Tag Archives: miniature Schnauzer

Beheading of stuffed toys suggests therapy for dog

Observing our Schnauzer‘s habit of beheading his stuffed toys and then preferring the beheaded creature or its lone body part over new toys, our daughter made the comment that “If that was the behavior of a child, he’d be in therapy.” Wonder if there is such a thing as pet therapy?

Visitors to the house are often taken aback by the headless animals and body parts strewn randomly around the house but our regular little visitors (i.e. nieces, nephews and cousins) immediately head for Ike’s toy box, an antique bread-rising box. Ike knows where they’re headed so races them to the box, where he leans over the side, grabs a favorite item and runs away, hoping he’ll get to play chase.

I’m sure some people find this collection of decapitated stuffed animals thoroughly disgusting but we view his favorite — a lavender arm torn from a Relay for Life teddy bear — as the equivalent to a child’s “blankie.” And like most parents, we’ve learned not to leave home for a long period of time without a well-chewed toy.

Here is a pictorial sample of what you’ll find on our floor on any given day. Taking these photos was not easy — imagine trying to take your child’s favorite toy or blanket — even for a few seconds.0102131950a0102131950

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New Christmas toy -- squirrel house with three squirrels -- two of which have already been torn at the seams....and repaired.

New Christmas toy — squirrel house with three squirrels — two of which have already been torn at the seams….and repaired.

Welcome to our zoo, part two

Late Friday afternoon, an energetic Havanese entered our lives with the force akin to a full-blown blizzard. My first hint at how the weekend might play out came when Ike bolted to the front door, sniffing along the doorjamb, whimpering only slightly.

Much to his surprise, the door opened and a white ball of fluff barreled into the living room, skidded across the oak floor and slammed into Ike. The moment he was off his leash, the two dogs were racing through the house. Watson barely stopped long enough to acknowledge his owners’ goodbyes.

Ike thinks he's hiding

This went on for the next three hours, with periodic time-outs to catch their collective breaths. In the meantime, the hubs and I vacillated between laughing uproariously to feeble attempts at creating order.

 

We finally gave up. At about 9 p.m., the Havanese was relegated to his crate in the basement and the Schnauzer collapsed at my feet, happily snoring within seconds.

This morning, Ike slept in like a teenager. Obviously, he was storing up energy for another day at the races. Fred finally dragged him from slumberland and took him out to perform his morning ablutions. When they returned, we fetched Watson from his crate and sent him out for his turn about the block.

Back in the house and they were back at it, running in circles, stopping only long enough for a gulp of water or to snitch a kibble.

For the moment, things are quiet. Ike has crashed in his favorite spot on our bed near the window…ever on guard for the next squirrel. Watson is downstairs — not sure he wants to navigate the steps.

I’ll say one thing for this dogsitting business. It has cured me of my urge to get a second Schnauzer to keep Ike happy. We’ll just borrow Watson.

Ironically, last night when my husband asked how big Watson will get, I told him that he’s already full-grown.  Besides, he’s mostly fur. This morning, Fred told me about the dream he’d had last night.

Turns out Watson arrived with a tag that read: This dog will grow to 2,000 to 3,ooo pounds.

In the dream, he’d said to me, “See, I told you so.”

 

 

 

We’ve become those weird pet owners we used to laugh about

Okay, I’ve got to admit I never saw this coming. Never expected it. It’s like one of those things you swear will never happen to you, but when it does, it kind of creeps up on you and suddenly you’re there. There’s no turning back, no way to pretend it isn’t true.

I (we) have become one of those empty nest (I hate that phrase as much as I hate the term “chick flick”) couples who have acquired another child late in life. It (he) sleeps most of the day, demands to be fed specific foods (i.e., loves carrots but hates green beans), does not want to wear a coat in cold weather, and hogs the best chair in the house. Okay, I’ll admit this sounds sort of like a teenager, but the difference is while he loves to ride in the car, he doesn’t beg to drive.

He also has four legs and lots of fur that requires regular maintenance. And has bad breath. Really bad breath.

 

Anne and Ike after his first parade appearance

 

Somehow this little guy weaseled his way into our hearts and while he hasn’t replaced our daughters, he has managed to entertain us in much the same way they did (do). He makes us laugh. He can also make us very angry and/or anxious — when he slips by unnoticed and heads out an open door. This not only tests our patience but also our aerobic status — that little guy can run fast. Much faster than my 54-year-old legs can.

When we leave him at home for a long stretch, we feel guilty and usually come home with a new toy or bone. I realize this is really kind of silly. In fact, it flies in the face of all I once believed in — that a dog cannot truly be a member of the family. After all, it’s just a pet, right?

Somewhere along the way, I became one of those pet owners who babies and spoils a four-legged creature, oohs and ahs over its cuteness. It’s almost embarrassing. Actually, it’s really embarrassing.

But what really amazes me is that my husband has become equally attached. He might not admit it, but he likes the darn dog. People tell me that they see him driving around town with the dog in the front seat, head out the window, ears flapping in the breeze.

In fact, he was the one who suggested we may as well let Ike, our little miniature Schnauzer, sleep with us. Hey, who am I to argue? What’s one more snoring male? Some nights it’s like a chorus of snores. I just shove my earplugs in harder and laugh.