So Iggy is not like Lady at all, whose adaptive period was a two-hour nap and howling when left alone.
Take this morning for example.
Iggy'd left a puddle on the floor. I was delighted. This meant that, apart from the three half-hearted whine, one bark and suspiciously lots of squeaky ball noises, Iggy had discovered his drinking bowl in the dark and ingested some fluids.
As long as we were awake, though, he was dead scared to eat. He'd gotten over his fear of moving by morning, since we hadn't chased and caught him for eight hours. And he loves his basket with his new best friend, Mr. Cold Wet Towel.
He tried coming in the bedroom. I said 'No Iggy' in my serious voice. He fled to his basket and didn't come out for the next half hour.
I decided to nap on the couch for a while, which Iggy did not trust at all. I'm the one who chases him from under there with a broom, after all.
But when I moved to my computer, and I didn't move from there for half an hour... He slowly snuck towards his food lunch-box (working on that particular container), liberated a single piece of dog kibble, moved it to his 'safe spot' between the TV and the coffee table, got noticed by me, praised by me as he tried to eat it and--dropped it out of his mouth. Mission failed.
I took him on my lap while I was on the internet, stroking him whenever he wasn't shivering. After fifteen minutes, he relaxed. Then I put him down and he promptly hid under the sofa.
Boyfriend came home with more kibble. If Iggy doesn't start eating more soon, the bag is going to last us a year.
He didn't drink either, which was worrying. I called my dad (mom yelled at me for buying a dog), re-wetted his towel (he licked it twice) and finally left with Boyfriend to have lunch (read: ice cream) at McDonald's.
We'd tried getting him to do his business outside, to eat, to drink, nothing was working. He'd stopped shivering and freezing completely when noticed and his ears perk up at the mention of 'Iggy'. And it was hot, so a short bike ride with an icy treat at the end of it would lift our spirits.
When we came home, he'd done a poo in the hall. We hadn't been there, so we couldn't chew him out for it. And then, there was the disappearance of more water from his bowl than evaporation alone could explain, combined with puddles next to it on the floor, his ball was moved and most of his kibble being gone. Iggy had waited for us to be really gone and had played, drunk, eaten and given the puppy response to food intake (this being food output).
If we had to go to McDonald's every two hours for him to drink, it would be a long and expensive week.
The dog being dogsat next door is still going bananas. Iggy wonders why the door barks when we pass it, but otherwise has learned that it's one of those noises in this strange, grassless new home. Cars, sirens, drunken calls, roadworks, barking door.
Boyfriend and I were home again, so Iggy chose a spot on the floor to lie down and stayed there. The reason we know he's not scared any more is that he shifts position about every half hour and no longer stays in his turtle-pose, wishing himself invisible for hours on end.
Iggy is far from perfect, but he's working hard on self-improvement so far.
I'd been told to come show Iggy to S. at half past three in the studio, so eventually we picked him up at went. Attempts at making him do his business outside were met with a few sniffs and Iggy sitting down and looking around in a very confused manner. Oh well.
J. was happy to see him. Her customer was, too. S. and Sis were upstairs with a friend who was doing their hair, but careful 'Rambo' was there.
Rambo turned out to be a black French Bulldog the size of an obese spaniel. He sniffed Iggy a bit and lost interest, occasionally coming back.
Iggy, confused with this new environment, was back to being a turtle in the corner. The improvement was that he relaxed enough to lie down after about five minutes of looking around in bewilderment. We talked a bit, Iggy's dashing good looks (read: freaky cross-breed appearance) were discussed at length, Rambo investigated Iggy some more... All was good.
Then Sis decided Iggy might be thirsty.
She got a bowl and put it four inches away from him. He sniffed it and otherwise ignored it. We talked some more. When Iggy had relaxed, I tried giving him a hint by slowly pushing the water bowl closer to him. He was now squished between the wall and the bowl. He licked a few times and got praised, then left alone. You have never seen a dog look so scared and confused about water in your life.
Eventually, we left. Boyfriend had to print something, so I was left with the responsibility of getting Iggy to maybe do something outside and then take him upstairs.
He sniffed a bit, then sat down. I tried moving away, giving him some space.
And the weirdest thing happened. Iggy, who shows no allegiance to anyone, takes no food, no affection and certainly doesn't come when called... followed me. True, it was at a safe distance, but there was definite following action being perceived. I double-checked by moving further away. He sniffed, he weaved, he bobbed... But he was definitely moving in the same direction as me.
The door posed a problem. I couldn't leave it open, because burglars, but Iggy wouldn't walk through with me as close as a doorlength to him. I picked him up, put him inside and moved to the stairs. Iggy hopped up the two stairs towards the staircase. I went up the stairs. Iggy moved to the bottom of the staircase. He was not coming up; I was still visible enough. I tried moving further away, moving closer, saying his name... Nope, Iggy was fine where he was. We live on the second floor.
I moved him to the first landing. He sniffed a bit, moved to the first step up--Leon barked behind the door. Iggy sat down and didn't move.
I moved him past the second landing and left him on a mini-landing, eight steps from our front door. I moved up, he moved up. Sort of. Halfway, he could see me and was happy with that. I fetched his squeaky ball, having heard last night how much he freakin' loves that squeaky ball. The squeaking got his attention. Someone was playing with his ball. Sadly, Iggy was raised in a pack. He didn't mind sharing.
The squeaker in the ball is temperamental, though. It can squeak, but it can also just puff air. And the puffing fascinated Iggy enough to come farther up. It sounded like another dog. He went up another three steps, just one step away from success. No amount of faked panting or squeaking was motivating him to move. I eventually picked him up and put him the hall, fully expecting him to sit on his butt and not move for a bit.
He didn't.
He moved to the living room and stayed there. I threw his ball. He moved, poking it into a spot he liked with his nose. Then he went to his water bowl, got two mouthfuls of water, noticed I was there and went back to hogging the space between the coffee table and the TV, testing out new and interesting positions of adorableness.
So he knows his name. He knows we're keeping him safe. He's more or less housetrained. And he's slowly starting to drink.
Tomorrow, I'm going to the studio, leaving him alone with Boyfriend. What's the worst that could happen?
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