You know how people say that getting a dog is good training for having a kid? And then people that have kids are like having a dog is nothing like having a kid?
If that’s the case I’m never having kids.
My dog exhausts me.
Don’t get me wrong. I love him to pieces- I love hanging out with him and playing with him and feeding him and loving him and training him. He does the cutest things and he kisses and sometimes, when the mood strikes, he’s totally cuddly. He’s so trusting, looks to us to let him know that a scary noise or person is OK and counts solely on us for food and shelter. Whenever we can keep him still for more than 10 seconds, he makes for the cutest pictures. He’s growing like a weed and everyone we meet is in love with him on sight and I don’t blame them.
But the sleeping? The sleeping is a work in progress. And my hand could use a few less bite marks.
Not that my giant German Shepherd puppy is vicious. Far from it. But he is teething and learning. And part of that learning involves figuring out that my hand? Is not a chew toy. Neither is my leg, nor my arms, my hair is off limits (even though it’s so shiny and pretty- I get the attraction to shiny) and so are my feet. I try to be patient but every once in a while he catches me off guard with a sharp little jab in my leg. Yesterday I was walking away from The Boyfriend and he noticed a mark on the back of my leg and he was like “what is that on your leg?”
Blood. It was blood.
(The Record is never coming over again after reading that)
I think we would both be less on edge about the teething if we were sleeping more. But the little man (who I shall refer to on the blog as Hugo Stiglitz) can’t sleep through the night just yet. His little bladder isn’t big enough. He sleeps GREAT when he’s in his crate, but when he has to go, he has to go. And right now that falls anywhere between 12am and 4. And once I’m up at 5:45 well so is Hugo Stiglitz. And The Boyfriend.
The housetraining is going a lot better this week than it did last week. The first week we neglected to treat him when he did his business outside. And we had a lot of trouble reading the signs that he needed to go out. It was especially confusing to all when he started scratching on the closed spare room door. The Boyfriend and I assumed that because the door was closed he was trying to tell us that he thought it should be open so that he could have free reign in the whole apartment. But it turns out now that that’s his signal for the need to go out. Which is weird, because that door is in the exact opposite direction from the front door that would actually let him out.
Where was I going with this?
Oh yeah. Those people with kids that say that a puppy is not like having a kid? Maybe didn’t ever get a puppy? Because from what I’ve heard, this is kind of exactly like a baby (maybe sans hand puncturing). Except that as my puppy grows up, he will become less of an a$$hole.
And then The Boyfriend and I will look back on all the little puppy pictures and look at each other and say things like “Remember when he was cute and small like this? Wasn’t he so great? I wish he was still small like this” forgetting all about the bloody leg, the urine on the floor and the lack of sleep.
In that way, it has to be exactly like a kid right? So I’m trying to enjoy every puppy moment while I can because from everything I’ve read and heard, it’s over far too quickly.
Hugo Stiglitz
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