He's the greatest. He fetches, he spoons under the covers, he runs alongside when I rollerblade, he kisses, he asks to go up on the couch, and charms everyone he meets. Okay okay, so he might lose his doggie mind at the dog park and obsessively hump big, bully-breed male dogs, but hey, who hasn't (continuously) done something inappropriate in a public park??
Anyhow, the point of this story is to illustrate how wicked-awesome TheGryph is...
Look at him, he's just like the Old Spice guy: "Look at me, now look at your dog, now look back at me, I'm sitting by a fern."
Anyhow, after seven years of Gryph-blissness, I was browsing a local Humane Society's website and saw a sad looking brindle pup looking for a new start.
"OMG! A ReGryphon! A Do-Over! A BabyGryph! A Wargleblahgah!" I was nearly incoherent in my excitement at the thought of a mini-me of my best friend. After some gentle persuading (read: pouting and arm twisting), my manfriend and I loaded Gryphon into the car and drove down to the shelter to meet the possible family member.
We read through "Brown Sugar's" puppy profile before meeting him. There was a section about his submissive urination and nervousness, but I cleverly covered that part with my thumb so the manfriend won't worry. Trust me, I'm STILL paying penance for that little maneuver three whole years later.
They brought him around the corner: a little brindle ball of chub who stumbled into our arms and worked his puppy magic as only puppies can. Gryphon was more interested in sniffing the grass, but in that moment, I was convinced that he wanted, nay, NEEDED a puppy to grow old with.
Ever the cautious Clarence, the manfriend put Brown Sugar on hold and we went out to lunch to "think it over." The meal consisted of me leaking tears into my salad and whimpering bravely: "if you don't think we sh-sh-should get him, then we wuh-wuh-won't." He drove us back to the shelter before I really started to blubber. Smart manfriend.
We realized that there might be something...wrong...with our new puppy as soon as we got into the car with him to go home. I proudly sat in the back with the pooch, assuring him that we were nice people, and remembering how Gryphon's first ride home as a puppy had been calm and quiet. PuppyGryphon had curled up and gone to sleep in my lap, my heart had melted, and thus began our sweet life together. This new bundle of joy lost his mind as soon as the car began backing up. He screamed and flailed and tried to escape out the quarter-inch opening of the window the WHOLE. WAY. HOME. After the long and deafening drive, we set the little fellow on his feet and he seemed fine. Oh, how naive we were back then!
Here's the sweet face that suckered us completely. It could have happened to any of you!
Who knew that "submissive urinater" was shelter jargon for "look at me funny and I'll roll on my back and whiz until I'm hollow." The house-breaking phase is never fun, but with this pup, it just went on and on and on. He was so fearful and shy, and he figured that his new family must be kept in sight at all time or the whole universe would collapse. Crating induced screaming fits that could be heard for several blocks, which strained relations with our apartment neighbors. He would "swizzle" through the apartment, running in crazy circles while leaving a flight-of-the-bumblebee-esque trail of wee on our carpets. Blankets, duvets and pillows were all outlets for his nervous energy and it often looked like Christmas in our place with all the white fluff lying around. Any kind of reprimand met with him collapsing to the ground and wetting himself like Armageddon was hovering overhead. So, our endlessly screaming, whizzing dog kept us on our toes.
Gryphon had had a rather short "bad puppy" phase, and then grew into a gentle, calm, unshakable fellow. He was a chubby baby who grew into a stocky, handsome gentleman with a blocky head and a chest deeper than Pavarotti's. We had similar hopes for the puppy (named Bruin, by the way), but instead of looking like the mastiff mix we thought he was, he got...long. And thin.
I have never experienced such a nervous animal. He screamed endlessly in the crate (and occasionally had diarrhea in it too, imagine coming home to THAT), but he destroyed anything he could find if he was left out alone. Trying to enclose him in a "puppy-safe" area was impossible; ol' Long Legs McGee could hurdle over, knock down, or squeeze through any barrier we could build. He would meet us at the door when we came home (stupidly congratulating ourselves on managing to wall him up in the kitchen), wagging his tail and desperately hoping we wouldn't see the puddles of pee and poop and tatters of our favorite things strewn all over.
This went on for over a year. His separation anxiety was so bad, I had to take him with me to work so he wouldn't scream us into an eviction notice. I spent hundreds of dollars on carpet cleaning products. He would pace and pant and pant and pace in an endless nerve-wracking loop while we were home. Gryphon sulked and refused to play with him. People on the street would compliment me on my dog, and I would have to fight the urge to burst into tears and lecture them on why he was so terrible.
Eventually his bladder stopped releasing itself everytime someone said 'boo' (thank goodness). About two and a half years into his hysterical life, Bruin is fully housebroken. And at nearly three years, he can be left alone out of his crate (as long as any soft furnishings are hidden and the garbage is covered). He is a long, lanky, silly looking beast who is a far cry from the noble companion I had imagined when I first saw that long ago puppy teeter towards us. He still paces and vibrates through his days, virtually jittering with energy until we can get him to the dog park to run off some of his "stupid" (as we call it).
You know what, though? I was at a dinner party a couple of months ago, and was regaling a fellow diner with stories of my horrid dog. He put down his fork and asked: "Well, geez, why don't you get rid of him?"
I was shocked.
Before I even realized I was going to speak, I burst out: "He's MY dog. I love him!"
And there you have it, folks.
I finally figured out how to post comments on this thing. YAY!
ReplyDeleteP.S. I still can't believe you said the "L" word about Bruin. lol