In which my dog pits her crate...

The BBQ Pit
1

<note: I never thought I’d write a post in my dog’s voice. It just had to be done.>

My Evil Killer Crate OF DOOM- by Zap, age almost 2.

Yesterday started like a normal day. I woke up at 7:00, with the alarm, and barked in mom and dad’s ears. It was time to get up, and they weren’t getting the point. There were things to be sniffed outside, breakfast to be eaten, and balls to be thrown to fetch. Stupid humans. I tried to kill and maul my brothers instead. Got kicked off the bed a few times, and growled at by Valen. Bastards, all of them.

Mom had to go to an “in terr view”(whatever that is) in the morning so she gave us dogs a stuffed Kong each, n’ crated us up. I’m not too keen on the cratin’ thing, but the boys are. Boys. Sheesh. :rolleyes:

So that went ok. Mom came home for lunch and we played. Bouncy IKEA balls make life much better, n’ my cratin’ of the morning was quickly forgotten. Got snuggles. Tried to kill Spanky. Failed.

And then, we dogs napped. That was pretty cool. I dreamed about chasing bunnies. Hopefully someday I’ll catch one, just like when I caught that squirrel last year. And maybe, just maybe, this time I’ll know what to DO once I catch one. Last time I did, the squirrel screamed, and then I screamed and let it go n’ it climbed o’er my back and up the tree. Mom says I had a “OH MY GOD, WHAT DO I DO NOW?!” look on my face when I caught it. I think I had a “LOOK WHAT I CAUGHT! I’M A FIERCE AND BRAVE AUSSIE” look. So nyeh.

Aaaanyway. Mom got ready to leave again late in the afternoon. She said something about going out with daddy for dinner. WAIT A COTTON PICKIN’ SECOND! CRATED? AGAIN? I THINK NOT, EVIL MATRIARCH!

She jailed me again. I barked and hollered and howled and SCREAMED this time… and she told me to quiet down, eat my treats, and that she’d be back soon. DAMN HER! DAMN HER AND HER EVIL WAYS! I knew she hadn’t left the house yet, so I continued screamin’ and stuff. I’manna show her who’s the alpha bitch in this household!

Then, my crate taunted me. I SWEAR. It told me to go ahead and try to get out.

I tried to get out - after all, my broffer, Zip, escapes from HIS crate by pushin’ out the crate pan. This makes his mom wonder about him, cuz there’s no way a big boned 50 pound aussie should be able to get his blocky head out that way… but he DOES. So, I figured it ran in the family. So I tried. I rocked my crate. HA! They say you can’t do such things… well, to heck with THEY! I did! OOOOOH DID I EVER.

BANG! CRASH!

Holy. Shit. And. Milkbones. Giving. You. The. Runs.

I tipped my crate.

It balanced up against dad’s computer desk.

Holy. Shit. If I hadn’t just gone outside before mom locked me up, I’d’a peed myself. I’m not ashamed to admit it. THAT DURN CRATE DURN WELL NEAR KILLED ME!

Mom ran into the room, her coat half on. I just… stood there… SHAKING. She said I was shakin’ so hard that the crate was rattling. She let me out and I RAN, MAN, I RAN.

She calmed the boys down n’ gave them more chewies, apparently. But I was NOWHERE TO BE FOUND. There’s NO WAY I was goin’ back IN THERE.

NO WAY IN HELL, I TELL YOU.

So I hid in the closet downstairs. The one mom keeps coats n’ dog stuff in. I climbed on TOP of my food bin and sat, shaking. I was NOT gonna go back in that crate. I was just gonna stay in the closet, FAR AWAY from the evil killer crate of DOOM.

Mom finally found me, n’ lured me upstairs with some dehydrated liver. Nuh-uh. I was just not gonna stay home. NO WAY JOSE. I ran back downstairs and hid again.

Turned out to be an okay night, though, cuz I got to go out with mom and dad for dinner. I behaved REALLY WELL at the restaurant. ANYTHING was better than being locked up in the CRATE OF DOOM again…

When I came home, I wouldn’t go into that room until mom took my crate down and hid it under the bed. This morning, I barked at the side of the bed, just to make sure the crate knew I wasn’t gonna let it win.

Freakin’ crate.

Zap.

(http://zappuppy.tripod.com/zap.html)

2

Elenfair… that was priceless :slight_smile:

3

Zap’s lucky she’s cute, or else she’d be dog food. See where she said she got up at 7 am with the alarm? That’s because it’s winter and the sun isn’t up that early.

Once summer comes and the sun starts peeking over the horizon around 5:30 am, she’ll be barking at us and trying to dig us out of bed.

She’s like a toddler who barks, I swear. For some reason, though, I still love her. :wink:

4

But Zap is sooo cuuuute! (She’s a monster, but a cute monster!)

Zap, good plan! You got to go to the restaurant! How was the food and the wine? I hear the lamb there is excellent!

5

Heh.

Some dogs are just too smart for their own good.

6

Dear Zap:

My name is Hurshell and my mom is Dogzilla. I asked her to post this message to you because I hate the crate too! (You sure are a fine looking dog! Too bad I’m retired from being a Stud dog…)

My momma rescued me from a puppy mill, which was a terrible place to live. I lived there for five years in a cage – my whole life. I never had a belly rub, or a treat, or even a walk in the park before momma rescued me. I didn’t even know what those things were. But when I first came to live with momma, she put me in that blasted crate every day. I was allowed out when she came home, and after a couple weeks, I was allowed to sleep on the bed with the rest of the pack.

Being crated was humiliating. The cats didn’t have to go in a crate. The Big Dog, Tipzy, she didn’t have to go in a crate. Momma said something about peeing and pooping on the carpet. The other dogs (cats are just funny-looking dogs, don’t ya think?) pee and poop in their special places; nobody does their business on the carpet… except me. (Why can’t I have my own box with sand in it, like the cats?)

So I fixed Momma! The minute she’d put me in the crate, I’d start to cry, shake, drool and bark and howl. I’m a Boston Terror so I have a great, low-pitched, raspy howl. Momma says I sound just like Archie Bunker, whoever that is. I’d howl and howl all day long. Momma would come home at mid-day and let me out to chase squirrels and then I was happy. (I’ve never caught one. How did you do that?) But as soon as she’d get ready to leave, I’d cry and howl and shake so maybe she’d see how much I hated the crate. It never worked. She made me go in anyway.

So I started pooping in the crate. I’d pee in the crate and spray pee all over the kitchen. I’d stomp around in the poop and then paw at the crate door, smearing poop all over the bars, and my towels and sometimes even myself. Momma had to give me a bath almost every single day. Momma got tired of cleaning the crate and washing the poop off me, so after a few months, she let me stay on the couch with the Big Dogs.

Now, I lay on the back of the couch and watch out the window for Momma to come home. Every day, she comes home to find me waiting for her. And she never makes me go to the crate. (For some reason, the cats like to go in there. When they do, I like to walk by and lift my leg and pee in their general direction. They get insulted, but me and the other dog think it’s funny!)

Maybe you should try the poop smearing trick, Zap! It worked for me!

Love and sloppy licks,
Hurshell, the rescued Boston Terror at Dogzilla’s house

7

POOP SMEARING!

Why didn’t I think of that… wait, no, I’m just too dainty for that. I’m a gurl. And stuff.

Okay, so I don’t mind rolling around in the mud, or rolling around in the ashes at the park when they did a controlled burn of our play area… but STILL.

See, I don’t have an excuse, mom says. I’ve always been with my mom, and I’ve had a kinda plushy life. I work, I do stuff, n’ I learn stuff… and…

Well, I JUST GOTTA HAVE IT MY WAY, DARNIT.

Stupid humans. You’d think they’d understand that THE AUSSIE SHALL RULE OVER EVERYTHING. N’ stuff.

The boys are just dumb. They LIKE their crates. Valen was SICK this year - yes SICK - because mom took his crate away. Turned him into an incoherent drooling ball of nerves when she’d leave n’ stuff. Sheesh. Some people’s siblings. Spanky don’t care cuz he just kinda curls up where ever you put him. Daddy sometimes puts him on top of the couch and he STAYS there. I think he’s a cat. Or a rug. With teeth.

I liked it better when mom left Valen n’ me in the room with the door closed. Valen could go in his crate whenever he wanted, n’ I could just try to dig my way out of the room.

I should probably go now. Mom’s sayin’ somethin’ about Doggy Valium.

That can’t be good, can it?

8

Why can’t we have restaurants that allow dogs <pout>? :frowning:

9

None really do, romansperson.

Zap and Valen are the lucky few who are service dogs (or in training, as Zap is) and can tag along. It’s part of their job :slight_smile:

Wuf.

This being said, there are places in California that are pooch friendly. And then, of course, there is France.

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Dear Zap:

My name is Tino. I know how you feel about crates. I won’t go in them. Ever. Mommy tried for a few weeks and gave up because I would CRY REALLY LOUDLY for hours and try to get out. Mommy got rid of the crate–we used it as my toy box for awhile.

Now Mommy and Daddy leave me downstairs when they go out. I have the floor to run around in and I can sleep in my chair and I am happy to have my very own space. I don’t have any accidents or chew anything.

And you let your Mommy and Daddy sleep till 7? That is very nice of you. I get up before 6 most mornings. I get tired of sitting by myself and I bring them toys so they can play with me.

Sometimes Mommy and Daddy go out to eat, too, but I can sit with them when they eat outside. Too bad the weather in Chicago doesn’t let us do that too often.

I hope you don’t have to go in your crate anymore. Some of us dogs just don’t like to ‘den’ like Mommy says the books say. I haven’t read those books so I didn’t know I was supposed to like crates.

Good luck!

Tino, age 4

11

I know your pups are service dogs, Elenfair, and that gives them privileges. I’m just pissing and moaning because in the US you just can’t take a dog into a restaurant unless they have those special quals, and even then you still hear of places getting sued every once in a while because they still try to keep the dog out. There are a few restaurants here and there that have patio dining and allow the dogs there, but that’s it. I think it sucks; people can bring screaming children in and let them run around in the aisles but my perfectly quiet and well-behaved hound is banned. I totally enjoyed seeing dogs in the pubs in London, there was not a misbehaving one in the lot!

But that’s a rant for another thread; I’m glad Zap just got scared and not hurt by her little adventure!

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Dear Zap:

My momma had me on doggy valium while she was trying to crate me. She called it Dogzac. We didn’t think it did much good and momma said it was expensive, so she weaned me off. It wasn’t bad. It just helped me calm down a little. But it didn’t stop me from smearing poo!

::scampers off in search of poo to smear::

Love,
Hurshell

P.S. You could always try EATING the poo… Momma says I do that to show the Big Dog that she’s still The Boss. I don’t think she’s The Boss of me, but she does teach me cool stuff, like how to fetch and roll over for rubber bellies.

13

Dear Tino:

All dogs like to “den.” We just like to den with the whole pack. What dog sleeps alone? I sure don’t. At our den, all the dogs sleep together. Even the cat-dogs and the people-dogs. We’re all part of the pack.

You’re supposed to READ the books? ::shrugs:: I thought those were chew toys. They sure are tasty.

Licks,
Hurshell

14

Dear Tino and Hurshell:

Myeah. Mom thinks I’m all weird cuz I’m the only one of her dogs she’s EVER HAD who doesn’t like her crate. I 'ssplained to her that she also says I’m not like any other dog she’s ever trained, so what should she 'sspect, ya know?

Every other dog she’s had liked to do stuff to please her. Stupid retrievers n’ shepherds. A “good boy!” n’ they’ll do anythin’ for mom. Not me. No siree. I only do stuff when there’s a contract, when I know what they all ‘sspect of me, n’ when I know what the payoff’s gonna be. Oh, and I expect downpayments too. I like to please mom, sure, n’ stuff, but she’s my PARTNER. I’m not her SERVANT, durnit. Mum and the other girls at the training hall when I was little said that I was a “manipulative bitch.” Durn right, I am. But I do my job well. So THERE.

Valen, he’s the kinda guy who gets his kids to do stuff for him by being all gentle and nice, and encouraging and nudging and cuddling. If they don’t wanna do the therapy exercise, he won’t insist, n’ mom n’ the therapists sometimes have to beg n’ stuff at the kid.

Me? To heck with that. I know what we have to do (like walk from A to B), n’ if I have to nip at a pantleg so my kid will actually move, I WILL. Darn it! I’ll even pull the goddurn chair if I hafta. None o’ dat feelin’ sorry for yerself crap with ME as your service dog! None o dat!

Mum says that my approach to rehab and occupational therapy with the kids has been like working in a “good cop, bad cop” relationship. I’m the bad cop. Ya know how dogs like me are supposed to be really willin’ to please their human partner? WELL! I work the other way ‘round. They hafta wanna please ME. n’ mom says that to the kids all da time: “You’ll make Zap sad! See how she’s trying to get the job done?” If I could give ‘em cookies, I would, n’ say “good girl” to ‘em too. M’ always happy when they do what I want 'em to do. Valen says it should be da other way 'round. BAH.

Rawr.

So yeah. TO HELL WITH CRATES! The problem is that I get bored when mom’s away, and so I find things to do. Apparently, what I like to do is not what she likes me to do.

I’m also a pack dog, Hurshell… I sleep on top of my brothers n’ people if I gotta. N’ I don’t really care what I walk on, either.

Wufs,

Zap.

15

Let’s see a pic of Sparky. And, what are the services Val and Zap perform?

16

I know the lno-fair doggies. Elly speaks precise truth about them.

Sparky is the prettiest doggie I have ever seen in the world ever.

17

My name is Hockey.

I’ve never been crated cuz I’m a good dog.
thbpbppbpt.

:smiley:

18

Deer Zap;

My mommie duzn’t crate me, beecuz I ate the crate. I be an 8 week old Border Collie pup, 'least that’s what mommie callses me. She says I’m going to be a ‘sho dog’ and win lotsa points, whatever those are. I will eat up those lotsa points, likes I ate up mommies slippers. Mommie always tells me “NO!!” and “Drop It!!” whens I eats her slippers, or mommies fingers. I don’t know what that means, does youz?

Whenz I poopie or piddle ‘outside’ mommie gives me treatz. So I save it up to go outside, so’s I will get the treatz. It’s all about the treatz, man.

Gud luck with that krate, man. Eat it, eat it!

19

Tino here again, writing from my daddy’s account.

At night, I feel like I need to go out and guard the house. All of the people who come in the house usually come in through this one door, called the “front” door. I sleep in the living room, which is right off the front door. I usually go and put myself to bed when I’m tired.

At first, mommy and daddy were worried, because I used to always sleep in their room. But then, daddy pointed out that when it was just me and mommy, I’d usually sleep out in the living room of mommy’s old house too so I could guard the house. It’s just how I am, I guess.

But I don’t like crates and cages much. I think it comes from when I was in the pound.

20

I love dogs, too, but give me a frickin’ break. Children are human beings and have rights; dogs aren’t and don’t.

And EVERY dog owner says their pooch is well behaved. Problem is, many dog owners are clueless twits. And while a poorly behaved child is irritating, a poorly behaved dog can kill someone.

Sorry, but I’m all for the no-dogs-unless-it’s-a-working-dog rule. I adore my dogs but a restaurant is not the place for them.

Now, what I don’t understand is this “Crating” business. Is this a new fad? I’d never heard of it before a few years ago and now all kinds of people are doing it. What’s the point?