Here is what I forgot about having a puppy, it's a lot like having a toddler, and I HATE that stage! Nothing is safe! If they can reach it, they think it's theirs, oh no, I do not like this stage, I do not like it Sam I Am. This is not my favourite stage at all.
It is hard to believe that the scared little puppy I adopted from the Humane Society is the same Dog that is currently so worn out from destroying everything that he can get his dirty little teeth into, he is passed out on the couch (oh, he's not supposed to be on the couch). He is like a cute rein of terror, roaming our house. I kind of miss that scared little dog who was too afraid to move from his blanket (notice I said "his" blanket and not the couch).
It has been 15 years since I have had a puppy. Prior to Maggie, I had never had my own dog. I forgot how much work it was. It's akin to wanting a baby after your first one is older. You only think about how nice it will be to have a baby, and then the farther along in the pregnancy you get, the more the self imposed pain- amnesia comes back. It peaks the hysteria meter when that first labour pain comes on and you realize that this may have been a bad idea, and why was no one hitting you in the head with a hammer to take away this pain? Having a puppy is a little like that.
I came home yesterday after only being gone for a few hours (Rowan had an eye appointment) to discover that a tornado had ripped through my home, a tornado named FERGUS. The pee pads I had laid in two parts of the house to help him learn to go to the bathroom outside, had been torn and strewn around the whole freaking house (my smart assed husband upon seeing this sarcastically told me he was glad I had spent money on them, they really helped). He greeted me at the door with the toilet scrubber hanging out of his mouth like a very large cigar. Can dogs be hoarders? Maybe I should shop that one out to Animal Planet "Puppy Hoarders". Fergus likes to take his contraband and put it into a pile. The pile usually consists of one of everyone in the house's shoes, and the dust pan which not all of that long ago he was deathly afraid of.
Here is what saves that little dogs life... he's really, really cute. At night when the kids are asleep, and it's relaxing time (you know that half hour), he either cries at my feet, or now has become a little more bold and jumps on my lap. He likes it when I hold him like a baby (on his back, with his head in the crook of my arm). It is that "cute" that saves his little black and white hide. The other night I came into the living room only to find Fergus on Christopher's lap (you know that man that put his foot down and declared that we would not have any more pets). "You're right, this is really relaxing". I smiled. I guess although Fergus is a holy terror, so are the kids, maybe we're used to it.