Routines and Priorities

For my health, I have recently made some pretty major lifestyle changes. One repercussion is that I get up about an hour earlier than I used to, and there’s a bit more puttering around before I leave for the day. After several days of “Did I take my pills this morning?” and “Shoot, I left my lunch in the fridge!” I finally seem to be settling into this new routine.

Bob, resourceful dog that he is, has taken this opportunity to adjust his morning routine to align with HIS priorities. I had assumed that his top priority on waking was the same as every other mammal on the planet – to pee. So after “Mommy first!” my next step was to drag him out the back door. Then I’d delay getting in the shower until he started scratching, lest he inevitably do so the moment I got lathered up.

However, chow hound that he is, Bob’s top priority is actually breakfast. Then he jumps back on the bed for a snooze while I shower, undisturbed. Once wrapped in my warm robe and slippers, THEN I drag him out the back door while I putter.

“How is this possible?” I hear you cry. “How can a dog wait to go out first thing in the morning?” Well, it turns out that Bob has the bladder of a…a… Why don’t we have some animal colloquialism to comment on this particular bodily function? Like “Can drink like a camel” or “Lithe as a cat” or “Farts like a cow”? Well, Bob does indeed have prodigious storage space. I once had a day trip for work, leaving before 6 am and not returning until after 9 pm. I’d made arrangements for someone to take him out late afternoon, but for a variety of reasons that didn’t happen. After 15+ hours, I arrived home to find Bob contentedly curled up on the bed. None of my senses detected any indication of an accident. Sure, when I finally did take him out, he really went at it. But I remain amazed that he held it that long.

Well, maybe this will be Bob’s legacy – “Has a bladder like Bob.”

I reflect that many of these posts comment on Bob’s habits of elimination. But isn’t that sorta true of all parents of toddlers (which Bob is and always will be)?

The point is – Bob’s unique gift gives him the freedom to rearrange his routine according to his priorities. While I may bemoan the things I don’t have, I can remember that what I DO have allows me that same freedom to rearrange my routine and to live according to my priorities.

Good Lesson. Thanks Bob.

p.s. Happy Thanksgiving from Bob and Bob's Mom!

 

Curled up

I do not think it is possible for Bob to be more curled up, smaller and sweeter. My heart just aches with how much I love him. Or, as Woody Allen said in "Annie Hall" I LURVE him..

 

As I have explained previously, I do not and cannot have children. This lurve I have for Bob gives me a taste of what it would be like. My sister in law once said "I expected to love my children, I did not expect to be IN love with them. But I am."

 

And that's how I feel about Bob. A love so deep it hurts. No, just pulls. Stretches. Reminds me to breathe.

 

Good lesson.  Thanks Bob

In Between

Wow. Crazy Bob Mom to post so soon. Was told something today that puts me "In Between" again. Uncomfortable. But Bob, You're resilient. And I just need to be in the in between. Just breathe. Wow. This Sucks. Ok. Breathing,,,

Good Lesson.  Thanks Bob.

Pee and Matter

Nerd side comment...energy and matter are related by the expression e=mc^2.  Energy IS matter.

So I was walking Bob this morning. As always, he pees big time as soon as we're outside. And for the rest of the walk (giving him time to poop) he sniffs aggressively and lifts his leg everywhere. Even after I inform him that the tank is empty. Instinctively, he needs to leave a mark.

As a rescue dog, Bob is obviously "fixed". Will not procreate. I too have been "fixed". I alluded in an earlier post that a "bunch of shit" happened two dogs ago. OK, so here's the deal. I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. You do not mess with ovarian cancer. So I was "fixed". Ten years later, medical science had advanced and my particular tumor was re-diagnosed as "benign." Um, great. A little late, guys.

Rest assured, I have not taken to peeing on the sidewalk. But I DO leave a mark on this world, even without kids.

Be Like Bob lesson: I matter

Good lesson. Thanks Bob.

Bob's Foreleg

No witty, insightful essay this time. I just snapped this picture last night because I was marvelling at how muscular Bob's front leg is. Jeez. No wonder he's such a tank!

Resilence

Our schedules were a little kerflewy yesterday…I took the day off, and had an appointment 3-5 pm yesterday. Bob isn’t used to me being home all day, and then leaving around walk/dinner time. As I left the house, his desperate howls broke my heart. But I knew he’d settle down. And by the time I came back, he was happy to see me, none the worse for wear.

Now, perhaps he’s just blessed with limited memory (I might have to run him through the games/tests on Dognition.com to find out.) But I don’t think that’s it.

I think Bob has the gift of resilience – to be able to adapt to change, to redirect his loyalties, and to love the one you’re with.

 

As you know, I adopted Bob from the Humane Society a couple years ago. At a time when I was emotionally bleeding out. God knows what stress pheremones I was spewing out at him. I gotta think he had his own stress spew going. At 1-1/2 years old, his first family dropped him off. Into a place of concrete and chain link and strange, stressed, noisy dogs. And never came back.

Yet, he toddled up to me in the meet-‘n-greet area with no residue of such loss, such hurt.

It only took him maybe 36 hours to adapt to my home. I should say, the house. “Home” no longer applied.  And when we moved to an apartment a year later – OK, the first night he barked at every noise, but by Day Three he pooped right on the sidewalk like any self-respecting City Dog. (I picked it up of course – see earlier post)

Granted, he has his moments of separation anxiety – reference yesterday’s howling. And, as soon as he hears my key in the door, he gets a bit excited. And does a number on the wall/molding. (Eh, might hit my security deposit. Or maybe just some spackle & paint.)

But generally, Bob is content with his not-so-new-anymore-life, as long as he can curl up in contact with his mom from time to time.

While I’m not emotionally hemorrhaging 24/7 any more, I still have spells of missing my old life, flawed as it was.

Be Like Bob Lesson – Change can be good. But ya gotta leave the baggage behind.

Good Lesson. Thanks Bob.

Welcome Home Bob...Again

Bob came into my life on the Ides of March 2011. I had been stabbed in the back, and at the time wasn’t sure if I would survive. OK, beyond that the Julius Caesar reference just falls apart. Whatever.  At least I know that March 15 is Bob’s and my anniversary.

So, I missed our anniversary this year because I was on a business trip plus a side trip to visit my parents. Which meant that Bob had a rather lengthy stay in purgatory. Kennel operators (at least the ones I frequent!) are wonderful to and for their charges. Still, every dog  is deliriously insanely happy when it turns out that this unexplained exile is not in fact permanent. One may think that shelter dogs exhibit this desperation more acutely, but that does not jibe with my long experience of springing many dogs from jail. Rather, I think it’s a fundamental pack mentality shared by all dogs – Pack Leader Is Back! We Are Saved!

Still, it would be flattering if on his release, Bob focused entirely on me (as Pack Leader) and knocked me over so he could shower me with kennel-biscuit-scented kisses while all the kennel staff and other dog parents looked on approvingly at our bond. I have had dogs that do stroke my ego that way. But, well, that’s not Bob’s style.

I reckon he just knows that exile is bad, something changes, and change can only be good. He enters the lobby where a cacophony assaults his exile-dulled senses.  People! Toys! Dogs! Bags of Food! And oh-for-the-love-of-God-my-freaking-brain-is-going-to-explode. CATS!

I have mentioned earlier that Bob provides quite the upper body workout as this tank of a dog jerks in all directions. Said chaos is documented in the illegible signature on the nearly $500 credit card slip for his foray in exile. OK, we covered all his medical expenses for the year too. And when I line that up relative to my medical deductable, considering both the physical and emotional services he delivers – well, he’s a pretty good deal for the money.

And that signature. My signature. It flows so much more naturally from my hand than did the name I assumed for a decade while I tried to be someone I wasn’t. I realize that even the handwriting in my journal – actually, my 11 volumes of journals that breathed for me these two painful years -- has been so cramped, so scratchy. I too have been in exile.

So Bob, you’ve come back from exile that you did not understand.  I am here to hold you. You are home.

And I am home too. Back to my name. Back to me.

Good Lesson, Thanks Bob.

Countersurfing

Update Sept 12, 2014:
Sad to report that Zeus has crossed the rainbow bridge to the big Kitchen Counter in the Sky.

http://news.yahoo.com/video/world-tallest-dog-dies-age-005028083.html

RIP, Zeus

Admit it, if your dog is big enough, he or she countersurfs. It’s in the dog code of ethics – Go Where Food Is. And kitchen counters are always a good bet. Some better-trained dogs are discreet about it, waiting until you leave the house. But the evidence on the floor is irrefutable – the empty donut box, the licked-clean take out container with teeth marks, and on unfortunate occasions, broken glass.

Bob? Not so discreet. He basically shoves me out of the way while I’m cooking. So I push the food further away from the edge of the counter and shove back. Eventually we reach a truce – which means I put some morsel in his food dish. Despite being an indulgent dog owner, this is the one area I do not budge – no people food fed by hand. Ever. OK, unless I’m training him and using carrots as a reward. (Man, he loves carrots!)

Thing is, Bob was not blessed with the physical attributes that would typically position him as a champion countersurfer. Not like Zeus, the world’s tallest dog from my proud home state of Michigan.

  This guy OWNS the counter. Not a surprise there’s not much on it.

And then there’s Bob who, fully extended, can barely rest his chin on the counter’s edge. And yet, his countersurfing skills are prodigious. If Zeus is the Manute Bol of countersurfing, Bob is Spud Webb. Because he makes use of what he DOES have. Big paws to get a solid grip. Tank-like build to push himself into the best leveraging point (usually by pushing me out of it). And last but not least, a preternaturally long, giraffe-like tongue. He tips his head to the side to maximize his reach and laps toward his target until he finally makes contact and lures it in.

It would be funny if I hadn’t lost so many dinners before I realized that, despite his small stature, nothing within 10 inches of the edge is safe.

Gotta admit, I admire his resourcefulness.

Be Like Bob Lesson: Don’t assume someone’s not good at something just because they don’t appear to be cut out for it.

Be Like Bob Corollary: Use what ya got.

Good Lesson. Thanks Bob.

Bob the Musher and Bob the Rock

I have mentioned that I walk Bob twice a day. Actually, “drag” would be the more accurate term. Sometimes Bob is dragging me because he sees or smells something interesting up ahead – another dog-walker, a bit of food, a bug. Let’s call this “Musher mode”. More often I am dragging Bob because he has discovered a particularly interesting smell that he wants to savor. Let’s call this “Rock mode”.

Musher mode isn’t too bad, unless it’s slippery out. I’m pretty good at holding back that tide. Rock mode is a little more difficult. You see, Bob weighs about 35 pounds, of which approximately 68 pounds is muscle. He also has very large paws. So when he really plants himself over an intriguing scent, he exerts somewhere north of 300 pounds of resistive force against the pull of the leash. Of course, I could easily just pick him up and move him on his way. But dragging him shows him who’s boss! OK, that's delusional. So how 'bout this -- dragging him gives me an upper body workout for free. Multitasking!

There are some physical hazards associated with this. A couple months ago I developed pain at the lower end of my right bicep due to the habit of dragging him with a bent arm. The doctor said it was some sort of muscle strain or tendonitis or whatever (I leave the diagnosis to the “real” doctors out there.) So now I drag with a straight arm, and alternate my leash-holding hand, thus giving each shoulder a nice stretch. The other hazard springs from the fact that Bob switches from musher mode to rock mode and back to musher mode with random, nanosecond transitions.  Said nicely-stretched shoulders are at perpetual risk of being pulled from their sockets.  Not to mention balance, which means I need to keep my core abdominal muscles on high alert throughout. It is a full, multitasking upper body workout.

These drag hazards take on new dimensions when Bob joins me on a jog. Or should that be a drog? Yes, I like that. Hazard Class One: unlike walking, when one jogs there are moments when neither of one’s feet are in contact with the earth. Hazard Class Two: Bob is so excited to be going further afield that the musher/rock transitions are a) much more frequent and b) no longer one dimensional. The mush forward/rock back pattern of a walk becomes mush forward/rock left/mush right/rock back/mush left etc. So not only am I less steady due to being intermittently airborne, I am also buffeted by the shifting gusts of force transmitted through the leash. Not to mention the occasional "rock forward", when I nearly trip over him. Eventually he settles in and is a great jogging companion. But that first mile, when I am simultaneously airborne, buffeted and navigating uneven sidewalks and/or potential slick spots is, ahem, challenging. Bonus points if I’m also juggling a bag of poop in all this. And, the first mile of my favorite drogging route is uphill. (Could use some mush forward help here, Bob!) Takes a lot of effort, both in the brain and in the core. No wonder my heart rate soars well above the zone that my Polar heartrate monitor has decided is “target” for a woman of my years.

But I do it because it’s good for my health and I enjoy how much Bob loves these drags and drogs. I appreciate that they are the Today Show and the Evening News of Dog World. New pee on the retaining wall! Unfamiliar person and potential friend at 12 o’clock! Greasy fast food container abandoned on grass! A cat crossed This Sidewalk! At This Spot! These stories and more on Channel O! K! Nine! (wait for it…aaaaannnd…groan)

And it occurs to me – why do I feel the need to keep moving ahead, to “make progress”, especially at risk to limb and perhaps life, when Bob clearly has an entirely different take on it?

BLB Lesson: stop and smell the news. Or in more human terms, take time to pay attention to what’s right under your nose.

Good Lesson. Thanks Bob.

Dog Poop, and Its Role in Civil Society

I walk Bob twice a day around my neighborhood. I switch up the route so we don’t get bored, and to increase the chances we’ll meet someone new. On these random loops around the city blocks, I have made a few observations and conclusions about dog poop. Or more specifically, people’s reaction to dog poop.

We begin with the fact that dogs do indeed poop. It would be very unhealthy for them if they did not.

Responsible dog owners pick up said poop with the patented plastic-bag-grab-flip-inside-out maneuver. We responsible dog owners are immediately recognizable by the little bags of poop we carry around until we can find a suitable trash receptacle (which my recycling bin is NOT, thank you very much). It may seem counterintuitive, but a person is actually more approachable when he or she is carrying a bag of poop. This signals that the person is a) responsible and b) not above a little scut work when the occasion demands it.

In general, my neighborhood has a high percentage of responsible dog owners. And a pretty reasonable tolerance for the irresponsible ones, in that the place is not littered with “Curb Your Dog” signs.  The church across the street is an exception, but I don't blame them since there’s a school attached. You don’t want the kids tracking it inside after recess. And to their credit, the church has a sense of humor about it:

But there is one block in this whole neighborhood where the local dog poop norms and mores don't seem to apply. On this one block, several houses have signs which suggest “Don’t even think about letting your dog poop in my yard!”

I'm OK with "please clean up after your dog" signs. But not to let a dog poop in the first place? Is this a concern at the possibility that a mere molecule of poop could be left behind? Hmm, sounds like there may be some control issues?

In this context, I find the headless pooping dog on the right particularly disturbing.

What is also odd is that, on this same block, one house has a statue of St Francis of Assisi. And that yard always has bags of poop lined up against the fence.

I have pondered why this one block exhibits such atypical attitudes and behaviors toward poop compared with the rest of the neighborhood. I have imagined a number of scenarios how this microcosm could have evolved. Some scenarios do not reflect the general friendliness of my environs (but would make a good short play - "Poop Wars"). So all I'll say that St Francis really IS an animal lover if he doesn't mind all that poop piling up!

Lesson: ya gotta take the not so good with the good. Life's a package deal.

Not really a "Be Like Bob" lesson, but I wouldn't have learned it if it weren't for Bob, so...

Good lesson. Thanks Bob.

Bob's Emotional Life

I have concluded that Bob has three states of mind:

"Contented" covers the 14 or so hours every day that he sleeps. Though maybe he's not always contented while sleeping -- he apparently has some pretty exciting dreams. This also includes the occasional time when I'm reading on the couch and he snuggles up, which is a bit rare because..

"Hopeful" is basically from the time I get home from work until bedtime. Plus before work. He is hopeful for food, a walk, or for me to play with him. Also in this category is the time I am otherwise occupied and he gets into what he knows he shouldn't, just to get my attention. Shoes, gloves, pens, reading glasses, whatever is accessible via counter-surfing. He has me pretty well trained here -- I do stop what is occupying me to take whatever away before he damages the item or himself.

Sigh, and then there's "Insane." Occasionally a brain virus overtakes him and he tears all over the place like a maniac. I will try to capture this on video and post. It's pretty funny. There are also the times when he perceives a random, obscure, but serious threat to his pack. I have dealt with this by standing strong and tall and saying in my most authoritative voice "Go Away." Then I inform Bob that his pack leader has eliminated the threat and he can stand down. Sometimes it actually works.

I considered a fourth category, "Sniffing" which he does pretty much 24/7. But that's not really a state of mind. Rather it's a supporting behavior for any one of the other three.

So, am I like Bob? Unfortunately, no. First off, I am the breadwinner of the household so have to spend a good bit of time "Focused" on being a corporate drone. But of my non-corporate-droneness life, I have to admit that my "Insane" pie slice is a whole lot larger than Bob's. Taking things personally, agonizing over the past, worrying about the future. And I also have had my attacks of brain virus, which are a whole lot less funny than Bob's.

Lesson: spend less time being insane and more time being contented or hopeful.

Oh, and maybe I should sniff more.

Good lesson. Thanks Bob.

p.s. As a scientist, I have to acknowledge that the pie chart is not terribly precise.  There are times when I can't quite tell where Bob's mind is. Like this picture -- could be any one of the three.

Work-Life balance

I worked from home today. Just a lot of teleconferences and webmeetings so there wasn't a lot of need for "facetime" in the office. That generally works well for most of the day - Bob sleeps just as he would if I weren't here. Come around 3 pm, he starts to get a bit antsy. Of course, when I'm not here til after 5, he's fine. But if I'm here, the timeline shortens. Today,the antsies were a bit annoying, since I still had two late afternoon conference calls. One of which I was leading, so going on mute to avoid broadcasting the barking and howling and whining was not an option. I let him out in the back yard, and he promptly climbed up the fire escape to the 2nd floor apartment, from where he is afraid to come down. (I'm a little afraid for him to try it too. It's steep!). Had to ask my colleagues to take a break while I rescued him. They graciously complied.

Yet, I was annoyed. I have a BIG IMPORTANT JOB! I have a freaking PhD! I should SO not have to climb up a steep scary fire escape to scoot my panicking tank of a dog safely down the freezing cold metal steps on my keister! In the middle of a MEETING!

And yet there is no WAY I would leave him up there shivering in both fear and cold.

And my collegues were absolutely fine with it. When I got back to the teleconference, they were sharing their own pet stories. And then we had a very productive discussion on the work front. (it helped that Bob was still a bit scared/grateful so not so disruptive!)

Lesson: People understand that you have a life outside work. And by admitting it, you acknowledge that THEY have a life outside work. And they appreciate it.

Oh, but that's right, this is all about Be Like Bob. And THAT lesson is ask for help even if it might be inconvenient.

Good lessons. Thanks Bob

Naming Bob

I'm an amateur actress. Community theater devotee. I name my pets after parts I have played. So a male dog presents a bit of a problem in that the options are more limited. But I had a few gender-neutral character names in my pocket. One was Smitty from "How To Succeed in Business Without Really Trying." Gosh I had fun in that show! And the other option was from the "Nunsense" canon. I was Sr. Robert Ann. And pre-show meet-n-greet line was "Call me Bob."

So my choice was between Smitty and Bob. Now that I reflect, both  characters are beautifully open to whatever comes along. But that barrel-chest. Yeah, he's Bob.

Which is a little tricky. I've dated a couple guys named Bob. Huh, occurs to me that both relationships were  especially meaningful. Huh. Anyway, it is possible that I will meet a guy named Bob. And he might not be crazy about sharing a name with my dog.

But then, if he can't deal with my dog's name, maybe he's not the right man for me. We're a package deal. Me and Bob.

Be Like Bob lesson -- listen to who you really are.

Good lesson. Thanks Bob

OK, here's the background

My 7th dog died in April of 2009. (recall that Bob is my 8th) In addition to grieving her death, I also knew in my gut that she was the glue of our marriage. We were staying together for the dog.

I gave him time to grieve -- she was his first dog -- oops, no second. When we met, I had a beloved purebred  who tragically died at only 5, and he loved her as much as I did. Umm, there was a lot of other shit that happened at the same time she died. Maybe for a later post. Anyway, after a year I started lobbying for another trip to the Humane Society. He argued that he wasn't willing to risk this pain again. I kept pushing. He bonded with our (standoffish) cat. Said cat (who had actually become quite lovable) died in his lap in November 2010.

I knew that we had been staying together for the cat. Umm. Up a Crick.

And sure enough, he left me in February 2011.

Ah, it's hard to even look at the words "February 2011". The pain, the emotional hemorarrghing. Ouch. OK. Breathe.

The Friday after he moved out, I was driving into work and decided right then to take a half day vacation that afternoon and get MYSELF a dog.

Welcome!

Bob is my dog. He's a puggle (pug/beagle mix). But I think he's got some other stuff in there -- I actually sent in a DNA sample, so we'll find out soon enough!

Having regaled my Facebook friends with Bob's antics for nearly two years now, I have been talked into creating a blog.

Sure, I'll include the funny stories, but this is more than that. Bob is my teacher, and I have decided I need to be more like Bob. Unfortunately there's apparently another blog called belikebob,so that's why this is "GONNAbelikebob".  But maybe not so unfortunate. It hammers home the point that I will always be striving to be more Bob-like...

So what is it about Bob? Well, he is the friendliest dog I have ever known.  And he is the 8th dog I've had in my life, and counting all those dogs' friends, let's just say I've known a LOT of dogs! He will toddle up to anyone -- canine or human -- with a little pug underbite smile, ears flapping, tail wagging. And I do mean "toddle" -- he's so barrel-chested that he bounces side to side and his front legs kind of go in circles rather than forward and back.

So, really, who could resist that? As it turns out, there are a few, both canine and human. And if that happens, he just toddles off to make friends with someone else.

So, my first act of being like Bob is:

• assume people want to be friends
• if it turns out they don't, walk away and don't take it personally.

Not a bad lesson. Thanks Bob!