And They Call It Puppy Love

A few thoughts from the not quite so adorable side of puppy ownership. I'll go ahead and warn you now; some of this is not going to be pretty.

I think I have finally figured out why puppies are so incredibly cute. They have to be cute for anyone to raise them. In reality, they are disgusting. Seriously, just completely vile. Let's examine, shall we?

The breath. Yeah, yeah. All puppies smell that way. I don't care if every dog on earth smells that way, it's just foul. Puppy breath smells like his mouth just went 12 rounds with the business end of a skunk. And lost. Now you want to try and lick my face? Umm...I don't think so. Not only is your breath putrid, but I know where that tongue has been and what's been in your mouth. We'll just make a rule that if you use your tongue to clean yourself and you regularly practice coprophagia, you should keep your tongue far, far away from me.

Waste products. How much waste can a tiny little thing produce? I understand that young dogs have to go often because they lack muscle control, but at this point I'd think he might be dehydrated. As if the frequency isn't bad enough, the lack of muscle control also causes "incidents" inside. Every dog training manual will tell you that you should not punish a puppy for having an accident. It cannot control these muscles yet, and punishing it will be counterproductive in the long run. So whatever you do, do not scream at the dog and rush it outside. I understand this perfectly, but it goes against every possible instinct. I assure you that if you were to drop trou in my house and begin using my floor as your own personal bathroom, my first reaction would be to yell at you, followed immediately by throwing you out of my house. This seems completely logical, but I have to fight this urge and work on training properly.

Most disgusting is the concept of deworming a dog. At regular intervals, a dose of medicine is given to the puppy to kill parasites and force them to be removed from the system. The idea of this is a little disturbing on its own. Disturbing takes on a whole new meaning, however, when you take the dog outside 45 minutes later. Since the small beast is still being house trained,you have to walk around praising it and feeling like an idiot. "Hurry up please. I'm freezing. Could you just get to it? I'm missing my favorite show." Finally. "Good dog. What a good boy. What a good--Huh. I don't remember feeding you pasta." See, I told you. Not pretty. (Though it probably did boost my ratings with the 12-15 year old male demographic.)

These issues (as well as a few others) lead to the constant struggle in our house as to whose dog he actually is.

Sleeping on the floor: My dog

Screaming the high-pitched screech of the abandoned because he wants out of his crate: Her dog

Playing nicely with Booker: My dog

Pestering Booker until he gets thrown across the room: Her dog

Playing with one of Booker's toys that are roughly the same size he is: My dog

Running around the room with the mail in his mouth: Her dog, but it's still pretty cute.

Sitting in someone's lap and resting peacefully: My dog

Sitting in someone's lap and nipping at them with his painful hypodermic needle like puppy teeth: Her dog

Taking enough time out of playing to crouch and pee on the floor before immediately returning to playtime: Her dog

Waiting nicely by the door for someone to take him out: Still her dog, I don't want to get up.

Until later...