Dog update
Feb. 2nd, 2008 02:38 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
beandelphikiWell, THAT was short-lived. Doesn't look like we'll be keeping the dog, after all. I have no idea what's going to happen, actually.
Thursday morning, things were looking relatively hopeful. Wicket slept through MOST of the night - he woke my Mom up whimpering around 7 a.m., but hey, that's still a decent number of hours. (I honestly can't recall when he went to bed - I think it was midnight, though.)
And the cats were doing a bit better about him, too - Manhattan bravely faced off with him a single stair away, until he charged her playfully. Then she retreated. Callisto even came within a foot of me holding him (begging for pets, as usual). Although he was careful to circle around my back (watching Wicket warily), and when he made eye contact with the dog after making his way around the front, he hissed and ran away again. Wuss.
Still, they were coming closer. (Mom suggested we could put him in one of our little kennels and let them sniff, since HE'S not at all afraid of THEM.) And they seem remarkably unperturbed by the fact that he insists on drinking from their water fountain. Mom got me to help her measure him, and his little doggy sweater is 99% finished today - she just needs to finish the buttons.
Then Thursday night, it all went to hell.
See, it turns out that Wicket DOES have the delicate stomach toy dogs tend to have. He's on a special diet, which he hasn't had any trouble with.
Then Mom took him to Make One on Thursday. Apparently there were a bunch of other dogs in the store, so we're guessing someone slipped him a treat he shouldn't have. Or maybe he just found something to eat on the floor. Who knows.
But Mom put him to bed last night, and he whimpered. And cried. And whimpered. And cried. I went into Mom's room and played with him a bit and tried to settle him. It didn't work - at least not for more than a few minutes. I went to have a bath (our shower head is STILL busted), and heard my sister come storming up the stairs while I was getting undressed. ("Is he crying? SHUT THAT GODDAMN DOG UP!")
He finally settled down for a while, but I accidentally woke him getting dressed again. (Belt buckles tangled in other clothing for the lose.) More whimpering and crying. I made some toast, that being the fastest and quietest thing I could think of to have for dinner, and came down here to the basement, and the computer. My plan was to stay down here and be quiet until the dog dropped off again.
Instead, Mom came and got me. ("DO something!") She whined. It wasn't pretty. Never is - if there's one thing I simply cannot STAND about my mother, it's the way she fucking WHINES when something doesn't go her way. She's a toddler in an adult's body, and I hate it to an inexpressible degree. Whenever she does this, I worry that I sound like her when I'm upset by something.
So I cuddled Wicket in his blankie, and sang to him softly, and he seemed quieter. Then I put him down, and he took off agitatedly toddling around the house. Mom told me that he'd been doing that for the past few hours - crashing for short periods and then getting up and crying and running around. Oh, and pooping on the carpet. A lot.
(You'd think that at this point, we would have realized he was having stomach problems, but we didn't. I think it's because his doggie face simply doesn't seem to have an expression for pain/discomfort. He looks cutely interested, all the time. It's a perma-expression.)
I played with him a bit, and he finally seemed worn out, so Mom took him back to bed, and I went back to my toast at the computer. I eventually passed out there, only to wake up around 4 a.m. to Mom circling the main level with a whimpering dog. Arrgh. I spent the remainder of the night sleeping in the computer chair.
In the morning, Mom informed me that after THAT night, there is No Way we are keeping Wicket. She got - le gasp! - three hours of sleep, she tells me. (A fact which admittedly hardly rouses my sympathy, given how little sleep I've often gotten in the past few years because of work and school schedules. I wanted to tell her, "Great, do that for several more days in a row, and THEN you can complain.")
Just to prove how tired she was, Mom proceeded to be an absolutely evil bitch for the rest of the day. Like, oh, A CRANKY TODDLER. *grits teeth, pulls hair* I'd LOVE to see her in the service industry!
--
Me: So I guess it's a good thing you can't return children, eh? Babies are a lot more work than this.
Mom: You guys were better than this dog.
Me: Are you suggesting we wouldn't be here if we hadn't been?
--
She also told me that if Wicket didn't sleep well tonight, I could stay up with him. Which...uh, NO. If we (meaning me) aren't keeping the damn dog, I am NOT sacrificing MY sleep for HER [irresponsible] sister's dog. I, unlike the rest of the household, have a job to get up for.
(Oh yes, and dear mother complained to me too that she'd have to watch the dog in the daytime if we owned it. Considering that she depends on MY INCOME, I'd think she could manage to watch the dog. Ultimately, when he's out of puppyhood, he'd be barely more work than our cats - all four of which we specifically chose because they're highly social. And she's already watching the cats in the daytime.)
TONIGHT, Wicket is well again, and fenced into the kitchen rather than my mother's bathroom. Which works well enough, since he can only piddle and poop on tile, where it's easier to clean up. (Oh, and he's very cute crashed on his side.)
And my mother tells me that HEATHER WANTS TO KEEP HIM! *dead* WTF?!?
Mom: So we'll be "Doggy Day-care" until her cats are used to him. He'll stay there at night, but we'll take him some days so her cats get a break.
Me: More like "Puppy Foster Care for Puppies from a Broken Home." I did NOT sign up for that if we're not keeping him. This is bullshit - she can't just leave the care of him to us while she "owns" him.
Mom: Oh, like YOU'D have to worry about that. You're never HERE. You can't have a dog and never BE here.
Then she told me she's going to dig out the big kennel we used when we first got the kittens, so Heather can "crate-train" Wicket.
SO HE CAN BE ALONE ALL DAY. THAT'S SO MUCH BETTER THAN STAYING WITH US, YES?
WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH THIS FAMILY?!?!
Thursday morning, things were looking relatively hopeful. Wicket slept through MOST of the night - he woke my Mom up whimpering around 7 a.m., but hey, that's still a decent number of hours. (I honestly can't recall when he went to bed - I think it was midnight, though.)
And the cats were doing a bit better about him, too - Manhattan bravely faced off with him a single stair away, until he charged her playfully. Then she retreated. Callisto even came within a foot of me holding him (begging for pets, as usual). Although he was careful to circle around my back (watching Wicket warily), and when he made eye contact with the dog after making his way around the front, he hissed and ran away again. Wuss.
Still, they were coming closer. (Mom suggested we could put him in one of our little kennels and let them sniff, since HE'S not at all afraid of THEM.) And they seem remarkably unperturbed by the fact that he insists on drinking from their water fountain. Mom got me to help her measure him, and his little doggy sweater is 99% finished today - she just needs to finish the buttons.
Then Thursday night, it all went to hell.
See, it turns out that Wicket DOES have the delicate stomach toy dogs tend to have. He's on a special diet, which he hasn't had any trouble with.
Then Mom took him to Make One on Thursday. Apparently there were a bunch of other dogs in the store, so we're guessing someone slipped him a treat he shouldn't have. Or maybe he just found something to eat on the floor. Who knows.
But Mom put him to bed last night, and he whimpered. And cried. And whimpered. And cried. I went into Mom's room and played with him a bit and tried to settle him. It didn't work - at least not for more than a few minutes. I went to have a bath (our shower head is STILL busted), and heard my sister come storming up the stairs while I was getting undressed. ("Is he crying? SHUT THAT GODDAMN DOG UP!")
He finally settled down for a while, but I accidentally woke him getting dressed again. (Belt buckles tangled in other clothing for the lose.) More whimpering and crying. I made some toast, that being the fastest and quietest thing I could think of to have for dinner, and came down here to the basement, and the computer. My plan was to stay down here and be quiet until the dog dropped off again.
Instead, Mom came and got me. ("DO something!") She whined. It wasn't pretty. Never is - if there's one thing I simply cannot STAND about my mother, it's the way she fucking WHINES when something doesn't go her way. She's a toddler in an adult's body, and I hate it to an inexpressible degree. Whenever she does this, I worry that I sound like her when I'm upset by something.
So I cuddled Wicket in his blankie, and sang to him softly, and he seemed quieter. Then I put him down, and he took off agitatedly toddling around the house. Mom told me that he'd been doing that for the past few hours - crashing for short periods and then getting up and crying and running around. Oh, and pooping on the carpet. A lot.
(You'd think that at this point, we would have realized he was having stomach problems, but we didn't. I think it's because his doggie face simply doesn't seem to have an expression for pain/discomfort. He looks cutely interested, all the time. It's a perma-expression.)
I played with him a bit, and he finally seemed worn out, so Mom took him back to bed, and I went back to my toast at the computer. I eventually passed out there, only to wake up around 4 a.m. to Mom circling the main level with a whimpering dog. Arrgh. I spent the remainder of the night sleeping in the computer chair.
In the morning, Mom informed me that after THAT night, there is No Way we are keeping Wicket. She got - le gasp! - three hours of sleep, she tells me. (A fact which admittedly hardly rouses my sympathy, given how little sleep I've often gotten in the past few years because of work and school schedules. I wanted to tell her, "Great, do that for several more days in a row, and THEN you can complain.")
Just to prove how tired she was, Mom proceeded to be an absolutely evil bitch for the rest of the day. Like, oh, A CRANKY TODDLER. *grits teeth, pulls hair* I'd LOVE to see her in the service industry!
--
Me: So I guess it's a good thing you can't return children, eh? Babies are a lot more work than this.
Mom: You guys were better than this dog.
Me: Are you suggesting we wouldn't be here if we hadn't been?
--
She also told me that if Wicket didn't sleep well tonight, I could stay up with him. Which...uh, NO. If we (meaning me) aren't keeping the damn dog, I am NOT sacrificing MY sleep for HER [irresponsible] sister's dog. I, unlike the rest of the household, have a job to get up for.
(Oh yes, and dear mother complained to me too that she'd have to watch the dog in the daytime if we owned it. Considering that she depends on MY INCOME, I'd think she could manage to watch the dog. Ultimately, when he's out of puppyhood, he'd be barely more work than our cats - all four of which we specifically chose because they're highly social. And she's already watching the cats in the daytime.)
TONIGHT, Wicket is well again, and fenced into the kitchen rather than my mother's bathroom. Which works well enough, since he can only piddle and poop on tile, where it's easier to clean up. (Oh, and he's very cute crashed on his side.)
And my mother tells me that HEATHER WANTS TO KEEP HIM! *dead* WTF?!?
Mom: So we'll be "Doggy Day-care" until her cats are used to him. He'll stay there at night, but we'll take him some days so her cats get a break.
Me: More like "Puppy Foster Care for Puppies from a Broken Home." I did NOT sign up for that if we're not keeping him. This is bullshit - she can't just leave the care of him to us while she "owns" him.
Mom: Oh, like YOU'D have to worry about that. You're never HERE. You can't have a dog and never BE here.
Then she told me she's going to dig out the big kennel we used when we first got the kittens, so Heather can "crate-train" Wicket.
SO HE CAN BE ALONE ALL DAY. THAT'S SO MUCH BETTER THAN STAYING WITH US, YES?
WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH THIS FAMILY?!?!