we get halfway around the block, she's 5 feet ahead of me, wearing her puppy smile and feeling good.

I love it when we turn toward home. She get's further and further ahead of me, turning to look as if to say 'well come ON, it's right up here!!!' She's just like the pony we had when I was a kid. Lucky hated exercise too. But you would turn him toward home and you better hang on. Ruby's gotten to recognize her driveway and I make her stop and sit, then I take off the lead and let her run for the door. I hope that will help if she ever gets out and needs to find her way back home.

Ruby's cousin Murphy is coming to visit tomorrow from Wisconsin. She promised to be good...but I think she just may be telling me what I want to hear.

GOD BLESS US EVERYONE...Ruby slept all night in the kennel in the bedroom. One potty break and right back to sleep at 2:30. No whining. No yelping. Sweet, restful sleep.

Growing Strong

13.6 pounds today. 5 pounds in 6 days, and I had to let her collar out a notch. We’re trying to get pictures of all the places Ruby fits now and won’t later. Her curiosity is more like that of a cat than a dog. I open a door and she has to check out the space/closet/cabinet. She sticks her head in drawers when they’re open. She got lost in our closet this morning. She’s just naturally curious I suppose. I think that translates to really smart too.


The workday routine is working out OK for Ruby. Not sure how great it is for me, but I’ll survive. I get up at 4:30am and take her for a walk. With the ‘freezing fog’ (really???) the last two days, it’s been more like a 1-block shuffle than a 1-block walk. At any rate, Ruby is getting better at walking on my right, does her business on the walk, and knows immediately when we’ve turned the corner toward home. She continues to cross in front of me and instead of pulling her back, which just confuses her, I’ve started bumping into her, gently, of course. She yelps like I’ve stomped on her every time. So I feel that someday soon that little brain of hers will make the connection that she never gets bumped when she walks NEXT to me.

We both went home at lunch to let her out Monday, and she was very glad to see us. Had peed in her kennel but only on the pillow I had left for her. So she’s out of luck there. No more bedding until there’s an A+ on The Potty Report. She hadn’t finished her food when we had to get back to work, so I set her food and water contraption in her kennel with her. When Kevin let her out after work, he texted me that he thought she had peed in her kennel, but it might just be water. He had to leave and I would be home shortly anyway.

Oh, it was water. I believe in her boredom in the afternoon, Ruby learned to swim. The bowl was almost completely dry and what was left was filthy. I’ve watched enough CSI to know exactly how it happened. The spatter pattern indicated that the water was removed from the bowl using a digging motion, at high velocity. The splashing sent water up the wall, and out all sides of the kennel. This would also explain how her belly was soaking wet. Bath time again.

I had to laugh as I was cleaning it up. She must have had a great time.

Our evenings have been pretty relaxed this week without kids to run back and forth to activities. We’ve been watching a movie in the theater room which is the only place dogs are allowed on the couch. So we sit Sophie (who gets a full third of the couch), Kevin, me, and then wiggly Ruby. Wiggly Ruby quickly gives way to Slug Ruby. I’m enjoying her being a lapdog for as long as it lasts.

I’m exhausted. A couple of days of sleeping through the night were nice, but we’re back to early-morning yipping and whining. Part of it is good, because Ruby seems to be telling me she has to use the facilities. The kennel was dry when the yipping started at 2:30 am, she emptied her bladder immediately when I got her outside, but then was ready for playtime. I put her right back in her kennel and went back to bed, listening to her whine for almost a full hour before she finally gave up.

I know that part of her issue is being alone, so I experimented Monday night with letting her sleep in the bedroom, confined to the travel kennel we use for Sophie. I set it up and put a piece of rigid plastic under it in case she wet the bed. This is one of those nylon collapsible kennels with mesh sides so she can see out. We were playing in the bedroom for a few minutes and I just kept throwing her toys in it so she would get used to it. She didn’t seem to mind it…in theory.

When it was time to settle in for the night and I zipped her into it, she went bananas. Scratching and clawing and whining, even though I was sitting right next to her, clearly visible. I wasn’t calming her, so thought ‘I’ll try getting in bed and she’ll see she can still see me and she’ll be fine.’ Ruby wasn’t buying that either. She threw herself against the side of the kennel, toppling it over on its side, and realized immediately she could travel that way. Three giant pounces and she had crashed into bed, rolling the kennel like a stock car out of control. I’m sure I wasn’t helping by sitting on the bed laughing hysterically. But it was comical, like a fun park ride for dogs.

Experiment failed, she slept downstairs in her big kennel again.

What I deduced from that experiment is that it isn’t JUST being around me, it is also the containment factor. She doesn’t like to be locked up. Not even if I put the baby gate across the dining room doorway and give her the whole room. But I can’t leave her out, even though she loves her big fluffy bed. She’s still having too many inappropriate bathroom events. The hard plastic floor of the kennel is really uninviting, but if I put bedding or pillows in her kennel with her, she pees on them. Somehow have to find a different balance for bedtime. Or maybe it’s just puppiness and she’ll adapt to the routine.

Soon. Because if I don’t get some sleep, someone is going to find me curled up under my desk at work. That will be bad.

A Day of Firsts

Yesterday was a big day for Ruby!

First, and most importantly for me and for Kevin (kids are gone this week), Ruby slept through the night Friday night! I put her to bed at 10:40pm and woke up at 6:22am realizing I had not heard her all night. I did that worried parent paranoia thing and irrationally thought through all the ways she could have died in the night. Like her collar got caught in the crate, or her heart gave out from some unknown defect. I'm a bit of a freak like that, known for crawling into my kids rooms when they were babies and feeling for their breath under their noses. Just to be sure.

As I headed downstairs, she heard me and instantly whimpered. I assumed that having gone that long without a potty break, I probably had a messy kennel to clean up. And I did a little (just pee). But I'll trade breaking out the Clorox Cleanup and paper towels over a quality night's sleep anyday.

Another part of Ruby's big day Saturday was having her first bath. I put the kitchen sink to good use and give it two weeks before I can no longer lift Ruby into it, or she is just too darn big. But it worked great yesterday. She didn't hate it, certainly wouldn't have hesitated to bail if I hadn't been holding her in, but she was pretty good about it. Unlike some other dogs in this house who shall remain nameless. Ahem.

After drying off and taking a nap for a couple of hours, I took Ruby for a walk up the street to meet Tiger Lily, or Lily, as she's known to her family. I met Lily shortly after we moved here last fall as she was walking down the street with her owners. Lily is a 3-year-old Great Dane. Her house had been our destination a couple of times on Friday, but we never found anyone home. The whole family was home Saturday morning and were thrilled to see Ruby.

When I 'met' Lily last fall, I was in my car and she was on the sidewalk. I stopped and chatted (top was down) for a few minutes. Apparently being in the car and a few feet away altered my perspective of Lily's girth. I had pictured her in my head as slender and almost dainty for a Dane. Um, yeah, I had that a little mixed up, like a reverse fish story. While only 120 pounds, small even for a female, Lily is extraordinarily TALL. In comparison to Ruby's Dad, who was 160, she was probably a good 6 inches taller. Her head almost came to my armpit. She has a body more like a greyhound, but the big square head of a Dane.

Lily's parents, Debi and Jim, were so excited to meet Ruby, gave me lots of good advice and things to watch out for (a scary growth disorder called HOD that Lily had and I need to research), and invited us back anytime. Ruby didn't quite know what to think of Lily. I never put her down because one step of of those giant feet and Ruby would have been gonners. Plus we were on Lily's turf and she was clearly a Mamma's girl, expressing her jealousy when Debi gushed over Ruby by jumping up and firmly planting her feet right in the middle of Debi's chest, nearly knocking her off her feet.

Note to self: teach Ruby not to jump up NOW.

It is almost impossible to believe that in a year, my little baby could be that big, or bigger. As a point of reference, Ruby is about the size of Lily's head right now. Um, WOW.

One of the things that Debi and Jim told me was to watch out for overexposure in the cold. Ruby shakes like crazy when she goes outside, but I thought it was partly for effect. They had just recently purchased a horse blanket, used for colts (I'm not even kidding) to put on Lily for winter walks. I should have known this little tidbit, but I guess I get an epic fail on that one. Now I feel really bad about our walk/carry from Thursday night. She must have been miserable.

Ruby and I went to Petco and Premium Pet Supply (PPS) to find appropriate outerwear for walks, but came up dry. All the dog clothing is for little foofy dogs, not for Ruby. At PPS, they told me another 7-week-old Dane puppy had been in earlier. Turns out it was Ruby's sister Stella. I wish we had been there at the same time. Would have been interesting to see the response from both puppies. Ruby started being a shit by pulling doggie clothing off the wall and running off with it in the store. Maybe she was getting tired and a little testy. Whatever the reason, it worked and I brought her home for another nap.

We went out with some friends last night and were gone for about 6 hours. Fully expecting a messy kennel, I was surprised that not only was the kennel dry, but when I opened the patio door to rush her excited little body outside, she blasted off the deck and squatted. Standard procedure is that I drag her off and force her into the yard. She had clearly been holding a full bladder and knew exactly where to get rid of it. What a good, good puppy. We had about an hour of playtime and then she slept from 1 until waking up at 5:30, again with a dry kennel. Knocking on wood here, but I think we've turned a corner.

Oh, and as predicted, her weight yesterday was 12.2 pounds, up from the 11 on Friday.

Things I Love About Ruby:

• Her puppy breath.


• That she is already completely devoted to me.


• Her ferocious tug-o-war growl with the stuffed snake.


• How she folds up like a lawn chair when its time to sleep, usually on top of my feet.


• All her ADHD tendencies. "Look, a ball! Ooh, wait, a stuffed snake!! Slipper!! I'm tired...no I'm not, rawhide! KITTY!!!"


• The way she looks at me adoringly. I am the greatest human in the world to her right now. That's pretty awesome.


• Her sassy bark when she gets scolded that sounds just like Chewbacca.


• The way I have to pull-start her to take a walk.

More later. Ruby sleeps...breakfast is calling.

...rolling right along.

Last night was better than the first night. Ruby only awoke twice and went back to sleep fairly easily. I've slowly chipped away at her available roaming space. She's limited to mostly hard-surface floors. And she's OK with it.

She had her first visit to see Dr. Burk at Krueger Animal Hospital this morning and was pronounced fit and healthy (and adorable). She has gained a pound in a half in basically a day and a half and could gain roughly a pound a day for next several months as she grows. So at her follow up in 3 weeks, Ruby could be around 30 pounds already.

When I asked Ruby this morning if she wanted to go for a walk, Sophie heard me and seemed interested. Mind you, Sophie has not had a walk in probably 3 years. So I took both dogs, two flexies, one block. Our warm day Thursday gave way to below freezing temps last night, making for a treacherous walk, but we made it around the block.

SIDEBAR - People who don't bother to shovel the sidewalk in front of their house are almost as hated as those who leave their blinking Christmas lights on past early January. At least by me.

Anyway, the walk was brisk and as I was giving both dogs a post-walk treat, I was reminded why Sophie hasn't had a walk in 3 years. Her stomach can't handle it. She lost her entire breakfast on the kitchen floor.

Oh goodie, poop, pee, and now PUKE! The tri-fecta of dog cleanup! All for me??

The rest of the day went well. She's finding her way around, getting to know the routine. I think its adorable that if I stand in one spot more than a minute, she will curl up on my feet all ready for a nap.

Ruby was less than accepting of the baby gate I brought home to block the entrance to Zamboni's room/food/litter. As a matter of fact, she got downright sassy with me when I put it up the block her in the dining room while I mopped the kitchen floor. We had a talk about her language, but it just made her more salty. I turned my back on her and she eventually went to her bed and stopping with the backtalk.

She's settling in very well, loves her big fluffly bed and spent a lot of time there today just resting and gnawing on a toy. Hoping for a good night's sleep tonight. I need it.

----------------------------------------------------------

If Ruby could talk:

"This plastic container that I've been chewing and pushing around the dining room all day is the most awesome toy ever! Oh yeah, and the $50 worth of dog toys are nice too."

"I don't know or care why the cat runs from me, but it makes for the best game ever!"

"This (#&%*$ baby gate is #()@(#*$ ruining all my *#($)@& fun."

"The Dyson...terrifying. I've name it CUJO."

"Thanks for the pillow in my crate. It makes things much cozier. But I'm still going to whine about other stuff that pisses me off. For 20 minutes at bed time."

"Bulldog puke stinks."

"Hiccups still suck"

"When Mommy yells 'NO,' it's always about me."

"This big fluffly bed that's all mine...best thing in the house. Paws down."

It's All About Timing

Today, I learned a thing or two about timing.

When training a puppy to walk on a leash, simply putting one foot in front of the other isn't good enough. Not when there are four other feet tangled up with yours.

Timing.

When training a puppy to walk on a leash in winter, piles of snow on the sides of the sidewalks is a benefit, creating a path with little room for the small one to wander. For once, I wish it wouldn't melt so fast.

Timing.

When a puppy wakes up, she pees. Immediately. 'nuff said.

Timing.

When you see the puppy zeroed in on the bulldog's back end, head down, running like a mountain goat and you can't catch her in time...puppy pays dearly.

Timing.

While a brisk evening walk sounds like a great idea that will wear the puppy into a longer stretch of sleep, make sure you don't do it at 7:30pm. A nice 1-hour nap, and she's WIDE awake by 9. And ready to play.

Timing.

When your brisk walk with puppy turns into a brisk walk CARRYING puppy, you'll wish you had turned around at 10 minutes instead of 15.

Timing.

When you look down where she was 30 seconds ago and she's gone, and the next thing you smell is dog poop, well...yeah.

Timing.

Another thing Ruby learned today.

DON'T TAKE THE BULLDOG'S CHEWIE.

Sophie 1
Ruby 0

The Puppy Has Landed

She's here. After all the waiting, planning, and nesting, I have at my feet a whimpering, snuggly, 9.2 pound Great Dane puppy named Ruby. Who at this particular moment is sassing me because I won't let her up on the couch. Couch, which was her bed all night, snuggled up next to me, so the rest of the house could sleep. I have most of today off work, so as soon as they all clear out for work and school, Ruby can go in her kennel and whine all she wants. I have earplugs. I can sleep through it.


Here are some things Ruby learned last night:

• There's a lot of people in this house and they all seem to love me.
• I like everyone here.
• This house is really big for such a small dog.
• I DIG having a whole bowl of food all to myself! Mommy says I'll fatten up soon.
• Stairs are easy going up, but rough going down.
• The bulldog is super, but she scares me just a little, and she slobbers A LOT. And she's HUGE!
• Cat? What cat? I couldn't care less.
• Mommy's lap is my favorite place.
• Don't bite feet.
• When the bulldog plays with the Dad, and growls like that, it scares me.
• The back door is confusing.
• The bulldog hits like a linebacker.
• Don't chew on the furniture.
• At 9:40pm I really hate my kennel, even with the radio on and a blanket over. Mommy says I'll get used to it.
• 10:39pm is not morning.
• The couch is way more comfy than that kennel, especially curled up next to Mom. Mom says DON'T GET USED TO IT.
• Don't nibble Mommy's chin.
• 12:24am is not morning. Nor is it playtime.
• Don't chew on Mommy's hair, fingers, sweatshirt zipper, or nose.
• Hiccups SUCK.
• 2:13am is not playtime either. Nor is it morning.
• DON'T CHEW ON MOMMY'S HAIR!!
• 4:33am...ok, we can make that morning. And then, as it turns out, playtime.
• Up and over the arm of the couch is not the best way down.
• I get treats when I poop outside!

OK so maybe she hasn't LEARNED them all, but we got a good start on the rules.

For the most part, even with snow on the ground, the pooping and peeing is proceeding as normal. One poopy accident in the kennel last night, and one puddle on the floor this morning. I apparently couldn't get my slippers on fast enough to take her outside. But everytime I've taken her out, she's produced something. So it's all about my timing.

After typing for 45 minutes, she's given up on gaining access to the couch and has fallen asleep at my feet. Maybe I can snooze for a half hour (ish) until the rest of my family is awake.

I really love this puppy. :)

Nesting

My youngest child is 13, my oldest is 15 1/2. I haven't had a nesting instinct for a long time. But preparing for Ruby to come home is absolutely nesting.

Part of the reason for the nesting is to make the transition a little less of a shock to Sophie and to the World's Most Neurotic Cat, Zamboni. Zam has a history of freaking out over the smallest things. He worked himself into such a frenzy this summer as we were preparing to move that he stopped using the litter box (because that would mean leaving his happy place behind the washing machine), got a horrible bladder infection, and cost us $577 for surgery to unblock his urinary tract. He's supposed to be working off the bill with Acts of Cat Cuteness, but he's way behind in his payments. He spent the summer on Prozac due to the big move, but has been drug-free for several months. Bringing home Ruby may require a new Rx, but I'm hoping we can manage it a little more organically.

Sophie is pretty easy-going. She has nosed around the puppy items I've brought home and, while curious, she minds me when I tell her no. We've had lots of long talks about the puppy not being a replacement and I'm sure she understands.

So on Tuesday of this week, I brought home Ruby's dog bowls (the kind that get taller as she grows), and a giant kennel (also with a divider so it can grow with her). After setting up both, Zamboni had a mental moment, walking around the house yowling. We know it is because there is change coming. And he doesn't deal well.

On Wednesday I spent some time at Petco and came home with a bag of smallish toys (I don't know what kinds of things Ruby will enjoy chewing on, so I got a healthy selection), a collar and tag, and a new flexi for walks. Again, Sophie was curious, NeurotiCat came slinking to the new basket of toys. But seemed to get comfortable with it pretty quickly. So hopefully my step-by-step approach is working.

I've Googled everything I can Google about Great Danes. I've talked to the vet about what to feed her because what I read from the experts says that puppy food, of any kind is too rich and makes them grow too fast. For a dog as large as a Dane, fast growth can mean brittle bones, injuries, and a shorter life. 6 -8 years is already not long enough, so I'm not taking any chances. I read the ingredients of every premium large-breed adult dog food at Petco until deciding on regular Iams. It isn't cheap, but I could definitely spend more. But it has the right balance for Ruby to grow at a moderate, and hopefully healthy, pace.

I still have a list of nesting items to complete. Among them, sewing up a couple of dog beds (a great tip from the breeder), and deciding where Ruby will sleep the first few nights.

So now I wait. Six more days. I hope it goes fast.

Ruby Picked Me

I don't know why the name Ruby stuck with me. It came to me when we were discussing the baby bully and it just stuck. My car is named Pearl. Putting Ruby in Pearl (with the top down and her giant head sticking out the top) makes me chuckle. So unless she was just NOT a Ruby, I had the name before I had the dog.

Monday, December 28, 2009. We made the trek to a small town south of here to select my puppy from a litter of eight. I didn't want to take the kids and be faced with 'oooh, look how cute THIS one is, and THIS one, and THIS ONE!' I also wanted to be able to walk away if the home wasn't clean, or the Mom or Dad of the litter had bad temperaments. So the husband and I went alone.

Any thoughts about issues with the home or dogs were quickly washed away. The male and female met us at the door with big, friendly, curious faces. They didn't bark, they didn't jump up. The family had two small boys that were clearly comfortable with these two enormous dogs in the mix. I was instantly pleased and couldn't wait to see the puppies.

How in the world do you pick? They were all adorable. I wanted a female, which instantly eliminated a few. And I knew I didn't want an all black one because they look too much like a black lab, only larger. So I pulled out 4 of the five fawn puppies and sat on the floor with them. One was instantly timid, backing away from me when I reached for her. I apologized to her as I handed her back, but know that timid dogs sometimes turn into aggressive dogs. An aggressive 120+ lb dog is not what I had in mind.

Another of the four puppies was adorable, spunky, a total pain in the ass. Biting, nipping, grabbing, untying shoes. The kind of precocious puppy that's only adorable if it is someone else's puppy. Again, I apologized, but turned her over to the owner and assured the little furball that SOMEONE would appreciate her personality.

While dealing with that puppy, I hadn't even noticed that one of the other two had crawled into my lap and curled up quite comfortably. I looked her over, got to know her for about 30 minutes, and declared that I had found my dog.

She picked me.

The next two weeks waiting for Ruby to come home would seem to drag on forever.

My Next Dog

After Abby, even though I love the breed, I knew I could never have another black lab. There was only one for me. I never ruled out getting another dog, and did have a couple that I 'lost' in the divorce a couple of years after Abby died. But I never bonded with either of them, and didn't have a problem leaving them behind. They are well taken care of and my kids see them every other week when they go back to Dad's house.

When my second husband (read: LAST husband) and I got together, he came with a dog. Sophie is an English Bulldog, and like Abby did with black labs, has probably ruined other English Bulldogs for me. She is a great dog, very sweet, caused little trouble even as a puppy, and is about as low-maintenance as dogs get. But she is not my dog. She belongs to my husband, totally and completely. When he is gone, she lays near the door and sighs big, sad sighs. She hears his truck and perks up. I think when I'm gone and she hears my car the reaction is 'eh, her again.' She minds me, and I love her, but she's not my dog.

When my family moved across town this summer to a house with a big back yard on a quiet street in an even quieter subdivision, the subject of another dog started to surface. My husband, ex-firefighter, former Marine, without question wants another bully. They are the symbol of everything he admires. Tenacious, intimidating, and loyal. I mentioned that perhaps it was MY turn to get a dog. We discussed it a few times, I talked to the vet about my chosen breeds (Irish Setter or Great Dane) when I had Sophie in for shots once, and then I sort of let it go.

When a baby bully appeared in the classifieds a few weeks before Christmas, 2009, I was really OK with bringing her home and adding her to the mix. I wasn't even going to say I was OK with it, but then be silently bitchy about it. It just seemed to be the right dog at the right time. I even nudged the husband in that direction a couple of times and didn't understand what was holding him back. I told him he didn't need my permission and that it was absolutely his call.

As it turns out, what was holding him back was the usual. It was me and I didn't even know it. He knows me inside and out and wants to make me happy. He knew I wanted a dog of my own, knew I would never demand it, or stamp my foot and insist. If I was going to get a dog, HE had to be the one to get it for me.

On Christmas morning as the kids (four teenagers) were opening stockings, I couldn't help but notice that my stocking hung empty. I let out a tiny sigh that he forgot to stuff my stocking, but was having so much fun with the giving to everyone else, I really didn't care. When all the gifts were open, my love pulled me aside and whispered that I wasn't done yet and said 'your stocking isn't empty.'

In it was an ad, printed from the classifieds, and a picture of a Great Dane puppy. I think I said 'you got one?' to which he answered 'I'm going to tell you the same thing you told me...it is absolutely your call.' Always the decisive one, I didn't even hesitate.

'I WANT ONE.'

Semi-Interesting Background Story

In my 42 years, I have had one dog that was really and truly my own dog. The kind of dog that looks at you like you are the end-all, be-all of her existence. She waits for you by the back door at the end of your day, puts her head in your lap when you are sad, and she trembles in your presence when she has done something bad.

Abby was my dog. My first husband and I got her as a puppy. She was a black lab and out of the litter of 10 puppies, she was the one the wouldn't stop following me. If I sat, she was on my lap, if I got up and walked, she followed me. She picked me.

As a puppy, Abby was a curious mixture of frustrating pain in the ass and big-hearted lover. She chewed every garden hose we ever left near her. She made a game out of it, poking holes in the hose with her sharp puppy teeth until it squirted her in the face. Then she bounced around barking at it. She ate a fiberglass water heater blanket that I only discovered after picking up fuzzy pink poop in the back yard. She ate rat poison once (vitamin K is the fix). She also ate steel wool, crayons, a balloon, and countless Legos after my son was born.

She threw her back out once playing frisbee when she was about a year old. I was convinced there was something tragically wrong with her, as she sat in my lap trembling and whining. A call to the vet in the wee hours of a Sunday night taught me I was making it worse by fussing over her. When I got off the phone, I told Abby she was OK. Just that 'you're ok' and she believed me, putting all her trust in the vibe I was giving off. She perked up and made it through the night with aspirin until I could get her to the vet the next morning. I had to give her muscle relaxers while her back corrected itself, turning her into Gumby Dog for a week.

I had cat that snuck out and got knocked up before I could get her to the vet to be fixed (she was very young). When the kittens started getting interesting, Abby couldn't stay away. After work, my husband and I would pop a bag of popcorn, take our sodas and plop down in the 'kitten room' for entertainment. The kittens were only part of the fun. Abby was adorable. She would sit completely still while these little helpless kittens used her as a jungle gym, their sharp claws digging into her back, her ears, and even her nose. Nothing ever phased her.

When my kids were born, Abby rolled with the changes. She never expressed jealousy, just curiosity. She soon became their best friend, as well as my own. When we moved to the country, she adapted immediately, making a lap around our 1-acre property, along the creek, and back up to the house every morning and evening. We lived on a busy highway, which claimed the lives of many a cat and random stray dogs, but Abby never got near it.

At 11 years old, Abby was diagnosed with a particularly vile type of melanoma. First we had a toe amputated, then it was to be a foot, then a leg, and then she would succumb. I couldn't watch her suffer, nor could I chip away at her until she died. I decided to let her go, give her all the love I could, and have faith that I would know when the time was right. And I did. One beautiful spring day, playing in the yard with my two kids, I couldn't stop watching Abby. She was miserable. The lumps on her body had gotten worse and it seemed that no matter where she sat or rested, she couldn't settle. Up, down, up down, up, down all morning. Having been raised on a farm, I knew what that meant. She was in pain.

It was May 6, 2000. I called the vet and told him it was time to put her down. He was in the office that afternoon, but then gone until May 9. May 9 is my birthday. Maybe it was selfish of me, but I couldn't spend the rest of my birthdays knowing that was Abby's last day. I said my last goodbye, and comforted my kids as best I could. And Abby was gone.

Weeks later we took Abby's ashes to the creek and scattered them to the wind. It seemed appropriate and it made me feel somewhat healed. I still have the nice box that the ashes came in, containing some trace amount of ash. I joke from time-to-time that I hope science someday allows me to recreate her.

Because she really was the best dog ever.