Behind the closed door...

When I adopted Caesar I thought that owning a dog was all about; nice walks, fun training sessions, cuddles and companionship.  I'm not going to say it wasn't about these things.  Because I'd say these things account for around 50% of our relationship.  The rest is based around; compromise, sacrifice and forgiveness.  And these things must come from both of us.  Let me explain:

It's 3am and I'm at work tomorrow.  Caesar has just thrown up on the carpet.  I know why he's thrown up.  It's because yesterday, when I was at work, he broke down a door and ate a lot of sweets.  Sweets that I know he shouldn't have eaten.  He's been wearing a smile on his face ever since.  I know when the corners of his mouth turn up into a smile-like shape he is feeling sick and I've been waiting for this moment since 10pm.  Waiting to fall into a deep sleep.  I can't.

Caesar shouldn't even be upstairs. When I first got him, those were the rules; no coming upstairs, no going on the furniture and certainly no sleeping in the bed.  Those things changed when I realised the battle I had with Caesar.  People say 'pick your battles' and I totally agree.  It seemed important to Caesar to be close to us.  He wasn't content with sitting at our feet, he wanted to be sitting on our laps or cuddled under our arms.  At first, we would sit on the floor to give him this closeness and he was content with that.  But more for our own sake than his, it eventually became easier to allow him to come up on the sofa for a cuddle.  He began coming to bed when we realised how difficult he found sleeping alone.  He would cry and whine in the night and, although we thought he would grow out of it, it actually got worse as he got to know us more.  So here we are at 3am, Caesar and I, upstairs, in the bedroom and he's just, politely (I suppose), jumped off the bed and puked on the carpet.

From not coming upstairs to not coming in bed to sleeping by my side every night....feelings change...

It's not nice throwing up at 3am.  I, as you probably will too, know this.  So I can't feel cross with Caesar.  I'd like to say he has learnt his lesson, but know that his innate behaviour forces him to go looking for food.  He will eat foods that are poisonous to him and, what's more, if there's no one about, he will carry on eating them until they have gone.  Just read 'Saving Caesar: What about GDV?' to find out what happened the last time Caesar got hold of unlimited amounts of food.

So am I angry with Caesar?  No.  I'm angry with myself.  Clearly I'm not clever enough to outsmart him.  Immediately I'm thinking of a plan B.... Although this time it's more like a plan Z.  I've run out of letters now.  But I will keep trying.  This relationship is about compromise.  If I don't do my job properly, he lets me know by eating the contents of my kitchen and then throwing up.  Harmony is only achieved when I put in enough stops and he stops himself enough; I have no doubt that Caesar could break a door down if he needed to.

 Caesar looking like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth...

So last week the balance of our lives was upset when Damien was suddenly called away to France.  And all hell broke loose in our house.  I was trying to make things easy for Damien by acting as if everything was fine.  But, the longer he was gone, the less alright everything began to get.  Every day, my sister, who was staying with me, would return to the house at lunch time not knowing what she would find.  By the end of the first day, the baby gate which was supposed to prevent Caesar from coming downstairs had been broken off the wall.  And, on the third day she returned to find that the gate holding Caesar back from the dining room had been pulled over and the dining room door was ajar.

What's this???

If I had to choose a word to describe how the dining room looked it would be 'disastrous' but I don't really feel that even this does the state of the room justice.  Suffice to say that, when I returned from work that evening, I took one look into the room before shutting the door and saying, half to the dog and half to myself, "I can't cope with this now..."  It wasn't until later that I was able to bring myself to evaluate the damage.

Summary of the damage:
1 x Christmas present eaten (box of chocolates wrapped for a friend) - I found the wrappers in the garden a couple of days later...
1 x Christmas ornament broken (by trampling???)
1 x coolbox (belonging to said friend), opened and chewed around the rim
1 x coat pocket missing - chewed from the inside...
1 x poo in the corner (!!!) - embarrassingly didn't find this until days later!!
1 x rucsac missing handles and inner pockets
1 x upturned mug (thankfully not broken but nice sachet of hot drink MIA...)
1 x box upturned with contents all over the floor
Various papers of unknown origin chewed up and spat out...

Had I realised that he had eaten a whole box of chocolates including the wrappers at the time, I would have rushed him to the vet.  However, as it happened, I didn't realise that there was anything edible in the dining room until much after the incident when wrappers started appearing in piles in the garden...By which time, of course, they'd already been through his system!  That taught me to check next time.  Though, I must admit, I was a little glad that I'd missed that little bit of drama!

It's a little bit of a sore subject how many of the items got into the dining room though, that being said, I was fairly convinced that Caesar wouldn't be getting into there in a hurry with a large cage barring entry and a high door handle.  However, Caesar proves time and time again that Caesar does as Caesar pleases.  And, though these items had been months in the dining room, it seems that something as simple as Damien leaving for the week can cause a major change in Caesar's behaviour.

So; compromise, sacrifice and forgiveness.

Compromise; maybe you can come to bed if you find it so difficult to be alone.

Sacrifice:  I'll give up a nights sleep to be by your side when you're sick.

Forgiveness:  I'll forgive you for throwing up on my carpet and eating my sweets if you can forgive me for leaving them where you could get to them.

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!

Two and a half years ago...

Two and a half years ago, the name Caesar meant a Roman Emperor who I knew little about.  If you'd asked me what I thought about it as the name for a dog, I'd have said I hated it.  I'd much have preferred 'Fluffy' or 'Snoopy' or 'Star'.  But Caesar isn't a 'Fluffy', he's not a 'Snoopy' and I can say, in no uncertain terms, that he is certainly not a 'Star'.  He just isn't.  In fact, he's a 'Caesar'.  And, now that I have him I can think of no other name that would suit him as well.

Two and a half years ago, the only things I had to spend my money on were for myself.  I had freedom to spend on holidays, clothes and lovely things for my house.  Nowadays, I spend more money on pets than I do on myself and my wardrobe is starting to reflect this - as is Caesar's!

Two and a half years ago, I knew not what the term 'separation anxiety' meant.  And I knew how to leave the house without a second thought.  Step out, lock door.  Simple.  Now, the routine is much more complex; take Caesar to toilet, scan all of house for anything edible/destroyable/precious, find toys that are durable to leave out, shut kitchen door, throw self against kitchen door to check that it is shut, leave, lock door.  This adds a considerable amount of time to my morning routine not to mention general stress to my life when I'm at work and suddenly realise I've left my designer handbag hanging at the foot of the stairs...

Two and a half years ago, I believed that pets were pets and should never be allowed on furniture or in bedrooms.  They should have pet beds which were theirs and be grateful too!  Now I share my sofa and my bed and my life with a huge ginger mongrel and there's nothing better than snuggling up together on the sofa and watching a film!

Two and half years ago, I had enough space to sleep comfortably on a night.  Now I sleep in an odd shape with my legs over, around, under or balanced on a bundle of fur and muscle.  But, when it's not there, however uncomfortable it may be, I cannot sleep.

Two and a half years ago, I did not know how it felt to be greeted each night by a wagging tail.  That, no matter how bad my day had been, I'd be just as special every time I walked through the door.  I did not know that I could put my worries down with my bags and head out for a walk.

Two and a half years ago, I did not have the same capacity to forgive.  I did not realise how the fears of others can lead them to act in a way which is irresponsible and destructive.  I did not know that this behaviour was much less about me and more about them.  I did not realise that I could watch parts of my world be destroyed and feel sorry for the one who destroyed them.

Two and a half years ago, I went to bed alone when I was hurt, unwell or just tired, unaware of the healing qualities of a furry companion.  The calm constant lying at the end of the bed, cuddling into my legs or back.  The only company I can stand when a migraine takes hold.

Two and a half years ago, I knew that I didn't want a Staffordshire Bull Terrier or any cross breed of this type. I'd heard too much bad news and wasn't willing to listen to reason.  My favourite breed of dog was something small and fluffy, yet today I could not live without my Staffy cross boy - the gentlest natured and most loving dog I have ever come across.

Two and a half years ago, the name Caesar meant nothing to me.  It's strange how two and half years can make such a difference.

The worst guard dog in the world...

"How do you think Caesar would react if you were attacked?" asked my sister one afternoon as we sat drinking orange and chatting about a plethora of unrelated things.  Allowing one aimless topic to run seamlessly into another.

If I'm honest, it isn't the first time that I've allowed my mind to ponder the subject.  Caesar himself being 22kg and built like a buffalo would be a deterrent I had thought for almost any thug who might come my way.  But was I sure he would protect me?  I'd like to think he would but if I was being truly honest with myself - I think he'd probably just cry.

Equally, with burglars, I was sure that Caesar would frighten them before they realised what a noisy yet harmless lump of dog he is.  He may scare them by being overly boisterously friendly I thought.  Or by just walking into the room while they were there.

It was odd that a few days later, I noticed a post on a Facebook forum from a lady who had come in to find her back gate and door open.  She assumed she must have been burgled but that they had fled when seeing the dogs as nothing had been taken.  I nodded in agreement.  I should hope that this would be the case should we ever find ourselves in this horrible situation.

A wolf in sheeps clothing?  - probably the other way round!

I felt weird driving home at lunch time.  And annoyed with myself for leaving a file that I needed on my coffee table.  Cursing as I pulled up to the house, I strutted up the front drive praying that the file was where I thought it was so that I could get back to work quickly enough to get a bit of lunch.  I flung open the front door and dashed in quickly to find the house in complete silence.  'Good' I thought, assured that I hadn't been annoying the neighbours with nuisance barking.  After pausing for a second to think, I hurried into the front room.  The file wasn't on the coffee table.  Underneath?  I thought desperately and began unpacking boxes and pulling things out from beneath.  I banged and clattered as folders, notebooks and box files fell to the ground.  Finally, I saw the file and yanked it out.  I stopped to look at it.  Silence.

The house felt eerie.  Usually, I'm followed around everywhere by a ginger shadow.  But there I was...alone.  Sitting surrounded by boxes and paper that I'd rifled through.  And where was Caesar?  Who knows!

Was he knocking out the Zzzzz s?

About fifteen minutes after I'd come, I jumped in the car and drove back to work.  As I mindlessly steered down familiar streets, I began to worry.  What if Caesar was trapped somewhere?  What if he was injured or ill?  Not wanting to disturb him, I'd left him alone wherever he was.  I hadn't even peeped around the door to see where he was.  

I'm pleased to say that, at the end of the day, he was there with his wagging tail waiting for me.  But, where he was that lunch time, I can only guess...

Caesar, this is your life...

As I have said before, I am the queen of procrastinating!  So, with one day to go until I'm back at work and lots of other things that need doing, I decided to sit down and make you all a lovely video.  Enjoy!

It came to my attention yesterday that iphone users cannot see the videos I'm posting. Is anyone else having the same problem.  For those of you who can't see the video on the blog, here's a direct link:
Link to Caesar video

I'd love to hear what you think.  Leave a comment and let me know.