Crate expectations

I remember a time when I thought crating dogs was a little cruel. Then one night I went to a party at some friends’ house, and I spotted their dog in her crate in a mini-office off of the kitchen. The crate door was open, and I said, “Do you mean she goes in there and stays there willingly instead of begging all your guests for ear rubs and snacks?” And I was assured that she loved her crate. I didn’t quite believe it.

Then Margot came to us crate-trained from her foster home. We got a crate because that’s what she was used to, and she not only went in there willingly any time we asked, but also chose to take naps there. When Guinness came a few months later, Margot trained her to use a second crate. Guinness doesn’t use the crate quite as often as Margot, but she never argues about going in it and sometimes actually chooses it over all the other cozy places she can nap.

Now I’m an enthusiastic advocate of crates. Used correctly–NEVER for punishment or discipline–they help prevent mishaps and provide dogs a sense of a secure space that belongs only to them. (And if you use a crate, please remember to remove a collar if you’re going to close your dog up unsupervised.)

The first photo makes it look like Margot’s crate may be too small for her, but it’s actually the right size. Your dog should be able to stand up in the crate and turn around (three times in a circle, of course) comfortably.

To the best of my knowledge, Greta has never been crate-trained. She has several special dog pillows in her own home placed strategically throughout the house and on the patio for her comfort. But today, she started trying to go in either Margot’s or Guinness’s crate, and she’s just too big.

So Tim set up River’s crate (Rex came with his own from his former family, and it’s set up at Tim’s, of course) in the Home Office, and I put Greta’s pillow in there. It’s a little too spacious for her (River was a larger dog), but I think she likes it. She may be going home with some demands in a few days…

Other people’s dogs

Wednesday night, Tom and I went to Lynne’s. He was setting up her wireless router so Tim and I could work on our laptops even WAY OUTSIDE THE LOOP. However, his attempts to bend DSL to his will were thwarted, and he’ll have to try again. Our wireless is set up with cable modem and went smoothly, but this DSL thing… If anyone has any wisdom to share, I’ll pass it on to him though I won’t have a clue what you’re talking about.

However, I DO know dogs. And tonight I was entertained by four of them.


This is Sparky, the dog Tim has to shoot when he dogsits. With insulin shots, that is. Sparky lives by the belly, so going on a strict diet has been hard for him, but he’s a little trooper.


This is one of the granddogs, Seig. Seig would like to believe he looks ferocious, and we don’t tell him his non-pointed doberman ears make him look like a big cupcake.


This is Seig’s new little sister, Black Eyed Susan, or Sue, an American bulldog. She won’t be Seig’s little sister long, as she’s expected to weigh about a hundred pounds as an adult.


Right now, Sue’s all snoozy, pink-footed puppy. I love yelling for her outside: “Suuuue! Suuuu-eeee!” Takes me back to my Southern hog-calling days. Okay, I never called hogs, but I could have if I’d wanted to.


And this is the dowager doberman, Greta (age 15), who just wishes all of us would get the hell out of her house.

Around The Compound

I don’t know what time I went to bed last night. I was really tired. I know Rex was all WTF?!? when I put him in his crate, as it was definitely many hours before Tim’s usual bedtime.

I then got my pillow and a quilt from downstairs and stretched out on Tim’s bed. (Not under your covers, not using your pillows, so it’ll be like I was never there. You know I hate making Tom do more laundry. Heh.)

I fell asleep quickly, but I woke up about every two hours and tortured myself trying to figure out what time it was. Finally, just before six, I got up and released Rex, who once again had that WTF?!? expression on his face. It was mirrored on Margot’s face when Rex and I took a walk around the yard. I spotted her staring out the Home Office window at me. In her case, the WTF?!? look was her sense of betrayal that I’d spent the night out with another dog. Somewhere inside, I’m sure Guinness was just thinking, “Is it time for breakfast yet?”

During the course of the night, my dreams let me know everything I’m stressed about. For example, I dreamed that I was filling my car with gas. Even though the gas was $1.67 a gallon (cue Rex’s WTF?!?! face here), it cost the guy in front of me over $300 to fill his truck.

I also dreamed that I needed to turn off the air conditioner. I don’t know why, because I damn sure wasn’t cold at Tim’s. Here at The Compound, we’re keeping the thermostats between 85 and 90, and I’m still thinking we’ll need to pimp out Tim to pay the utility bills in July, August, September, and October. Any takers? (Right now, in the suburbs, Tim’s face just got the WTF?!? look.)

I also dreamed about the TJB5 manuscript in progress. Which was kind of good, because I’ll probably get a chapter out of what I dreamed. Although I’m sort of 0 for 4 on pleasing my writing partners with what I’ve written so far.

WTF?!?

the lessons of dogs


Spotts and Leroy

A friend of mine in Indiana rescued a puppy from the 1997 Ohio River flood. Leroy had a lot of health problems over the years, some of them related to his flood adventure, but he was a dog of great spirit. One of his joys was getting big plastic detergent jugs when they were emptied. Leroy thought an empty detergent jug was the greatest toy imaginable.

Spotts was Leroy’s friend. When Leroy had heartworms and had to be confined, the two dogs would lie back to back at night, with only a fence separating them. Spotts also used to doctor Leroy’s eyes when he had problems with them.

After Spotts died, Leroy still found much to celebrate. This is one of the truths dogs teach us. To mourn what we lose is normal and necessary, but it is also good and right to relish every moment of life, even in grief. To keep enjoying whatever is our “greatest toy imaginable.” To continue to love and be loved.

Leroy died this year just before his ninth birthday. Like many people who have rescued and shared the love of good dogs, my friend and her family opened their home to two more rescues in April.

Here are Donkey Murphy (male) and Shrekie Fiona (female). I know they’re going to love their new home. Leroy would approve. He might even think these two furbabies are almost as good as empty detergent jugs.


Donkey and Shrekie

Of course, June 8 was a very special day around The Compound last year. It was on this night that Tim and I took a walk and “the big goofy yellow lab” walked up to us and decided that Tim was “the greatest toy imaginable.” River, who like Leroy had many health problems, gave us seven months of pure joy.


Tim and River

Although that magical, wonderful River is gone now, Guinness, Margot, and Rex are happy to nudge their way into Tim’s space and remind us that love and friendship are the greatest renewable resources of all.

A dog’s life

Those who know me know at least two things: I love my dogs and I love reading dooce. The best of all worlds is when Heather talks about her dog Chuck on her blog, and of course, Chuck Friday, when I know there’ll be a photo of Chuck.

I won’t go into all the reasons why I like Heather’s blog. She’s got a zillion readers, and probably all of us think we “know” her (I think we only know what she wants us to know, and that’s just good writing).