Iggy, on the other hand, appears to be a type of dog that doesn't shed. His dandelion fluff just gets longer. J. occasionally manages to clip the hair around his face for hygienic reasons, but apart from that he's unaltered. He's a fuzzy, fuzzy thing.
And he's making progress.
He's still cautious as a shell-shocked veteran, but he forgets when he's in J. and W.'s apartment. There he goes crazy as only a puppy can. He annoys cats, dogs, steals food and is very aware that J. will allow him to do anything on account of his cuteness. He's squeaky and fast and not always house-trained.
In our apartment, he's house-trained. Most of the time. Accidents are few and far inbetween.
He is very much aware of who wears the canine pants in our household. Turns out, it's me.
He walks on a leash. With a fitting harness, it took fifty yards of dragging before he gave up and walked and found out that it was easier. He freaks out when strangers pass by, bouncing out of the way with all the calculability of a squirt of lemon juice, but apart from that, he's a dream dog to walk. He rarely if ever pulls on the leash, keeps up and enjoys the journey rather than sniffing at every other lamppost.
At first, he tried resisting Boyfriend's attempts at walking him. Boyfriend is more lenient with him, which means Iggy is more playful around him and raises a racket whenever Boyfriend leaves him alone or comes home. It also means Iggy was fairly sure, and correct, in his assumption, that Boyfriend would be reluctant to pull and walk on the leash if our bundle of joy decided to dig in his heels. He was right for the first trip. The second one, Boyfriend realised that Iggy was perfectly unharmed by walking on a leash and if he decided to pull, he only had himself to blame for having to catch up.
If we had to wait, Iggy, who has what J. kindly calls 'a deep respect' for me, even goes so far as to realize people don't bother him when I make him sit between my legs. When he's put there, he lies down and watches the world go by. No one messes with a fat girl wearing
We thought Iggy was coming along nicely.
And then he started teething.
It started with my knitting. I was making a hat, just for the sake of hatness. I was making this on needles from the States that come from a 72 euro set that takes ages to arrive and might be taxed by customs. Then I come home and find it my knitting in the hall, on the floor, covered in dog hair, with the ball tangled beyond rescue and reeking of dog spit. The needles were fine, but it took some self-control to not yell at the dog who was so happy so see me come home. I cut off the tangled mess, attached a new ball, finished the hat, washed it, washed my needles and made note to leave my knitting out of canine reach.
Next were the treadmill and a plush toy. The frog plushy, with its pupils worn out of the safety eyes, looked positively demonic with half its head missing. The treadmill lost resale value due to Iggy trying to find release from teething by chewing off the handle's foam. He didn't eat it, just tore it up.
We put up the treadmill so no chewables were near and thought that solved it.
Then Iggy started chewing the wallpaper. Lady tried this once, making the fatal mistake of doing it within sight of my mother, who'd spent a week wallpapering the kitchen and living room. Lady did not try a second time. Iggy, however, gets his freak on in private. We couldn't catch him right away.
We cleaned up the mess and vowed to get chew toys.
The wall-chewing continued to the point where I stopped waiting until someone with a car had time to drive us to the affordable pet supermarket. I got up early one Saturday, ran some errands, and went into the horse equipment store that also stocks some cat and dog paraphenalia, buying everything chewable in Iggy's weight class. Luckily, Iggy is in the rare weight class of 'Are you feeding this dog?' and I only had two options, paying almost double the worth of what I was buying. A chew rope, for soft chews, and a cow hide bone, should he desire some hard things.
Being home had the added advantage of hearing him if we were in the bedroom and he decided to savage the walls further. It took a few tries, but the threat of me popping up going 'BAD, EVIL DOG, GET OUT OF THERE!!' out of nowhere seems to work.
I thought that was it with the shenanigans. Silly me, forgetting we have a dog and not a video game character that doesn't learn new things when left alone.
Next trick: the sofa.
We have a Wii, as said. Wii games have starting screens, which get left on for whimsical reasons like finding out what someone is doing in the bedroom for so long (I was organising Boyfriend's part of the wardrobe) or taking a toilet break. Lately, if we dare leave it on, Iggy jumps on the couch, gets comfy and watches television. It's not a vacuum tube screen, so I think he can actually see what's happening rather than that he's just listening to the repetitive tune of Animal Crossing. He'll even jump on the couch next to Boyfriend if he thinks he can get away with it. That's how he learned that, when pushed and encouraged by me, even Boyfriend can tell him no.
At the moment, he isn't on the couch when we're around. But Iggy's a dog and the sofa is comfortable. I have no illusions about what he's doing when we're out.
And then he discovered laundry with silly things like ties and trouser legs. He hasn't done anything to it, just like he wasn't much into the actual knitted part of my hat, or the T-shirts he slept on as a scared little Iggy. He just seems to enjoy winning tug-o-war from my good shirt and Boyfriend's jammies.
To end with a positive notes, there's treats. Iggy is starting to realise treats are better than fear.
And I use the term 'treats' loosely.
Okay, that's not fair.
Boyfriend wants to give Iggy only dog treats. Then I show up with ham about to go bad and give half a package to Iggy. Or give him a piece of my apple. Or sandwich. A leftover, cold hamburger patty. Or, in my last particularly decadent mood, three rashers of bacon.
Iggy has understood this quite well. What he also learned was that I give treats in handy-dandy mouthfuls. If he eats it, and comes back, there's a fair chance there will be a new, tasty piece waiting.
Yes, I'm bribing my dog to feel appreciated by him. That, and if he gets a bit fatter/bigger, we can fit him with a harness meant for dogs rather than cats and bunny rabbits.
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