mommyverbs

Engaging Each Day with Action Words

Train. — One of these things just doesn’t belong.

on January 13, 2013

Sing along with me…

You know you know the tune. Flashback to your Sesame Street days.

“One of these things is not like the others,
One of these things just doesn’t belong,
Can you tell which thing is not like the others
By the time I finish my song?”

There is someone living in my house who may or may not belong here. He moved in back in July. He was so cute…then.

He ate food here. He slept here. I made up a bed for him and bought him some stuff he needed.

To thank me for my hospitality and care, he bit me.

“I am not a chew toy!”, I told him.

I took him out. Played games with him. Introduced him to the neighbors.

And in return, he tore my favorite skirt.

For the past 6 months, he has jumped on my children.

He has made a ton of noise. Barking incessantly.

He has destroyed my yard and landscaping. Digging more holes than a pirate looking for his lost treasure.

He has run from me. Kept me out in the rain on Christmas Day for over an hour trying to bring him back in the house.

He has eaten a ton of crayons…his destruction item of choice and the most likely item found on the floor.

He has chewed my couch pillows.

He has attacked me to the point where I was almost….almost afraid of him.

He has caused me more stress and frustration than the other incredible stressors in my world. I have cried more about him in the past 6 months than any thing else that I have been dealing with.

Did I mention how he likes to try to bite me? And my children?

And I have tried. I have tried to understand him. I have looked him in the eye and tried to figure him out. I have tried everything that I know. I have tried all the tricks. I have even ordered the dvd and special collars that are ‘guaranteed’ to do the trick. They did not work, by the way. I have used methods that I swore I would never use and methods that I used to judge others for. (Sorry about that.)

I have prayed.

But, ultimately. I don’t trust him. He doesn’t trust me.

So. I was ready. I had decided. He just doesn’t belong with us. He is not right for our family. I will need to find another place for him. A place with no kiddos. A place where the people have more time. A place where the people have lots of time and lots of room for him to run and be.

I actually had decided. I was ready to get rid of him. Really. I even started to prepare my speech to the kiddos so they could start thinking about their goodbyes.

And in that moment. In the deciding to find another place for him to live, I also decided to give him one more chance.

One. More. Chance.

So, we are getting trained. We are attending weekly lessons. We are trying to understand each other. We are trying to start over. I am trying to be more positive. Trying to bring him into our family a little more. Little at a time.

I didn’t think it should be this hard. It really shouldn’t be this hard. Why is it this hard?! This wasn’t what I wanted.

I wanted the companionship and friendship and comfort of Cayman again. (Click to read about the ah.may.zing Cay-Man!) On those late, lonely, overwhelming nights, I wanted someone else with me in the living room. I wanted a soul mate who could help. Me.

I clearly remember a time, 10 years ago, when I was sitting on the couch crying about some random T.V. show, feeling a little vulnerable. Cayman knew. He knew what was happening and he knew what to do. He climbed up in my lap and gave me a hug, as best as he could.

This one did the exact opposite. This summer, when I was sitting on the couch crying about whatever cathartic crying T.V. show I was watching. He literally looked at me, sighed…then got up and moved to the opposite side of the couch, annoyed.

So there you have it. That is where we are. Last chances.

Right now…he is laying on the couch, chewing his bone. Oblivious to the shaky ground he is on. Par for the course, so they say.

And we will see. We will see if he can fit in. We will see if he can earn back some trust. We will see if he can belong with the rest of us.

I have a friend who hated her dog for the first three years. Oy. I’m afraid that may be us.

Sending up a prayer to Cayman…how ’bout a little help here, Good Boy?

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7 responses to “Train. — One of these things just doesn’t belong.

  1. Lead Our Lives says:

    a baby…doing his puppy thing and trying to live up to a legend without even knowing it. Wishing you patience and love as you two train together. Cayman can whisper in his ear…just ask him. 😉

    • MommyVerbs says:

      You are right…he’s a lot of puppy. And even though we say we are not comparing him to Cayman…how can we not? Cayman was the SuperDog…he even had a nickname–Captain Cay-Man! 🙂 Thanks for the patience wishes. I’ll take that and a shot of positivity around him! Too sweet, you are! Thanks!

  2. Jan says:

    Once up on a time, I had a horrible puppy too, She bit me (my arms looked like I did heroin), ran from me, and dragged me down hillsides. She ate my plants, my favorite movies and books, her dog obedience book, my glasses, friend’s shoes and wallets, and her favorite…cat poop! Once she rolled in so much cow manure that she was unrecognizable. She loved to poop on the living room carpet… for 6 long months, no matter how many times I took her out. She barked and jumped on people so much that my brother nicknamed her “No Bark, No Jump.” She only passed her obedience class because the teacher had never failed a dog before. When I cried she would give me “a look” and leave the room. I didn’t have small children so she only bit me! She threw up on car trips and randomly in the house. Her puppyhood lives on in infamy for anyone who knew her. Seems like she settled down around age 3. She is my beloved Chapin My baby. She loved me and I loved her. She shared my journey for 16 years. I miss her every day and always will.

    My next dog has eaten my clothes and furniture. She can’t be trusted to be alone.

    There is no easy answer. We are all on our own journey.

  3. I had a soul mate – my cat named Mouse…the next cat looked like Mouse, but Phoebe was no Mouse…she whined all night, never wanted to be touched, and sprayed all the walls in the house – repeatedly. I “feel” your pain! 🙂 Blessings.

  4. Kathleen says:

    Hoping things get better…I’m so glad this pup ended up with a family who believes in second (and third…) chances.

  5. […] Train. — One of these things just doesn’t belong. Jan […]

  6. […] My definition of nirvana…my place. my family. my time. our health. my work. enough. even this dog that is laying, sleeping peacefully with his head on my lap. […]

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