Yes, it’s long.
First, I’m not a newbie. I have not spent a single hour of my adult life without a dog.
My first two dogs, cocker spaniels, I had for 17 years, and they were terrible, a total mess, both of them. This was entirely because I was terrible, a total mess, and while I loved them madly I was a suckass dog mom.
That’s why I committed to learning and being better after they died. No more of that bullshit, and no more feeling guilty. I signed up with a terrific trainer, everybody has had tons of classes and private sessions and I’ve learned a boatload.
As a result, I had three dogs in a row that were, or are, in the case of Preston, fantastic. (Purebred Golden, Golden mix, and Preston, a Rottweiler/Border Collie/?) Preston is consistently praised as being nothing less than perfect, and no, not my words and I don’t ask, people volunteer. (I’m actually kind of amazed at how rapidly people pick up on what an excellent, smart, amazingly well-behaved dog he is. Proud and happy, though, and it’s not entirely me, of course: he came into the world with lots of good stuff.) I get lots of praise and strokes for being extremely good with dogs at this point in my life. Yay.
Yeah, well, hubris and all that… cuz now I also have Zusje (Dutch for “baby sister”). Zusje is a nearly (possibly fully) purebred American Staffordshire Terrier (aka pitbull). She’s a little over 2 years old. She is, without question, the most deeply sweet dog I have ever personally known. In her entire life I have never seen a split second of anger, irritation, aggression, annoyance, or fear, in any circumstance. She’s just sweet sweet sweet. Loves Preston, loves people, dogs, everybody.
She’s also got epilepsy, which first showed up in May. (My Golden mix was epileptic, been there) And even in the wake of seizures she’s sweet. Blind, deaf, in constant motion and impervious to pain, but always sweet.
Okay, so here’s the broken part: somewhere in her first 6-9 months, I just stopped making any attempt to make her stay in her crate, even though for awhile she was handling it pretty decently. I just loved sleeping with her too much, she was too cuddly.
Secondly, I completely screwed the pooch on teaching her to be separate from me, and particularly separate from Preston and me. In the course of my daily life, I very rarely leave the house, and I just utterly failed to make it a point to do so to get her acclimated to it.
So she was already pretty sucktastic in these areas as of a few months ago. And she’s also kind of a princess bitch in other areas, such as barking at Preston until he gives up his bone or his bed. (She’s totally submissive to him when it counts, never a flicker of challenge on that score, this is just her being a whiny, demanding princess. And he lets her.)
And then the epilepsy came along. She had a particularly severe bout of cluster seizures, 8 in just under an hour. (Went to the emergency vet, got some rectal valium for the next time…) She was pretty trashed, as you might expect, but she slept it off and bounced back to her usual sunny self the next day. This was about… 3 weeks ago?
Well, ever since then her separation anxiety is completely off the charts. I now cannot close the bathroom door without her whining!:(:eek::mad::o I asked her vet if the epilepsy could have caused some personality change, and she said absolutely.
So this week, Preston had and has a health issue, his first ever: a compressed disk, it turns out. The result is that he’s mostly refusing to use his back legs, even though he technically can, he’s not paralyzed, it’s just too painful. This sucks, we’re dealing, but it involved taking him to the vet. I thought about bringing her, and decided she’d survive. And she did. But she also tore one dinner plate sized and one serving platter sized holes in the wall above the doggie door, which I had closed off for her safety. (If she has a seizure when no one is around, or worse, a cluster, she could actually end up dead from a hundred things. I’d prefer to crate her, but that drives her batshit presently so I thought I’d be nice. Sigh…)
So now I have the second most nightmarish kind of dog I never wanted to have. (Separation anxiety is second only to aggressive). In my recent attempts to get her okay with the crate, by feeding her in it and sitting next to her while she eats…not much progress, because she won’t eat until I open the door. So I backed up to just putting her food in it, no door closing, and she’s been there for quite a while, because I haven’t been working on it much since the seizures started. I need to get back to it, though.
So that’s the crate. And I mentioned her princess-yness because it’s part of the whole picture: she’s spoiled. She wants what she wants when she wants it, she demands it, she usually gets it, and her life has been very cushy. And she stamps her feet and threatens to kill herself when I try to make her deal with the harsh realities of doggy life. I’m feeling a little concerned that she may defeat me…except she can’t! I cannot live with a dog that cannot be left alone without having a total meltdown!
So…give me whatever you got!