The dog days of Chug

Last year, I decided I wanted a dog for my birthday. Still trying to find my way out of a dark place, a rescue dog would also be my therapy dog. It was a perfect idea. I talked with an agency, Saving Great Pets (if you're ever in the market), and told them about my situation. Almost every pet adoption application is, I'm assuming, harder to adopt an animal than it is to get a citizenship to a different country. People like animals more than people. It's a fact. SGP is not as strict, they don't need to know your credit history, social security number, or if you have unemployed friends. I asked for a dog that fit my lifestyle, half the time lazy, half the time energetic...ok more lazy. Like an 80-20% here, because let's be honest...  also no barking as I share walls with neighbors, and has to be potty trained. The one thing the agency did get right is the lazy. He likes to sleep. A lot.

When I adopted Chug (whose former name is Dasher. Laaaaame), he was a GD monster. He has anxiety so badly that he near destroyed my apartment. Shredding the carpet, along with any loose mail/papers left on the coffee table. He ate- not an exaggeration- ate through 2 baby gates that were intended to keep him in the kitchen away from the rest of the place. He even somehow got up into the windowsill and ate the blinds.This was all in the first week, when I had to say goodbye to my deposit! The 2nd week, he got tangled in his leash on a walk so I bent down to help him, he jumped up, knocking my phone out of my pocket and cracking the screen. I was tired and frustrated with this little dog who was burning a hole in my bank account rather rapidly had somehow already won my heart. The final straw would have been if he ate my boots I had been drooling over and finally bought at Nordstrom, that little shit would've gone back to the pound. Lucky for him he did not. He also barks. Aaaaand sometimes he pees inside.

A day or two later I bought a crate and posted a note to the front door explaining to my neighbors that he was not being tortured, we're crate training and he hates it. He still hates it, but it's better for both of us that he remain in the crate while I'm at work. Since the crate, it's been much better for all involved parties.

There was the mud incident too. If you could see my face as I reminisce...It had poured rain throughout one of the first weeks we were together. I had been working 10 hour days which isn't really fair to a new dog getting used to a new living situation, but that was the Amazon life (To make up for it, I spent 5 months with him nearly every day over the summer/fall). My fella had invited me over for dinner with him and his daughter. He asked me to bring Chug and to pick up some beer. I like beer and I like dinner. I was in, especially after another long day, not having to cook sounded simply amazing. I stopped by the mini mart and when I got out of the car, Chug bolted. He went into a muddy field that's normally just a strip of grass but since all of the rain it was mud. He ran under a shed and refused to come out. After several agonizing minutes in the pouring rain, the mud caked dog came out from under the shed. I had to pick him up and put him in the car. I was then covered in mud, and for the small amount of time I was in the mart, the interior of my car was getting covered in mud. We finally got to our dinner destination where I grabbed the dog and wouldn't let him wander around the house with how filthy we both were and b-lined it for the bathroom to clean up.

Did I mention the cat? Boyfriend and his daughter have a cat. Chug likes to chase cats and be incredibly awful to them, which he did. Which caused dinner to be a disaster, stress and crying included...shortly after arriving, Chug and I retreated back home (where I drank beer in the shower, cuz I'm classy!). See? Total monster.


I understand that I am not painting having an incredibly high maintenance dog in the best light, but he is a great companion and has definitely done his therapy job keeping my mind on other things when I really needed it which is one of the main reasons I decided to go the dog route. Plus I'm highly allergic to cats and Tough Stuff isn't the therapeutic/cuddly type of turtle needed for that occupation. He in fact, is rather ornery...and bitey, but always with a smile.

So it has been one full trip 'round the calendar. My little red dog who loves to sleep in, chase squirrels, pee on the rug, always has a funky smell even after a bath, antagonize kitties and crows-which I really wish he wouldn't do since crows are smart and don't forget and I am terrified of birds- he certainly makes life more interesting, and while I rescued him from a kill shelter in California, he in turn, rescued me from myself.

The point to this, dear reader, is one that I made earlier in this post: People like animals more than other people. To drive this already proven fact home: Chug received more birthday cards than I did. I have a one up on him though, I can read.