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.