Presidential Puppy

Apparently there was an election in the US a couple of months ago.  Being that it is football season, I had no idea.  I was supposed to vote for something other than the Miller Light Player of the Game???  Anyhow, it seems the chap who won the presidency publicly promised his daughters that he would get them a puppy.

Since that pronouncement a lot of dachshund sites have been openly campaigning for President-elect Obama  (I’m not making that up, that’s his actual name), to choose a dachshund (apparently there are allergy issues that might prevent that, but I have had dog allergies before, and I have had no problems with dachshunds – therefore, we are going to eliminate that as an issue).  I love dachshunds.  I have two dachshunds myself.  I would not trade my dachshunds for all the money in the world. 

President-elect Obama, I implore you, do not get a dachshund!!!

It isn’t political.  And sure, it would be fun to see dachshunds in the limelight.  However, the last time I checked the Constitution of the United States of America, the President has numerous important responsibilities.  From experience, I know of the time and attention it takes to own a dachshund.  The two are not a good mix.

Consider these potential headlines:

• President Obama late to State of the Union Address; Chasing puppy who stole his sock around White House residence
  
• Oval Office carpet chewed to shreds by President’s puppy
  
• President Obama to puppy at 2AM on White House lawn: “Would you pee already? I am the Commander-in-Chief and I command you to pee!”
  
• President Obama gets crucial 3AM wake-up call; Puppy wants to play
  
• Vice President Biden to undergo shoulder surgery; Job throwing ball for President’s puppy too much for 66 year old arm
• President Obama begins 2 week journey to Europe, Asia; Puppy mopes, stands guard at White House door
  
• Russian President Putin’s ankles mauled by White House puppy at start of summit; “I heard the barking at the door, but went in anyhow”
  
• President Obama takes no action on Farm Bill; “The puppy ate it.  Honest”
  
• President Obama skips G8 summit; Has to take puppy to the vet.
  
• First Lady to Prez: “Quit signing bills!  Make the puppy its dinner!”
  
• President’s press conference drowned out by barking puppy
  
• State Dinner ruined when President’s puppy poops on floor; French Prime Minister hospitalized after fainting into soup
  
• Presidential puppy chews open nuclear briefcase; President Obama issues apology to what remains of Albania.
  

Sure, any of these things could happen if he gets another breed of dog.  Since I know nothing of other breeds of dog, I cannot be sure.  But I am 100% positive that each and every one of the headlines above would absolutely become true if he got a dachshund puppy.   So, please Mr. Obama, I beg you, do not get a dachshund puppy.  

Think of the country.  Think of Albania.

The Dachshund Who (Almost) Stole Christmas

Godiva’s favorite thing in the whole wide world is to take stuff that she is not allowed to have, and get chased around the house until she has to give it up.  She likes that better than chewing human hands.  She likes that better than eating bird poop or mesquite pods. She even likes that better than yummies.  Now, I know that we are not supposed to chase her and pry the stolen object from her mouth – we are supposed to provide an alternative, wait for her to drop the stolen goods, and praise the daylight out of her – but since she also likes to chew, she is just as happy chewing the stolen item as she is chewing our approved alternative.  Her favorite things to steal are socks, slippers, shoes, blankets, dryer sheets, and towels.  Any laundry really will do.

(Side Note: One Sunday Godiva was a little tired or under the weather.  I had my laundry on a pile on the bed and was putting stuff away.  Godiva slowly climbed the stairs to the bed, walked over to the laundry pile, dug around, found a sock, and began very slowly pulling it out.  All the while she was looking at me like, “Daddy, look, I’m stealing your sock.  Please stop me, because I don’t have the energy to run around with it.  But if you are going to leave a pile of laundry within reach, I have to do what I have to do.”  She repeated this three times until I had everything put away.)

So, it was with great trepidation that Couper/Godiva’s Mommy and I brought out the Christmas decorations after Thanksgiving.  We have had our bouts with Couper and Christmas decorations in the past.  We have two footless gingerbread men ornaments to remind us.  With Godiva’s energy and passion for mischief, we were sure that we would be rescuing her from under a fallen tree at some point.

Since penning Godiva in the kitchen for the month of December was not an option, though it was discussed, we had to have a plan.  We decided to spray her with the water bottle if she even went near the tree.  That seemed to work.  She is at the point now that whenever she wanders that way, a stern, “Godiva! No!”, causes her to scurry away.  So far we have no ornaments lost and the tree skirt is right where it is supposed to be.

We were less attentive to other Christmas items, and Godiva has taken full advantage.  We have a tall thin glass table that backs up to one of our sofas.  During the year, we have a few picture frames on it (yes, with pictures in them, possibly of people we know or relatives, not just the picture included with the frame – I don’t really know).  Since this faces out to our front door, it is a great place to put Christmas decorations.  Couper/Godiva’s Mommy put a set of eight hand-sized stuffed bears on the table sitting against the back of the sofa.  Seemed like a good place for them.  Godiva sure liked it.  Anytime she got more than three seconds unattended in the living room, she jumped on the sofa, stood on her hind legs to peer over the sofa, picked out a bear (any bear is fine with her), jumped down off the sofa, and was off to the races.  One day, knowing that she was going to attempt this upon letting her out to the living room, I stood in front of the table, looking stern, arms crossed, as a deterrent.  She hopped up in front of me and grabbed a bear before I could say anything.  She is that quick (and/or I am that slow).  And stealing is only half the fun.  Catching her is a challenge if Couper/Godiva’s Mommy and I can double team her, and almost impossible alone.  I try to recruit Couper, but unless she has stolen one of his toys, he isn’t interested.

And the bears are only part of it.  She takes stuff from the coffee table and will hop up on any chair if there is something worth taking.  We have a cabinet a few feet behind our other sofa, where we have many other decorations and stuffed animals. Godiva climbs to the back of that sofa and stretches as far off the back as she can as she plots how she can make the three foot jump to get to those treasures.  Thankfully, she has yet to figure out how to do that.  December is less than half over though.

So after a few weeks, we gave up and moved the bears to higher ground (the table she was plotting leaping onto – maybe not our best idea, she had the taste of bear and wanted more).  We also made sure to have our spray bottle handy to try to deter any other mischief. 

It took us until right before Christmas to brave putting presents under the tree (procrastination in shopping and wrapping helped as well).  Gift bag tissues would be enough to make Godiva forget all about little stuffed bears.  She never really got the chance.  At that point, we were able to keep her penned in the kitchen or heavily guarded near the living room.  Couper blew his one chance for freedom when he ripped apart gift bag tissue when left alone – the penalty: three days of close company with his little sister.

December is almost over now, and we will soon be putting away the decorations.  For the puppies, it can’t happen soon enough.  They will finally get another 11 months of freedom.  Godiva will have to settle for stealing socks instead of bears.

Belated Merry Christmas from the Poop!

Pilgrim or Indian?

I have a theory about Thanksgiving.  Every Thanksgiving people make the conscious or sub-conscious decision to be either a Pilgrim or an Indian.  A Pilgrim is defined as wearing dark colors, like, say black.  An Indian is defined by wearing bright colors, say red or yellow.  Being that it is my theory, I make the conscious decision to be a Pilgrim.  It is just easier for me to wear black (no buckles on my hat, though.  I have to draw the line somewhere).  Despite telling Couper/Godiva's Mommy about this every year, she forgets and usually makes the sub-conscious decision to be an Indian.  Now that you know about this theory, you have no excuse but to make a conscious decision on Thanksgiving morning.  Sorry, it is the price of knowledge.

What does this have to do with our puppies?  Let's illustrate the theory:

 Pilgrim

 Indian






As always, we implore you, please do not let your Little Buddies dress up like turkeys this week.  It may look cute, but it could be very hazardous to their health.

At this time of year, I always remember what my Uncle George always said: "May your Thanksgiving be full of Butterball turkeys and devoid of jive turkeys." Makes you think about what's important, doesn't it?

Happy Thanksgiving from the Poop.

It's a Thin Line Between Being an Angel and a Devil

One minute you think you are an angel (or a devil)...



...the next minute the roles reverse.



Yes, we did go to Petsmart today to buy the puppies outfits. We were tired of the court jester collar that Couper has worn the last 4 years. Besides we "needed" an outfit for Godiva. Thankfully the Halloween outfits were marked half off already. They needed the space for their Christmas displays which now only take up 30% of the store.

But that is not the worst part. Not even close. See, we also bought a Halloween costume for our lifesize dachshund figurine (yes, we have one of those - doesn't everybody?). She stood guard by the door...

I have this uneasy feeling that the CEO of Petsmart has us tracked electronically and anytime we walk into one of his stores, he has his butler bring him a lobster and a bottle of Dom Perignon.

Happy Halloweiner from the Poop.

Make A Run For The Border

One of the advantages of having dachshunds is that they cannot reach any food in the kitchen that we don’t drop on the floor. My sister has labs and if food isn’t put on the back edge of the counter or the very middle of her island, it is in serious danger. Try as he may, and he does, Couper cannot jump up to our counter or island to snatch the leftover chicken. We know that he is not adverse to taking a sip of beer or milk when he can get it off the coffee table.

Our weak link is the kitchen table. The dogs cannot reach the kitchen table on their own, of course, but the chairs are certainly doable and they could reach from there. To our knowledge, they have never tried this. We like to think it is because our puppies are well behaved and would never go somewhere they knew they didn’t belong. More likely it is because the chairs are swivel chairs and they somehow decided that the dangers of jumping on them outweigh the rewards of what is on the table.

Until recently.

A day before Couper’s sixth birthday, Couper’s Mommy brought home a taco and a bean burrito from Taco Bell for lunch. She sat down at the kitchen table and had just finished her taco, when she got a call. She left the table for only a minute to look something up on the computer. When she returned, she found Couper, back paws on the chair, front paws on the table, helping himself to the remnants of her taco; some lettuce, some sour cream, some taco sauce, maybe some meat – the normal outflow from a Taco Bell taco. Upon seeing this, Couper’s Mommy shooed him off the chair. The bean burrito sat there untouched.

It is impossible to tell what got into Couper's head. Maybe he had been planning this for years and with the wisdom and athleticism of turning six, finally figured out how to get onto the swivel chair without killing himself. Maybe he has practiced jumping on the chair before, without our noticing. Maybe the lure of Taco Bell was just too much and he went for it.

However, if you work in the Taco Bell marketing department two things should be apparent:

• Now that Chihuahuas have gone big time with a movie and all, maybe it is time for a dachshund to be the spokesdog of Taco Bell. Couper is available and his salary demands are reasonable.
• Bean burritos must be awful. That a hungry dog, taking a chance on injuring himself and getting in big trouble, would rather eat taco remnants than a full bean burrito is not a good sign. Your only hope is that my Little Buddy is his Big Buddy’s Little Buddy. I wouldn’t eat a bean burrito on a bet. Maybe he hopped up there and asked himself, “What would my Big Buddy do?” (If Couper does get the Taco Bell spokesgig, we will spin this differently – “Taco Bell: Our taco fixins are great”. “Taco Bell: Bean burritos; door stops or caulk – you decide”.)

In the end, even though Couper has had tummy troubles lately, he did not get the runs from his little adventure. We have learned that we have to pay more attention to what we leave on the kitchen table, especially since we have since replaced our swiveling kitchen chairs with much more dachshund-jumping-friendly four legged chairs. Finally, we learned that bean burritos are safe around dachshunds and likely deadly for anybody else. I’ll take the chalupa.

Fixed??? I Didn’t Even Know She Was Broken

Godiva got spayed last Wednesday. We knew this day was coming from the day we got her. All along I figured it was no big deal; that when the day came, we would just take her to the vet, get it done, and go on with life. I figured it would be easy for me because Godiva is a female dog. I would not have the cringing that a male has when a male dog gets fixed.

It turned out to not be that easy.

We got Couper at 11 months. One of his two previous owners had the good grace to have him fixed. Never having had a dog prior to Couper, I have not had to deal with this issue until now.

My first shock about all this is how young puppies can be when they get fixed. I never really thought about this before. Godiva just turned six months old. If you apply the 7:1 dog to human years ratio, she is 3 and a half in human years. Maybe it is just me, but 3 and a half seems a bit young to be worrying about reproductive issues. It was only a couple of months ago she started walking without falling down. It seems like a day and a half ago.

I also began thinking that maybe Godiva should have puppies. She is a beautiful dog and apparently has some championship lineage. Every once in a while when she sits, her posture and attitude looks like a show dog (this may only be through a daddy’s eyes, I have no idea what makes up a show dog – I assume not biting the judge’s fingers would be one criteria). We are way too lazy busy to show her, but maybe somebody who got her offspring could. She has papers (not AKC, as they do not recognize piebalds), maybe it could happen. At the very least, she would have tremendously cute puppies.

Finally, this is major surgery. I don’t want to go into details, but it certainly is not “snip snip”, like with a male dog (cringe). The old joke, “What’s the definition of minor surgery? Surgery that happens to other people”, also applies to other people’s dogs.

However, after doing research, spaying seems like a good idea:

Females also tend to be better pets if they do not experience oestrus every six-to-nine months. Heat cycles bring hormonal changes that can lead to personality changes, and oestrus females must be confined to prevent unwanted pregnancies. Repeated heat cycles may subject the reproductive system to uterine and mammary cancers as they age. Some bitches experience false pregnancies that can be a bother to deal with and uterine infections that can be fatal.

We certainly do not want our little puppy having personality changes due to going into heat every six months. It sounds like PMS on steroids. We sure don’t need any more of that around the house. (Couper’s Mommy just hit me. I’m lucky it wasn’t her oestrus, it could have been much much worse).

(Completely unrelated side note:

With today’s overuse of the word, one sometimes forgets that a female dog is called a bitch. When I first read this article, I snickered, “Huh huh, he said ‘bitch’”. I actually looked to see if the article was written by 50 Cent. But once I got used to the fact that the author was using the word in its proper context, it reminded me of one of my favorite Simpsons scenes:

The family is driving home from church/Sunday School:

Marge: So, what did you children learn about today?
Bart: Hell.
Homer: Bart!
Bart: But that's what we learned about. I sure as HELL can't tell you we learned about HELL unless I say HELL, can't I?
Homer: Well, the lad has a point.
Bart: Hell, yes!
Marge: Bart!
Bart: [singing] Hell, Hell, Hell, Hell, ...
Marge: Bart, you're no longer in Sunday School. Don't swear.

Yes, I use any excuse I can to throw in gratuitous Simpsons quotes).

I also love this quote from another spaying information site:

Veterinary medical scientists are working to develop a "pill" or some other convenient method of birth control for pets. There are now several medications on the market that can be used temporarily to keep an animal out of heat.

At present, other than confining your animal, the sure way to keep your pet from mating is to have it surgically neutered.

Our little Godiva barely listens to us when we tell her not to chew the furniture, or our socks, or rip apart baskets, she sure isn’t going to listen to us if we sit down and have a little talk about the birds and the bees; especially if she is in heat. So in the end, for your dog, sex education and birth control do not work; it is the permanent chastity belt or puppies.

So in the end, even though I was a little sad about it, I accepted that having the surgery is best for Godiva (and for us - we're not only too lazy to show dogs, we are too lazy to breed them as well). The surgery went well and she recovered quickly. So, for all you male dogs out there, our little girl is officially off the market. Go howl elsewhere.

Happy Birthday Couper!!!

The Poop wishes its inspiration and founder, Couper, a very happy sixth birthday!!!

How do we celebrate Couper’s birthday?

We play, and have presents, and eat yummies, and have special dinner, and have cake, and have a parade…

Pretty much the same things we do every day, except there’s cake.

Some people have a birthday weekend. If you are lucky, you may have a birthday week. Since Couper’s birthday is the first day of the month, Couper gets a whole birthday month. If it were up to me, he would have a whole birthday year. Nobody deserves it more.

Happy Birthday from Big Buddy, Couper's Mommy, and Godiva!