Category Archives: TRUMAN

June 16 — I found a great obedience class near my apartment, that’s held in a private park. The park is gated, so after class we let the dogs who have been properly socialized run and play off-leash.

Truman is not the only “Truman” in class. Oddly enough, though, he IS the only Lab. The rest of the class is a picture of diversity (like commercials and TV shows where the directors are compelled to cast a child from every ethnic background). Wiemeraner, Corgi, Terrier, Poodle…I found the pairing of the Irish Wolfhound and the argyle sweater-clad Dachsund particularly amusing.

He did very well considering there were almost 20 dogs in class. Fairly distracted, which was to be expected, but his obedience was better than that of many of the older dogs. He would sit and lie down like a champ. His attention span was about done by the end of the hour, but I was impressed he’d held on that long. He only lunged a few times — playfully — which was typically brought on by close proximity of another dog who looked him in the eye.

Jacqueline, our instructor, is great. She understands that pups in training have different rules and doesn’t want to get in the way of that. She’s committed to getting the dogs properly socialized and the people properly trained. She gets to know the personalities of the dogs and keeps an eye on anyone with aggressive tendencies. Also, she charges a flat fee good for the life of the dog, so we can go however long we’d like to go; she even said if he’s career changed and adopted by someone else, the deal still stands. And the bonus for me is, since Truman is a sponsored dog, I even get reimbursed for it!

And now, this is what he’s doing. I already like this class.

June 16 — Clean dog, stinky shoes.

June 15 — Truman’s First Bath

Well…Truman’s first bath since puppy pickup day, I suppose. At any rate, it was Truman’s first bath at the (apparently very slippery) hands of his puppy raiser.

He’d been stinky. It was time.

I’d been working him up to it. For the last few weeks, I’d been desensitizing him to the shower in my bathroom. Encourage him to sniff from the outside. Open the door, get in, encourage him to hop into the dry bathtub, close the door behind us. Give him treats. Open the door, let him hop out, turn on the faucet, let him sniff from the outside.

He was all too happy to pose pre-bath, no idea what awaited him.

It was promising in the beginning, even after the closing of the door. Truman met the rushing water with gusto, perhaps a bit too much. My challenge was to keep him from shoving his entire head under the stream and flooding his little ears. Gusto became slight confusion as I pulled up the valve to redirect the water to the shower head in my hand. Slight confusion then gave way to “YOU’RE DOING WHAT WITH THAT, EXACTLY????”

That’s right, pal. Washing you. Bath time for you, stinkbug.

Not part of his plan, apparently. Though he did not bite or scratch or freak out in any sort of vocal manner, Truman did manage to investigate every possible inch of the enclosed space in an effort to find an escape route. A few times, he even stretched as far as he could with his front paws up the back wall of the shower, perhaps envisioning an impressive leap over the shower door, or at least an attempt at signaling for the assistance of passersby.

The end result, though pathetic to look at, was an orange-cream-scented Truman who then received a towel rubdown and his promised reward of chicken chips, and “Labrador Shuffled” circles throughout my apartment until he was mostly air-dried.

We are feeding our Marines — my official adoptee as well as the aforementioned K9 unit (both are in Iraq). That’s why Truman’s in uniform here, looking as tough as he possibly can.

My own personal “devil dog” watched (and sniffed) with great interest as I packed up four boxes of jerky, trail mix, dried fruit, candy, protein bars, toiletries, dog toys, sand scarves, cooling neck wraps, phone cards, letters, and probably dog hair. He accompanied me to the post office to pick up some customs forms, but will be napping in his crate at home while I actually drag the boxes back and stand in line for the big send-off. I only have so many hands, you know.

Many thanks to those of you who sent e-mail greetings and photos of your puppies! I’m sure the K9 team will be thrilled. I’ll let you know if I hear back from them.

Truman accompanied me to the festivities at our local Borders bookstore last night in celebration of the release of “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows” (for those of you who’ve been living under a rock or in an experimental underground Bio-Dome for the last year or so, that’s the long-awaited final book in the record-breakingly popular series). Most bookstores in town were hosting parties replete with games and trivia contests and spelling bees, crafts and photo ops and themed goodies. I could not resist asking for a photo with these three little wizards, who stole the show at the costume contest.

I have come to the conclusion that my patronus, were I to conjure one, would be a decidedly ungraceful silver Labrador puppy, in full butt-tuck-and-run shuffle mode.

The final book is 784 pages long. Needless to say, Truman and I will be too busy to blog for a few days. Happy reading, fellow Potter fans!

“Keep puppy quiet for a few days so as not to disturb the incision site.”

No play dates, no running up and down stairs. All the weapons in my “Make Him Tired” arsenal. Sure thing.

Meanwhile, Truman is asking, “Surgery? What surgery?” while he bounces around my apartment like Tigger with an extra tail. We’ve got a long week ahead of us.

Truman’s getting “The Big Snip” today, which will hopefully make his looming adolescence a whole lot easier for both of us. I’ll pick him up from GDA tomorrow, all stitched up and sportin’ a fancy cone. Stay tuned for late-breaking developments, and also for, what, another half-dozen or so posts that I owe you? I’ll catch up someday, I promise.

Meanwhile, this is also his first overnight kennel stay. I’m praying he won’t be so traumatized that he never wants to go back.

It was surprisingly hard on me, dropping him off yesterday in the knowledge that he was going in for a procedure rather than just a happy-go-lucky couple of days at Camp GDA. Don’t get me wrong, I am THRILLED that I won’t be attempting to leash correct a seventy-five-pound intact male someday…but I felt inexplicably sad about it. He’s such a little guy right now, and I feel like I’m somehow betraying his trust. I know it’s ridiculous, and I know I’ll feel better the second I pick him up and take him home for snuggling and ice packs, but it’s still strangely sad to me.