The Fucking Dog
When you tell your young sons that they are going to move out of New York City; away from their friends to a small town in upstate New York, it can be tricky. There were a few tears shed and many promises made. Most of these promises involved four legged furry creatures.
James Dean and Scrappy Doo were swayed by the promise of a puppy. Prince took a little more convincing and I am pretty sure I promised him a horse. He has not asked about it recently but I think he assumes the barn is for the horse.
After the chicken massacre, I sit for hours on the computer trying to figure out the best way to keep the survivors safe. I still don't really know how the big ass Dodo Bird became extinct and chickens survived. Everything wants to kill chickens and most manage to do so. Chickens can't be out in the open for fear of hawks swooping down. A fox can come out of the woods and snatch them if they are near the woods. What's a free ranging chicken farmer to do?
I finally come upon a website by a chicken farmer who says he has tried everything and the best chicken protector is a dog, but not any dog. It is a Great Pyrenees. Now I have the ammunition to convince the husband that we need a dog.
What I really want to do here on the farm is raise sheep and make sheep milk cheese. It will be the best cheese on the planet. I will be on Martha Stewart. Does she still have a show? At the very least I will make it onto Rachel Ray. My cheese will be on the menu at the finest restaurants in NYC and The New York Times Food Section will do a story about me complete with photos. The fact that I haven't the slightest idea how to make cheese is just a minor problem I need to overcome.
Sheep are well, sheepish though and need a protector. Historically, the Great Pyrenees were bred to be livestock protectors. It seems like kismet that I can get one of these beautiful dogs that will all at once make my kids happy, protect my chickens and protect the sheep I will have in the near future. The husband has been giving me some push back on the whole dog thing. He is not sure whether I want the dog to protect the sheep or the sheep so I can get the dog. He also isn't a big dog lover. He can't stand the licking and unbridled affection. He finally relents and agrees to the Great Pyrnenees but only after I assure him that the dog will live outside with the livestock, working for his keep.
Let me pause here a moment to offer you all a little advise. If you have had a couple of glasses of wine, do not go on Petfinder.com. I am thinking about putting a breathelyzer on my computer and if I blow a 0.05 I will be blocked from certain websites, especially Petfinder or any other website I can end up adopting an animal from.
One night the boys and I are talking about the puppy they want and I decide, with glass of wine in hand, to go upstairs and show them photos of some of the cute little Pyrenees puppies that we can adopt. They are totally smitten with the little white fluff balls and are even more excited when they see how big the dogs get. Perhaps I don't need to get the horse after all. They can just ride the dog.
I end up filling out an adoption form from the Great Pyrenees Rescue. It seems that every type of dog out there has their own rescue. Kooky people obsessed with the breed go around rescuing these dogs from shelters and keeping them until they can find them a new home. An honorable hobby.
A few weeks later I get a call from a woman from the rescue. She wants to know a little bit about what we are looking for. I give her my vague, "We want a dog to protect the animals but is good with children and will protect the house as well." She informs me that these dogs are either family pets or livestock protectors. They can't do both and they don't really have livestock dogs in the rescue program because if they are up for adoption, it is probably because they suck at being live stock dogs and do things like eat the livestock they are meant to protect. Shit. How am I going to spin this for the husband?
I am also supposed to have a fenced in yard so the dog doesn't run in the street. I assure her that I am moments away from getting an Invisible Fence (lie). When we hang up she is going to look into a couple of possibilities. I am now looking at a dog that will not protect the chickens and is going to cost me a few $1,000 in fencing. The husband is not going to be happy.
I get a call the next day and they have a dog for me. He is 7 months old and is a "love". He wants to be around people all of the time and likes to give, "puppy kisses" to his family. Oh how happy the husband will be. She emails me some photos and I make the strategic decision to show the photos to the boys before the husband so he cannot say no. With 8 pleading eyes looking at him he says, "Fine, but you'd better train that dog and it better not lick me." BTW, I haven't quite told him that the dog is going to be spending his nights inside with us and not outside watching over the chickens.
We go to pick up Pepper on a Sunday. It is love at first sight. Even the husband is smiling despite the fact that the dog has licked every inch of his face. I am feeling smug. A popcorn bowl moment for the family. Photos are taken with beaming children and cute dog. All is good with the world.
We bring Pepper home and he immediately shits on the rug. This is not a dog shit. It is an elephant shit. One which I promptly clean up and don't tell the husband about. I take the dog out and walk him around the property so he knows his boundaries and what he is expected to protect. This is what the chicken farmer/Great Pyrenees owner tells me to do. He sniffs like crazy, pees and poops again and I take him back in. 20 minutes later he has crapped again in the house. I try to remain calm and take him out again. That night he sleeps on a bed next to James Dean. I wake up once in the night to check on him and he is sound asleep. Early the next morning I hear James Dean yelling, "Pepper! Get Off!" The dog is on top of him in his bed.
"Pepper! No!" and "Pepper! Stop it!" become common phrases in the house. Even though the dog is still a puppy, he is huge and is constantly knocking Scrappy Doo down. He has torn apart every stuffed animal the kids own and will not sleep in a crate, but he is cute and follows me around like my very own Secret Service detail.
Prince is great with him. He walks him every day and spends hours getting the dog used to the chickens. At first it kind of looked like he was going to eat them along with the cat, whose head I have seen completely in the dog's mouth on more than one occasion, but so far so good. We get him a toy weasel to play with. Prince thinks this will train him to kill the weasel if it comes back. He may not be the best livestock protector but I convince the husband that all the dog shit around that I shovel into the woods will keep those predators at bay. I assure him that once we get the fence and the sheep, Pepper will live outside. Yeah right. I guess we will be needing another dog.
One night the boys and I are talking about the puppy they want and I decide, with glass of wine in hand, to go upstairs and show them photos of some of the cute little Pyrenees puppies that we can adopt. They are totally smitten with the little white fluff balls and are even more excited when they see how big the dogs get. Perhaps I don't need to get the horse after all. They can just ride the dog.
I end up filling out an adoption form from the Great Pyrenees Rescue. It seems that every type of dog out there has their own rescue. Kooky people obsessed with the breed go around rescuing these dogs from shelters and keeping them until they can find them a new home. An honorable hobby.
A few weeks later I get a call from a woman from the rescue. She wants to know a little bit about what we are looking for. I give her my vague, "We want a dog to protect the animals but is good with children and will protect the house as well." She informs me that these dogs are either family pets or livestock protectors. They can't do both and they don't really have livestock dogs in the rescue program because if they are up for adoption, it is probably because they suck at being live stock dogs and do things like eat the livestock they are meant to protect. Shit. How am I going to spin this for the husband?
I am also supposed to have a fenced in yard so the dog doesn't run in the street. I assure her that I am moments away from getting an Invisible Fence (lie). When we hang up she is going to look into a couple of possibilities. I am now looking at a dog that will not protect the chickens and is going to cost me a few $1,000 in fencing. The husband is not going to be happy.
I get a call the next day and they have a dog for me. He is 7 months old and is a "love". He wants to be around people all of the time and likes to give, "puppy kisses" to his family. Oh how happy the husband will be. She emails me some photos and I make the strategic decision to show the photos to the boys before the husband so he cannot say no. With 8 pleading eyes looking at him he says, "Fine, but you'd better train that dog and it better not lick me." BTW, I haven't quite told him that the dog is going to be spending his nights inside with us and not outside watching over the chickens.
We go to pick up Pepper on a Sunday. It is love at first sight. Even the husband is smiling despite the fact that the dog has licked every inch of his face. I am feeling smug. A popcorn bowl moment for the family. Photos are taken with beaming children and cute dog. All is good with the world.
We bring Pepper home and he immediately shits on the rug. This is not a dog shit. It is an elephant shit. One which I promptly clean up and don't tell the husband about. I take the dog out and walk him around the property so he knows his boundaries and what he is expected to protect. This is what the chicken farmer/Great Pyrenees owner tells me to do. He sniffs like crazy, pees and poops again and I take him back in. 20 minutes later he has crapped again in the house. I try to remain calm and take him out again. That night he sleeps on a bed next to James Dean. I wake up once in the night to check on him and he is sound asleep. Early the next morning I hear James Dean yelling, "Pepper! Get Off!" The dog is on top of him in his bed.
"Pepper! No!" and "Pepper! Stop it!" become common phrases in the house. Even though the dog is still a puppy, he is huge and is constantly knocking Scrappy Doo down. He has torn apart every stuffed animal the kids own and will not sleep in a crate, but he is cute and follows me around like my very own Secret Service detail.
Prince is great with him. He walks him every day and spends hours getting the dog used to the chickens. At first it kind of looked like he was going to eat them along with the cat, whose head I have seen completely in the dog's mouth on more than one occasion, but so far so good. We get him a toy weasel to play with. Prince thinks this will train him to kill the weasel if it comes back. He may not be the best livestock protector but I convince the husband that all the dog shit around that I shovel into the woods will keep those predators at bay. I assure him that once we get the fence and the sheep, Pepper will live outside. Yeah right. I guess we will be needing another dog.
Meant to hit comments...hit something else by mistake! Very amusing...reminds me of Pioneer Woman's sense of humor...and she has a bajillion followers. BTW, I had a glass of wine on the deck this afternoon while I read my book so don't take those wine comments I made this afternoon too seriously. I just think that it shouldn't be the whole focus of people my age! Keep writing. I love picturing the whole thing. Poor hubby doesn't stand a chance.
ReplyDeleteJoanne
Thanks for your support!!
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