What's the solution?

Dear the me of 2012,

Please stop tearing your hair out for a second and take the time to read this letter.  It might just help you out.  

I can't imagine how you must be feeling right now.  Frustration and worry, like pain, is a shadowy memory.  And, I can look back in humour at some of the things you are suffering now.  I can laugh when I think about the time Caesar destroyed the kitchen and ate a whole pack of Nutrigrain bars.  What I do remember is desperation and this is what has prompted me to write to you.

Time and time again I read on forums and groups about anxious dogs.  You may not realise it just yet, but this is what you have.  I know you don't want to sit back and let time pass by where you're not trying to 'cure' this but there is something you need to know; you can't.

Let me tell you that in three years time, you will come home from work one night to find a Tupperware container exploded into sharp shards of plastic all over your bed.  You will spend a week of your life picking these shards from your feet and body and searching for them on the bedroom floor.  These are symptoms of anxiety, prompted by a change in environment or routine.

You musn't blame yourself.  You have not made the dog any worse.  Nor have you caused him to relive any kind of mental trauma.  What you need is time.  Time is the most important thing.

Therefore, when you see quick fixes, try to turn a blind eye.  Try to remember how you feel when you are afraid and remember that one tablet, or coat or spray is not going to miraculously cure him of his fears.  The same with you; anxiety plays a big part in your own life so you should know that nothing will instantly take that away.  

More importantly still, is that you don't get angry with him for his fear.  If someone shouted at you every time you were irrationally afraid of something you'd be stuck in your house shaking!  Try to remember his behaviour is not against you or even a reflection on you; it is he who has come to you with these troubles.  

My advice is not to ignore your issues; persist in positive training, reward the good and ignore the bad as much as possible.  Keep things as consistent as possible; he will always know when tea time will be, when bed time will be and what time you will leave and arrive home.  He will always be in the same room/s.  If someone comes, they will always come at the same time.  Attend training sessions regularly and allow him to get used to his setting and the other animals and people there and don't expect miracles straight away.

Most of all; love and enjoy him as much as he does you because you're going to have to get through this together.  And that will be as hard as you make it...

Whose house is it anyway?

It's been a busy few months here in Caesar's castle as we've been getting prepared for some pretty serious work to be done.  Basically, if we don't replace the windows fairly soon, they're going to fall out!  So we had to make a few calls.  And we knew that we were going to have to deal with salesmen coming to the house - a worst nightmare for an owner of a dog like Caesar because it means that we had to;
1.  Face salesmen alone or face salesmen being knocked over by huge bouncy staffy
2.  Spend the next few days identifying knickers/socks that Caesar has stolen and putting them in the wash/bin - depending on how badly chewed they are.
3.  Find ways around having huge bouncy dog/salesman in the same room....

When we bought the house we had no idea that we would ever end up owning a dog, let alone a slightly unhinged rescue dog who isn't entirely well behaved, particularly in the presence of strangers.  And, in the first few months of owning the place we flew through our jobs quickly.  Then, a few months later, we got Caesar and he set about undoing all of our hard work; peeing on new carpets, pulling wires away from walls, scratching sofas, scratching tables, standing on window sills and generally making the place look as much like his kennel as he could manage; a home from home if you will.

For a while, I thought I didn't really care.  After all, if my rugs are constantly covered in dog hair and my table has a few scratches, it doesn't affect my quality of life.  I enjoy Caesar and, while I wish he would refrain, I'd rather have him here than not.

So what if everything's a mess?  You only live once!

This was all well and good until a few months ago when I suddenly remembered Plan A.  Plan A started 4 years ago when I found a wonderful dorma bungalow with whitewashed walls and a conservatory.  It met every one of my criteria for a new home in its own quirky little way; yes it had a nice bathroom, but it was downstairs.  It also had 2 bedrooms, but they were smallish and unimaginative in shape and size.  It had double glazing, a conservatory, a garden and a new(ish) boiler that seemed to have been given its own little room.  And, I was very keen on the fact it sat neatly in a cul-de-sac.  After seeing it twice, we put an offer in for around £5000 below asking price which was declined immediately.

I talked about growing red roses round the door and making a sun room out of the conservatory.  I had plans to modernise it and make it appealing as a first home.  When my offer was declined, I decided to see one more house to be certain I was making the right decision.  If it were on a home buyers show it would be the 'wild card'.  It was an eighty year old end terrace with single glazed windows, a boiler that was just about still clanging away, a roof that seemed to have been there since it was built and the remains of an air raid shelter in the depressing yard.

I blame the stained glass window in the hall for the fact that 6 weeks later we owned it...

For a moment, I turned into Kevin McCloud.  We were building a conservatory, we were knocking walls down here and there.  We were having new windows, a new boiler, a new bathroom which would combine parts of the hall, bedroom, toilet and existing bathroom to create a new space.  I forgot that, unlike Kevin McCloud, I have neither the skills nor the money to put any of this into place...

And now, 4 years on, here I am sitting in front of an eighty-four year old single-glazed, stained-glass window that it looks like it's going to cost me over £1000 to replace.  And, if Caesar doesn't stop sitting on it and barking at other dogs out of the window, the time for this will come sooner rather than later!

Plan A involved buying the house, fixing it up internally and externally, and selling it on in order to do the same again in a house with more space, more land and a better location.  When I adopted Caesar I lost sight of all of this.  And it was only a short time ago that it came back to me.  A sharp shock that reminded me that I hadn't planned to be here forever.  And, that, really, a nice garden and a bit more space would do Caesar some good too.

Caesar making the most of our little yard by sitting in the planter!

This is when I desperately started calling double glazing companies.  Forget three quotes; I decided to get quote after quote until someone came back with something that was appealing enough to make our ears prick up.  Then I realised the consequences of what I'd done.  I'd asked more than a handful of salesman into our house.  And, thus, into Caesar's lair.

Now, Caesar is lovely with people.  I would trust him to the end of the earth not to hurt them.  At least not intentionally.  However, he is a big lollopy dog who thinks he's a small lollopy dog and, despite being all of 20kg, likes to sit on peoples knees...

Salesman 1: 
Tactic: Outdoor kennel
Result:
A full hour of squealing, squawking, howling and barking that is enough to make any neighbor a little bit angry....good job we're planning to move after all this work!  Salesman spent a lot of time asking where the dog was and if he'd be able to get to him.

Salesman 2:
Tactic: Send Damien out with him for a walk
Result:
A very cold Damien after salesman stayed for a fairly long time and it was windy outside!  Finally called Damien an hour later to say he'd gone.

Salesman 3:
Tactic:  Large crate in the lounge (salesman said he 'loved' dogs)
Result:
Caesar cried and barked and carried on, causing the salesman to nervously ask why he was making those noises.  When I replied, "he's a staffy, they do, and just very excited,"he said "OK, let him out..."  2 minutes later, could I put him away again?  Perhaps at this point I should have pointed out that he actually lives here and I had warned him about the fact we had dogs and that he said he LOVED dogs and it was fine.  Perhaps he didn't expect Caesar to be that kind of dog...

Who knows, but Caesar spent the next hour or so, as he haggled and scribbled and drank tea, locked in his cage.  And, continued to make that noise for the whole time.  Can you blame him?

Salesman 4
Tactic: After previous salesman, the decision was to send Caesar for a walk with Damien again.  This didn't work as intended because the salesman was half an hour late, which meant that Caesar returned just after he arrived.  And then became very excited and very vocal at which point the man calmly said 'I'm not sure I like the look of him...'  At this point, he was still on his lead!  So, Caesar went back in the cage and the salesman steered clear of him for the most part.

Kicked off his usual snoozing spot - no wonder he was crying!

So which tactic worked the best?  Definitely, with a noisy dog, the cage is not the best option.  As, they begin to look like some scary zoo animal that nobody really wants to get very close to.  And, this becomes equally interesting when you have a salesman who is not sure he likes the look of him and Caesar, obviously pawing at the locks and attempting some kind of Houdi-style escape...

Walks are a great idea but of course that means that one person is left alone to tackle salesman speak and tea making and pointless haggling.  It also relies on the salesman being on time for the meeting otherwise, a short afternoon walk, can turn into a midday hike.  And, particularly in adverse weather conditions, this can be awful!

What about putting the dog outdoors?  This, again, depends on the dog.  It did not work with Caesar as he became very vocal and agitated, this then put him in an elevated state when he returned into the house.  And, probably didn't do us any favours with the neighbours either.

Finally, leave him roaming around the house?  I didn't try this one but I've got a feeling my window quotes may have been a few hundred pounds more had I let him bother salesmen...

What, I'm not meeting them?  But I got dressed up and everything!

Dogs and Fireworks

Having a dog that is afraid of fireworks is no walk in the park.  Quite literally.  Caesar is one of many dogs who suffer from the minute the bangs and pops begin and gets gradually worse as the fifth of November approaches.  Managing this time of the year has been a learning experience for us.  Here's what I've learnt over the past few years about owning a dog who is literally terrified of fireworks.

To begin with, it's important to remember that every dog is an individual and different things work for different dogs.  The reason I say this is because there is so much conflicting advice when it comes to fireworks.  And, you know what your own dog needs.  For example, where some dogs will appreciate having somewhere to hide, other dogs, like Caesar, feel comfortable being closer to their owner.  If a firework goes off, 9 times out of 10, Caesar will bring himself as close as possible to us.  Some advice will tell you to ignore the dog and act like nothing is happening.  Again, having tried this, I find that simply giving Caesar a cuddle and talking to him normally can ease his anxiety a little - and he actively seeks contact when he's afraid.

Today, for example, I returned home from work to find the house empty and Caesar sitting in the bathroom looking petrified and shaking like a leaf.  It didn't take me long to realise that, despite it only being 5 o'clock, people were letting off fireworks.  I took Caesar into my bedroom and lay on the bed with him and told him about my day at work.  I did feel a little boring when he fell asleep - but at least he had stopped being anxious!  And you can't please everybody...

"So you'll never guess what happened this morning Caesar.....Caesar??"

Anyhow, after seeking and gathering much advice on fireworks as well as now having a little personal experience with a dog that has a phobia, here are my top tips:

1.  DO NOT walk your dog on or around bonfire night past night fall.  (The same goes for New Year!)  - even if this means missing a walk or two.  It really is worth it for your own peace of mind!
2.  DO try natural calming aids such as rescue remedy, thunder shirts and plug in pheromone diffusers.  However, ultimately, if your dog is still afraid, seek advice from your vet - the sooner the better!
3.  DO give your dog somewhere safe to retire to - I use Caesar's castle or a crate with a large blanket over the top.
4.  DO NOT attempt to pull your dog out from hiding under furniture - I know it may seem obvious but I've heard more than one case of dog bites from this from first hand.
5. DO play music or TV to distract from the sound as much as possible.
6. DO listen to your dog.  And by that, I don't mean ask them to tell you what is upsetting them but follow their lead - they will let you know if they need closeness or a hiding place, some privacy or some attention.  Use your initiative to decide how much of each is needed.

After following lots of advice for fear and trying my best to ease Caesar, I finally took him to the vet.  He is now taking Valium for his phobia and I must admit I have seen an improvement already in that he is not shaking as much.

Further Information
Fireworks and the law -  https://www.gov.uk/fireworks-the-law
Advice from the RSPCA - http://www.rspca.org.uk/adviceandwelfare/pets/general/fireworks

Have you got any advice of your own to add to the list?  Comment below to add your tips.

Confessions of a dog owner

I find myself regularly uttering the words; "Look at me, I'm all covered in dog hair! - How did that happen?" and know EXACTLY how it happened...

Not only do I often give up a large portion of my bed to my sleeping dog...but, more often than I'd like to admit, my pillow.

Not only are these headphones functional...but also great on COLD beach walks....and not to mention very stylish...

I spend far too much of my salary on dog toys...

....which usually end up broken.

My dog has a better wardrobe than I do!

And, if I want to sit on the sofa, I ask the dog's permission.

I have more wellies than high heels...

And the only picture hanging on my wall is...

I find lick kisses cute not gross even if I end up smelling like a bowl of ProPlan...

How many of these confessions also apply to you? Leave a comment and let everyone know.

Campervan Crisis!

Our campervan is snug on a night, particularly with Caesar in there, but, in order to stop us from feeling too claustrophobic, we lift the AFT (or Auto Free Top....or in my words 'lifty-up roof').  This weekend, though, despite the weather being fairly warm during the day, the sky had no cloud cover at night leaving it very chilly in bed.  So, after a successful night on Friday, where we all slept in the main cab and no one had to climb into the roof, we decided to leave the roof down on Saturday when temperatures plummeted.  

We had to be up early to leave on Sunday as we'd made arrangements back at home for 10am.  So, we tried to go to bed early.  Tried...

Unfortunately, this camping trip did not run as smoothly as the previous one, and the second night started with Caesar barking at people passing the van and waking me (and probably others) up.  Then, when things had calmed and I was beginning to drift off, he woke me up by treading on my stomach and I decided I needed the toilet again.  So, I wandered over to the toilet block in the freezing cold, my hands shaking and my teeth clattering together.  Finally, I came back and settled again.  Caesar was excited about this and decided to jump around on the air mattress in celebration....

Can you guess what's going to happen?

You were probably right.  3am and there's a hissing sound coming from my feet and I realise that he's punctured the air bed.  So, I'm back outside the van looking for my car's puncture repair kit...Can I use a tyre puncture repair kit on an air bed?  3am...and I'm trying to find out do tyre puncture kits work on air beds?  It doesn't look like it.  And the hissing is continuing.  Forget the tyre punctuation kit then...  3am and we're trying to locate a tiny hole in an air bed before it deflated completely.  And suddenly, I get my finger on a claw sized hole and the hissing stops.  Great.  Have we got a first aid kit with a plaster in?   ....No.  Have we got any sellotape?...No.  Damien suggests chewing gum....no.  So now what?  3am and we're swapping sides of the bed.  Damien is trying to sleep with his thumb over the puncture, while Caesar, the very cause of all the mayhem, is sleeping on top of me because he doesn't like sleeping on the hard surface....

As long as you're comfy Caesar....

This weekend was spent at dog friendly campsite Hillcrest Park.

Manchester Dogs' Home Disaster

It seemed wrong that we let a disaster that is this close to our hearts go by without comment or respect so our post this month is in response to the terrible event.  For those who are unfamiliar with the horrific incident that occurred at this rescue centre, here is a link to a news article on the matter: News Report From Manchester Evening News.

It seems that the recent news has been showered with examples of how evil the human race can be.  In fact, I've taken to changing the channel every time the radio announces a news broadcast; ignorance is bliss after all.  And, while I'm concerned that if we don't all die of the latest infectious virus, or in a nuclear war, we'll probably be mauled by a police dog or stabbed by a junkie.  And we wonder why almost 10% of the population is suffering from depression and anxiety? (The Fundamental Facts, Mental Health Foundation, Link Here, 2007).

Anyhow, no matter how I try to avoid it, the important stuff leaks it's way through.  So it was through Facebook that I first heard about the disaster.  The fact that over 50 dogs have died already is beyond a tragedy.  However what is, perhaps, worse is that these were 50 dogs who, for whatever reason, were looking for a fresh start.

Anyone who has gone through the process of adopting a pet will know how it brings out emotions that you never expected to feel.  If you get lucky, you get an easy ride.  A dog that has few issues and settles into your home quickly.  However the reality is that most rescue dogs bring with them their own baggage - and I don't mean a doggy suitcase with food and a blanket.  These issues could be the reason that they found themselves in a kennel in the first place or it could be the result of a trauma that they suffered by being abandoned or neglected or abused.

When I visited the shelter where I adopted Caesar, I could not believe some of the horror stories.  In fact, it seems that Caesar got off fairly lightly as far as some of the dogs were concerned.  In the short time I was there, I saw a dog who had been living out of bins and was so malnourished that he had been brought in on the brink of death, a dog that had been found in a shed in someones back garden; unfed and uncared for.  Another that had been taken by social services along with the family's children; there was evidence to show that the dog had been kicked and every bone poked through her thin skin.  I'd like to tell you that these were extreme cases but you'd only have to look on any rescue centre's website to find that, unfortunately, they're not.  What's worse, some pounds will sell dogs for money with no home check on the owner and risk putting them in the same position that they found themselves in before.  Or, dogs are brought back into the kennels for reasons so petty that they hardly qualify as an excuse.  I've bared witness to these 'reasons' and I don't even work at a rescue centre or pound.

It wasn't just 50 dogs that died in the fire.  It was 50 chances to build something amazing.  50 blank slates waiting to start their lives again.  Waiting for a better home, for a better life and for someone who would keep them safe and care for them.  The heartbreaking thing is; they were almost there.  They'd already been taken from their sheds, back rooms, skips and owners who did not have the time or heart for them.  They'd made it further than some dogs could ever dream to come.  They were somewhere where they were supposed to be safe and loved.  They had a name and a bed.

I want to think that the incident was not further proof of the evil of which human kind is capable.  I want to think that it was some horrific accident.  And that an explanation will come.  But, in truth, the majority of the dogs in rescue centres are proof enough that the world we hear about on the news, the world that I try to block out for my own sanity, is becoming more and more out of control.  Just weeks ago, I accidentally heard a story on the news of a horse being attacked by a man with a knife.  I thought to myself 'what is this world coming to?'  Who would stab an innocent animal?  To me, it is crimes like this - crimes that cannot possibly have a sane motive and that affect the defenseless and the innocent that make my blood boil.

So here we are.  50 dogs murdered and a charity building that works every day and night to give them a chance at a new life, burnt to the ground.  I'd like to be able to offer some comforting words.  Or, at the very least, some reassurance but I can't.  All I can say is that I'm glad the number of good people donating, helping and of course the two men who ran into the building to save the dogs from certain death, exceeds the number of terrible people who caused such a terrible incident to occur (one).  And, I hope that, wherever that person is, just like the dogs trapped in those burning kennels, he feels very very alone.

And to all the dogs that died, who have remained nameless and lost forever, we are truly sorry that you didn't get the second chance that you deserved.

If you'd like to help:
Donate to Manchester Dogs' Home here


A wonderful channel from a centre called 'Hope For Paws' in America gives some good examples of some of the work that faces rescue centres today.  They have a YouTube channel and it's definitely worth a watch (tissues first)! Hope For Paws on YouTube

'No bother...'

It was early evening and my Grandma was about to leave.  We'd spent all day cleaning and tidying and mopping and dusting.  "He's no bother, is he?" she said, gesturing to Caesar as we drained the dregs of our tea.  This statement was loaded.  When I say 'loaded', I don't mean in an unkind way with accusations or false sentiment.  But, a reflection of the time and improvement he has made and a question hanging in the air 'when?' - when did he become so....fine?!

When did he grow up so much?

When I brought Caesar home from the shelter, my grandparents were two of the first people I took him to see.  They live a short walk from my parents and it was important to me that, as dog lovers themselves, they like Caesar.  So, I knocked on the back door that Sunday afternoon and greeted them wholeheartedly hoping that Caesar would make a good impression.  And, to put it bluntly; he was bothersome!  He would not sit still, he ran up and down their kitchen boisterously, almost knocking my gran off her feet, and then, as if that were not enough, he jumped up at units and tried to steal food. 

In the dog house for being naughty!

A few months later, my Grandad had offered to come and help me plant some nice flowers in my garden.  Kindly, he had donated geraniums and dahlias from his own cuttings and helped me to put them, in their pots in the soil planter at the rear of the yard.  Caesar sat nicely and carefully watched as we planted each geranium and I began to feel as if he may be making a positive impression on Grandad.  You see, Grandad has set ideas about things like dogs; he thinks females are more loyal and 'less bother' and so, before we adopted him, Caesar already had the odds stacked against him.  But today I felt good.  "Good lad," I told him as we stood back to admire our work.  And then I went inside to make a cup of tea.  What ensued, can only be described as 'the great geranium massacre.'  In the minutes it took me to get two cups out of the cupboard and put them on the worktop, all hell had broken loose outside!  

I could hear Grandad shouting so I dumped the cups and ran outside.  This is what I found:

Caesar was jumping on and off the planter at an unstoppable speed!  At small intervals, he was digging a hole and pulling a geranium out of the garden.  Some geraniums were flying into heaps, some were buried under mounds of soil!  And Caesar, was an uncontrollable mess of paws and tongue that could neither be caught or calmed.  Grandad threw his trowel down in the soil and heaved a heavy sigh.  I won't repeat his words about Caesar.  Needless to say, he still prefers female dogs. and has never offered me geraniums since!

My garden - my planter!  

Back in the present day, while we were tidying my Grandma received a phonecall.  He neighbours had lost their old dog.  I remember the dog well as she would often wander round for a fuss or some food on hot summer days when she was supposed to be in the garden.  I was a mere 10 when the family adopted the puppy who had been found tied to a lamppost.  The topic, as is natural turned to our own experiences of this, 'I will find it hopelessly hard when Caesar's time comes' I told her.  What I didn't say is that sometimes I lie awake at night looking at him and worrying about it - his mere 6 years of age only making it harder as I realise the potential of our time together to quintuple!  And our bond too.

We began to talk about mine and Caesar's unlikely bond.  He was not the dog that I had wanted when I arrived at the shelter and I never make a secret of that.  It was Damien who was set on him and would not consider any other dog.  And, I'm pleased that my naivety and judgement were overpowered by my desire to have a dog...any dog.  But our bond began to grow from a few days into our relationship where I felt as unsure about him as he did about me.  We gained a sort of understanding 'we're both OK as long as we know where the other is.'  And, as long as I go out at the same time and return at the same time, he won't destroy my house (much).  

In our house he's more of a free spirit but at other houses he likes to keep me in his sights.  A sort of comfort blanket I suppose.  And that's OK, because I like to keep him in mine too!  And, if I leave him, he'll kick up a fuss as if to say 'you broke the rules'.  And so when I walked out of the door with my purse in my hand leaving him with my grandma, I completely forgot about the silent rule book.  That was until I was half way to the shop.  I felt a little wave of panic overcome me as I crossed the road; what if he wasn't coping?  What if he was scaring my grandma with his odd noises and behaviour?  What if he'd panicked?

I almost sprinted back from the shop.  I'd left the pair for almost half an hour.  And I have to admit I was afraid of what I might come back to.  I knocked on the door and a little face appeared in the window; it was Caesar.  He whined a little and looked around.  I held my breath.  I knocked again.  When I thought about it, Caesar hadn't been left anywhere for a little while.  Last time I tried to leave him with dad, he didn't like it.  He whined and cried and carried on and dad got quite annoyed with him.  'I should have left him in the garden,' I thought.  But it was too late.  Finally, from another room, I saw Grandma walking toward me.  I felt my heart return to it's normal position and I resumed breathing.  "How's he been?"  - "no bother." 

Caesar getting comfortable at my grandparents' house

So there we have it - somewhere between the Great Geranium Tragedy of 2012 and today, Caesar has found a place where he is beginning to feel secure.  Secure being left in a place other than home with someone other than me, secure in spending the day tottering around after me and my marigolds and secure in the knowledge that I will not leave him.  I know that it's not a profound breakthrough and perhaps there's not much to take away from this post.  They say that time is a healer and I'm sure that time has enabled Caesar to feel more comfortable.  He had to work to feel comfortable around me and now he is working to feel comfortable away from me.  

But dogs are so 'tying'...

Since I can remember, I've known that I wanted to own a dog.  When you tell this to people they have one of a limited number of reactions.  Here are the most common:

1.  I love dogs!

2.  I don't like dogs...

3. "But they can be so 'tying'"

For those who don't know what I mean when I say 'tying'.  These people simply believe that although having a dog might be nice it means a limited amount of:

1.  Day trips

2.  Mini breaks

3.  Holiday's (abroad or otherwise)

'Tying? Me? Never!  Now...please don't move, I'm comfy!'

There are several reasons for the above.  Firstly, not all places allow you to take dogs.  You may find a perfect place to take a mini-break with your dogs but then find that you cannot eat anywhere for lack of 'pet friendly' eateries.  And you certainly can't take them to the spa with you!  In addition, if you fancy a summer holiday with your canine companions, then that's fine but your holiday rental will have rules.  Mostly these include:

1.  Not leaving your pets unattended in the cottage/lodge/room.  This means that you are often forced to take your dogs with you to the supermarket.  And we all know the advert that says 'don't leave dogs in hot cars - ever - even with the windows down - ever ever ever!'  So that leaves you a) shopping alone or b) sprinting around the supermarket like an Olympic athlete.

Caesar, please let me back in the drivers seat!!

2.  Not allowing your dogs within certain areas.  We recently visited a wonderful dog friendly set of lodges that had the following noticed nailed to every door 'no dogs in the bedrooms'.  Fine.  Except for if your dog usually sleeps in the bedroom and, finding himself in a strange place, decides to howl all night.  I can understand that owners may not want a dog on the beds, however having a crated dog in a bedroom shouldn't present too much of a problem.

No more morning lie ins then!

3.  The unwritten rule - keeping your dog quiet, particularly at night time.  Which, now they are sitting in an icy lounge alone in a crate instead of tucked up in bed with you, isn't quite so simple any more.  And, while it's unfortunate that neighbours may hear the pathetic, lonely howl of your beloved pet, you are within the confines of the same small space and looking at the ceiling deciding; do I break all rules and go to him simply to stop the dreadful noise.  Or will that make it worse and, in fact, the best thing to do is to lie here wincing every time a howl starts.  

Caesar is an excitable dog at the best of times.  And, when on a recent camping excursion, he decided to show everyone just how excited he was by 'talking' to them and the rest of the campsite.  Our closest neighbours, a few metres away, had the kind of dog that probably no longer has a lead and pottered around their tent all day looking like it had no desire to go anywhere else.  The type of dog you see sitting outside a shop with no lead on waiting patiently for its owner to return - looking past everyone it sees.  Do you know what would happen if I even accidentally dropped my lead?  All hell would break loose!  Caesar would be speeding around the campsite stealing food and charging clumsily into everyone's dogs.  However, Mr and Mrs Perfect Dog did not see this.  They saw that their mini-break was being spoiled by howling and I spent the two days trying not to accidentally make eye contact with them.

The question, then, is why do it?  'They're tying though aren't they?' someone commented to me recently after complimenting Caesar on his good looks.  I nodded, mainly out of politeness.  You see, I don't think they are.  OK, so you have to be a little more organised with your schedule and, occasionally ask for a hand with letting them out.  But, actually, dogs are rewarding.  And, I think for every one of the handful of things I can no longer do because of Caesar, there is a new opportunity available to me; walking with friends, training sessions, agility, crufts and other dog shows (even when we're not competing!) and simply chatting with other dog owners in the park.  These are just a few of the windows opened since I have owned Caesar.  And, perhaps for a while I will miss my holidays abroad but, if truth be told, a holiday in England isn't so bad when the weather is good and at least then I know where he is at every second.  And don't spend my holiday hoping he's OK!

Right, I'm ready to go!

So, with all this in mind, I recently booked a holiday cottage and the owner contacted me to give me the arrival drill I was mortified to hear that they 'pop round' to check you've settled in!  I can only imagine what might happen - it's enough to give me sleepless nights!  

The question is, with a dog like Caesar, do you make apologies before he inevitably starts squealing and knocking things over and you can't speak loud enough to be heard over the din.  Do you make apologies for him before he even arrives?  In which case, you risk the owners saying 'not in our lovely rural cottage thanks very much!'  It's a conundrum.  But recently I was proven wrong when I took Caesar swimming.  I decided that the fairest option was to do the latter and make my apologies before I even brought Caesar.  I explained that Caesar was a rescue dog who was 'noisy, excitable and not great with other dogs'.  Thankfully, this seemed acceptable in this forum and all other dogs were moved back but still within a closer proximity than would be ideal (in the same room!).  I waited until the last second to introduce Caesar to the room, explaining that if everyone valued their ear drums, it would be best to leave him outside.  I also feared that he may jump straight out of the pool and onto another dog as would be 'Caesarish' behaviour.  You can imagine my surprise when, on entering the room, Caesar walked through the door in silence, stood by the pool in silence and swam around in silence.  He was then taken from the pool, placed within a couple of metres of dogs who were running around an enclosure playing and blow dried with a hair dryer-type device (something he runs away from at home).  And, the whole time, he never batted an eyelid!

So I've concluded that I will not tell the owners of Caesar's ....Caesarishness.... and, knowing they have their own dogs, hope they're not the type that sit outside supermarkets without their leads on!  

Fat face...

"I'm going to have an early night..." has been the catchphrase of my week.  I've said it nearly every night and managed it never.  Caesar likes an early night too.  I get my audio book on and we snuggle up under the duvet and I listen and he snores.  Only last night, the usual comforting snores of Caesar's sleep terrified me more by the second...

This is how it happened...

We'd decided on an early tea and I was sitting with my laptop balanced on my knee on the sofa as Damien cooked up a breakfast.  I lifted my hand to close the lid and Caesar, who was half on half of my leg flinched and winced.  I stopped in horror.  "You don't think I'm going to hit you?" I looked at him perplexed.  Caesar's history has always been a giant question mark and I've always wondered if any bad memories carry with him.  But he's been here two years now and I'd hope he knows that I wouldn't allow anything to happen to him.  I went to stroke him a moment later and he flinched again.  I called Damien.

"I don't know if something's happened to him but I think he's afraid I'll hit him..." I told him.  Damien shrugged when I showed him and then suddenly his expression changed.  Aghast he reached for Caesar's face.  "His cheek is all swollen he said."  I looked and he was right.  Because I was sitting on his left side, I was unable to see that his left lip and cheek were swollen as if he's been punched by Mike Tyson.  Panic set in as somewhere in my mind I remembered training about anaphylactic shock in children.  One of the things we were told to look for and report as a matter of urgency was swollen lips.

Swelling to the left side of Caesar's face came up suddenly.

Caesar has a habit of waiting until just after closing time at the vets on a weekend before deciding to come down with something potentially life threatening.  The first, and worst thing, I did was googled it.  One good thing about googling is that there's always someone worse.  And in this case, there were quite a few dogs who had seen much worse.  Some had swollen eyes and weeping scabs.  Others looked more like they'd been in a car accident than 'stung by a bee' which seemed to be the most common cause of the swelling.

I had two pieces of advice I was happy with.  A good friend and dog trainer, Chris, had told me to pop a cold compress on his face and perhaps try some Piriton.  I wandered over the the supermarket having pressed a cool towel to Caesar's face - he seemed thankful for the relief.  I had two names; "Benadryl" and "Piriton".  I couldn't find either!  Then, suddenly, I set my eyes on "one a day" by Benadryl.  I snatched them up and took them home.  However, when I got them back, I realised that they contain a drug called centirizine.  I googled it and got no results for whether it was safe for dogs or not - people on forums seemed to be debating it and there were many references to a 'poisoning in dogs' article which I was unable to find.  I decided to leave it.  Another trip to the supermarket would reveal that there was nothing safe to feed dogs.

*Very very useful note:  I cleared this up with the vet on the phone and she told me that centirizine is not safe to give dogs.  So for anyone wondering there's the easy answer that I could have done with last night!

Now it was decision time.  "In case of a GENUINE emergency..." the vets answer phone played.  As a pet owner, it's hard to make a good decision when it comes to this.  I've heard many people slandered for not taking their dog to the vet fast enough yet, at the same time, vets aren't keen on you wasting their time out of hours with non-emergency problems.  I looked at Caesar's face again.  It was really swollen.

Poorly doggy with a swollen face.

This is when it struck me; my insurance company provide a free 'Vetfone' service.  So I decided to ring this.  "I'd like you to ring out of hours..." said the vet on the end of the line.  "Your vet may not necessarily want to see you but I think it's best that they make that judgement..."  At least someone had now told me loudly and clearly what exactly I needed to do.  I called.

At first I felt panicky and spoke quite fast.  "I've had another bee sting today..." the vet told me calmly.  "That's what it sounds like...."  Despite my calling out of hours, she was very understanding.  "You sound worried." She said, "do you want to go over the the surgery and I'll meet you there?  Say 10 oclock?"  She thought that this could be an emergency too.
"So it's an emergency then?"  I couldn't help but blurt out.  Half mortified and half relieved not to have wasted her time.
"Personally.." she paused.  "If it's been like this for a while...I'd be tempted to leave it until the morning.  Keep an eye on him and, if anything changes, call back straight away.  I think it's unlikely to change now."

Poorly sleepy head.

So that's what I did.  I woke up every hour all night to look at him, prod him, call his name and wonder whether he was asleep or unconscious, snoring or struggling to breathe.  I lay awake wondering what would happen if I went in the morning and it was a tumour and nor a bee sting?  What if he needed and operation?

***

With his swollen face, Caesar could not wear his head collar.  This made me nervous.  He's hard to control on a lead and rears up at the dogs that he sees.  But I knew there was no choice.  

I love Caesar dearly and it's hard to explain to people who see the standing on his hind-legs barking Caesar that actually he's a massive wimp and would not hurt anyone.  It's hard to believe that myself sometimes, despite seeing evidence of it all of the time.  I left Caesar outside with Damien and checked us in.  Another two dogless ladies sat beside me and we giggled about why we don't bring our dogs into the waiting room.  "Just wait..." I told them.  Another lady sat by the door with a shaking, barking ball of fluff and made comments about another persons doberman.  "He's harmless!" the man said as the huge dog lolloped in but she just rolled her eyes.  I dreaded bringing Caesar past her and crossed my fingers, hoping that she'd gone in by the time it was our turn, but we had no such luck.  "Caesar..."  called a voice and I opened the door to allow the whimpering, squealing mongrel in.  The woman grabbed her dog and swore.  "That looks like a nasty dog," she said.  Less than quietly.  She was still passing comments when we came back out with 2 bags of medication and a better understanding of how much pain our pet was in.

**Impromptu rant:  I do feel that it was extremely unfair of said dog owner to pass comments about other peoples pets and I was upset that this was going on in a vet clinic waiting room.  For her sake, I'm quite glad that what Caesar had didn't turn out to be extremely serious or I might have gone and given her a piece of my mind.  It's a very good job that no one was bringing a larger dog in with a serious medical condition or that had reached the end of it's life.  I can understand that some people are not keen on larger and stronger breeds and I can see why but it is completely unnecessary to say things about people's dogs in a vet where they might be really ill!  ...I'm finished now.

So what was actually wrong with Caesar?  He has an abscess.  The vet is hopeful that it might go away with antibiotics (something I was not aware could happen).  However, should the medication fail to work, he will need to be operated on.  So all of our fingers, toes and paws are crossed hoping that he will recover.  The vet is unsure what has caused it as it is on the inside of his cheek but it looks as though it has been pierced by something and become infected.  The fact that it had come up so quickly suggests that it was pierced rather than just developing over time.  He also has a strong dosage pain killer to help him get back on his feet.

Caesar after some pain killers.  Feeling a bit better.

If you liked it, bark about it!

Apartment Antics

Yesterday was my birthday and, perhaps because I'm spoilt or perhaps because I'm content, I couldn't think of what I would like.  "What do you want?" people would ask me over and over, "there must be something..."  I was sure there was.  All year I'd spot things in shops and think "I'll ask for that for my birthday."  But, when the question came, when the moment to mention all of those little luxuries came, my mind would turn absolutely blank.

One evening, my mum called.  "How about a weekend away with us and the dogs?" she asked.
"Ideal!" I answered wholeheartedly.  Parents and dogs.  What could go wrong?

From the moment I adopted Caesar, my dad has always been on board.  He had a soft spot for the ginger mongrel before I did and still refers to him as 'my pal' whenever we visit.  A weekend away, though, would ensure that the pair were anything but 'pals' by the time we arrived home.

After a debate with my parents about bringing two cars or all travelling in one in which I had insisted that one would be better, not least because I don't like driving, it had been decided that Caesar should travel in the back with Damien and I and wearing his car harness.  The reason for this was partly because the boot of the car will only fit a small cage if all 5 seats are up and I could not put 2 dogs in there for 2 and a half hours.  Caesar, however, can usually be trusted to lie sensibly in the boot without attempting any Houdini style escapes but then there would be limited place for the cases and cool bag full of food.  It was a logistical challenge but, after some time, it appeared that the best arrangement was: Caesar in the back in car harness with Damien and I, mum and dad in the front with Sat Nav and Gemma in her small cage in the boot with the suitcases.  It was foolproof....

I set off at 4 from my house having frantically and independently packed the car.  I had Gemma in the cage, Caesar in his harness and I was pulling off the curb when he began to cry.  "Shhhh...." I told him but he wouldn't.  The crying continued all the way to my dads house 10 minutes away.  It was punctuated with howls and whimpers.  "Shhhhhhhhhh......" I tried to stay focused on the road, wincing as the sound bounced around my head.

Caesar and I travelling in the car

"Oh dear," dad said as he took over the drivers seat.  "What's all that noise about?"  Caesar ignored him and continued along his road to total annihilation of my ear drums.  Now sitting next to him, I stroked him, talked to him, shushed him, shouted at him, ignored him, begged him and eventually gave up on him.  He was not going to stop crying, it appeared, for the whole trip.  By the time we'd picked Damien and mum up from their different places of work, it appeared that the car journey would be a trial for all of us.  Dad had stopped the car while I took Caesar to the toilet, I'd tried giving him water and nothing seemed to be working.

When we arrived, after 2 and a half hours of almost unbearable noise making, Caesar turned it up a notch.  Dad pulled the car up at the apartment and Caesar began to screech.  He had seen two dogs running around on the moorland and the excitement was more than he could take.  He knocked into my face and screeched some more.  He jumped up at the windows and carried on.  Dad had his head on the steering wheel and his elbows over his head trying to drown out the noise as we sat in the car park.  It was unbearable.

On the upside, the lodge was beautiful and, relived that Caesar had eventually stopped making use of his vocal range, we were able to settle down to a nice evening meal.  Being on the Yorkshire Moors had it's advantages and we got the dogs out for a walk in the heather before the sun went down and the rain set in.

It was a tad windy on the top of the moor.  Can you tell?

After a nice evening, we turned in.  I'd brought the large crate folded up in the car and opened it up to create a bedroom for Caesar and Gemma.  I was relieved when they climbed in straight away and curled up together on the cushion bed that I'd created.  We made little fuss about going to bed and left the light on a little while until they were settled.  "Phew..." I sighed loudly as I popped my audio book on and fell asleep before I'd even heard a full sentence.

When I woke, the apartment was still in darkness.  Something had startled me though and it took a couple of minutes to realise what it was.  Caesar was now whimpering quietly in the living room.  Every few minutes, he would let out a loud bark and then begin whinnying like a horse again.  "You're joking!" I said to Damien but he was fast asleep.  I tried to turn over myself but I was awake and after a while it became apparent that Caesar had no plans to allow me to sleep again.

I checked my phone. 4:00am.  Damien was stirring now and beginning to complain.  I tiptoed to the end of the bed, slid my feet into my trainers and walked into the front of the apartment.  Daylight was beginning to filter through the darkness to the tuneless song of Caesar's whines.  "Shut up!" I told him impatiently as I slipped open the crate and let him onto the laminated floor.  I searched for his lead and slipped his head collar on.  "Thanks for this..."

It's not often that you find yourself standing on the moor at 4am.  And, although the morning was beautiful, it's not something I'd like to make a habit of.  I walked Caesar around a bit and then returned to the apartment.  Popping him back in his cage due to the 'no dogs in bedrooms' rule, I hoped that this might settle him.  In truth, if not worse, he was much the same as he had been earlier.

At 6am, after two more hours of failed sleep, I took the duvet and retreated to the front room.  Perhaps if I slept with him he might calm down, I thought.  This, as with my other theories, was not true.  I felt completely helpless.  'At least there's no one in the apartment next door,' I found myself thinking as I shuddered in the cold room under the duvet.  Caesar paced back and forth on the tiles, his claws tapping on the tiles.

Caesar at a 'dog friendly' pub - shame he decided to scare everyone by suddenly turning into a howling monster and having to be removed when he heard a puppy yapping in the bar!

I try to be patient.  I really do.  And, often, against my own judgement, I've been told that I am a patient person.  Perhaps outwardly that may be true but, inwardly, I scream at situations like this.  I lay there and felt my eyes fill.  Why was Caesar determined to spoil my birthday weekend.  It's hard to remember sometimes that, no matter what you have done for them, at the end of the day they're still just a dog.  In a sense, like a spoilt child, they will just make a fuss and carry on when they're not happy.  And, unlike children, they will never reach a point where they realise that they aren't the only being on the planet that has ever been cold/hungry/bored/tired.

I have to admit, I don't do well when I'm tired.  I don't like my eyes being sore.  I don't like feeling drained.  I was supposed to be going out walking on the moors.  Now all I felt like was having a very long nap.  Or, if that failed, crying.  Caesar nuzzled my arm under the covers and tried to climb on the leather sofa "no!" I told him sharply and turned over.  He began to cry again.

I allowed the thought of putting him in the car and leaving him there while I had a nap to wash over me like a tide of relief and then rejected it.  I couldn't do that to him as much as I felt like it...

Test your dog's IQ...

Firstly, I apologise to anyone who has found this post and does actually want to test their dog's IQ!  Anyone who is a regular reader will know that, for the vast majority of the time, I offer completely moral-free tales of a dog who quite possibly has an undiagnosed special need.  However, this was always the aim of the blog.  To let others who find themselves in a similarly difficult situation know that they're not alone.

Wonderful and absolutely bonkers all at the same time!

When you have a dog like Caesar, the worst thing to feel is alone.  Without the support of many people telling me 'this has happened to me too,' I may well have given up on Caesar within the first few weeks of ownership based on the fact that I just didn't understand what was going on!  However, I've come to not only accept this but embrace it due to the fact that many others have let me know that they have experienced similar and sometimes worse scenarios with their own dogs.

It's bad...but it could be worse.  Right?

Last night was the first time for a while that I'd felt alone with Caesar.  It wasn't because he had done anything naughty or damaged anything or eaten anything; these things I have learnt to live with.  For a change, it was my silly behaviour that had caused him damage.

To understand my behaviour at all you first need to know this fact; Caesar likes to jump.  In the short time that I've owned him, I've seen him jump fences, walls, stair gates, chairs....and more.  His current favourite hobby is jumping on and off the coffee table in the lounge.  And, when that bores him; on and off the window sill.

Caesar likes to jump on and off of the coffee table.

Close to where we live there is a beach and on the beach there are fences that section off parts.  Parts of the fences cover about 20m in width and range from 50cm to almost 2m in height.  When walking Caesar on the beach, I used to allow him to jump over them until someone kindly pointed out that I didn't know what was on the other side - thankfully before I found out the hard way that people don't necessarily look after our beaches and leave broken glass or shards of metal lying around.  I stopped this game as soon as I realised.

Caesar LOVES the beach.

I'd always dreamed of doing a sport such as agility or flyball with Caesar and would love to see him running a course.  I'm certain he'd be great as he has a good attention span when it comes to training.  There is only one problem; other dogs.  When I last attempted to get Caesar to do flyball he abandoned the run in favour of jumping a fence and chasing after a load of other dogs.  It's not that Caesar doesn't get enough exercise or variety because I'm constantly being told that he does.  However, like a proud mother, I can never escape the feeling that he could achieve more so I'm always looking for new things to try.  Failing that, I look for safe things to jump over on walks for a bit of fun.

Caesar sitting on a wall he'd jumped onto

Yesterday, on the beach I spotted a mild looking wall.  It was waist height on me and so, at a jog, I pulled Caesar, on his flexi-lead, toward it.  I let the lead loose and kept running as we approached.  Caesar seemed to be enjoying the run and began to make headway in front.  When he reached the wall, I gave the usual "up up up!" command....

Caesar can run really fast if once he gets going.

The next thing that happened was a blur.  Caesar hit the wall with a thud travelling at quite a speed.  He had seen the wall approaching yet somehow failed to jump and just ran face first into it and then collapsed into a pile.  My first, and very unmotherly reaction, was to laugh; fancy not noticing there was a wall there.  But then, having noticed the nasty looking mark on his cheek, I suddenly felt very concerned.  How would you explain to a vet that you ran your dog flat out into a wall?!

Ouch!  How much of a bad mum do I feel?!

In summary, to test your dogs IQ level; run them full pelt towards a wall and see if they jump.  If they do they have a higher IQ than if they don't.....simple!
And, since I'm now far too aware of legal mumbo jumbo that I shouldn't be bothered about, please do not do the above...it was a joke!