life and puppies

According to our vet, and the vast universe of the webisphere, if a puppy is not properly socialized in the first six months of her life, you can get what is called, in clinical terms, a ticking time bomb. Well, dear reader, we suspect poor Gertie was a victim of a lack of socialization. And voila, meet our time bomb.

Our walk yesterday wasn’t as smooth as Tuesday’s, with Gertie repeatedly trying to off her Halti and the roller skating preteen stressing her out, but it was still mostly ok. I probably had no more than two or three panic attacks. Once we were home, though, the real adventure began.

Gertie barks at our two neighbors, Chuck and Ed, like nobody’s business. Once Chuck tried to pet her and she responded as if she wanted to sever his hand. Yesterday, when Ed parked his car, Gertie responded with her regular three alarm response. Thanks, Gertie, Ed is home. The four of us were outside on the deck, so Ed came wandering over, telling Gertie gently that he really wasn’t much of a threat. Over the din, I tried to explain to Ed that we have a behaviorist coming Tuesday to try to help us (because I really worry that sometimes both Chuck and Ed would prefer either the previous tenants of our home, who apparently had up to 10 people living in the house with broken windows, or the flipper crew, who parked a large dumpster in the middle of our shared driveway for days at a time, were occupying our house instead of us). Ed said, “She definitely has some territorial issues.” Gertie was going bonkers and, in her hysteria, peed on the deck. Eventually, Ed said he had a rawhide upstairs in his house (why? I have no idea) and was going to bring it to her. I decided maybe Gertie was going extra bonks because Molly was outside, so Bear and I headed in to watch some Frozen (aka “Let it go”). While we were inside, I heard Gertie go into high gear again when Ed returned, but it wasn’t quite the 11 she had been managing earlier. So, although it was marginally better, she never settled down, despite the gift of the rawhide from a man who – to my knowledge – doesn’t have a dog.

This morning started out pleasantly enough, but then Gertie – in her exuberance – ran right into Bear on the deck, slamming Molly to the ground. Cue: screaming toddler. Oy.

Oh, and now I need to go because Gertie has something she shouldn’t … What is it? Oh, my pajamas.