Under the Full Moon

I was in my pajamas, standing on my bedroom balcony and looking over my backyard, admiring its tranquil beauty in the moonlight, when I saw the two skunks on my patio. I wasn’t concerned since they were climbing the fence and appeared to be leaving.

But then—oh no!  I heard the “clack” of the doggie door and realized that my greyhound, Olivia, wasn’t at my side. I rushed downstairs, but it was too late.

Olivia had caught one of the skunks and was tearing into it, chunks of skin and fur flying everywhere, blood spraying the patio floor and sliding glass door. I managed to drag Olivia inside when I saw the skunk’s partner re-entering the yard, looking for his mate. I tried closing the doggie door but the angry skunk was forcing his head through the door, snarling and trying to bite my bare heels as I used them to push his head backward. Suddenly, out of nowhere, the skunk was joined by two equally rabid rabbits that were also growling, biting, and shoving their heads through the doggie door trying to enter my home.

Then the skunk lifted his tail and a flume of white spray shot out, covering my entire patio in a putrid veil of white mist like a fog machine at a concert. The foul fog started creeping through the doggie door, violating my beautiful home, my peaceful sanctuary. It burned my eyes, my throat, my nostrils, and I realized I’d lost the battle….

I woke up with a start, gasping for air, my heart pounding like a jackhammer. The symbolism of the dream did not escape me.

Just a few weeks ago my neighbor had told me about the excruciating pain she was experiencing from her sciatica. But earlier this day, when I asked her husband how she was doing, he told me the pain turned out to be, not her sciatica, but stage 4 breast cancer that had metastasized.  She was now under the care of Hope Hospice.

A few days prior I had visited a family member fading away from inoperable pancreatic cancer. And this Friday marks my beloved mother’s five year anniversary. She died just three weeks after being diagnosed with ovarian cancer.

Cancer. Damned fucking cancer. Insidious, invasive, and quietly aggressive, snaking into homes, destroying lives, shattering hearts.

Eventually I fell back into an uneasy sleep. But the malodorous stench of that dream haunted me for days. 

The Secret's in the Sod

There’s always a ramp up period with any new dog, right? 

With sweet, shy Elvis it was mastering the scary stairs and conquering Kilimanjaro. When Mom passed away in 2009 and I adopted her greyhound, Lucy, it was months before the little white hound got over her fear of the dreaded doggie door. 

And with Olivia, well she had a slight issue with trust. All now in the past, of course. These days, as we spoon on her pillow and I pepper her needle nose with kisses, I tell her, “Remember that time you snapped at me and almost shaved the peach fuzz off my cheek?” And we both laugh over the silly misunderstanding as she nuzzles her head deeper under my chin and nudges me for more kisses.

Now there’s Hazel. Funny, goofy, affectionate Hazel, an instant love bug who mastered the stairs and doggie door in record time. When I began the housebreaking process, I noticed that aside from that first night, she wasn't having accidents in the house, which was good. But she also wasn't going in the backyard, which was not so good. Instead, she was holding it and going only when we went on walks, which could sometimes be 12 hours apart. This dog had to learn to do her business in the backyard when I was at work. 

I called Golden State Greyhound Adoption for advice and was told to take her out and stand in the yard with her throughout the day in 10 minute cycles.  Morning, noon and night. Never give her the opportunity to pee in the house. Eventually she would go in the backyard. 

Sounds easy enough, right?

Except it wasn't. She simply wouldn't go. Would. Not. Go. There I was, every morning at 5:15 am, in my pajamas, half asleep and standing in my backyard waiting for Hazel to do her business,begging her to do her business, but nothing.She'd just look at me with her big doe eyes and then fall asleep on the welcome mat near the sliding glass door.  At that hour I wanted to join her.  A couple times she'd hunch over the rocks that border my fence, like she was about to do something, and I'd get so excited and hold my breath and think, "yes, yes!" But then she'd stop. Circle. Paw the ground quickly, like she was touching a hot iron, and then go back to the welcome mat and lay down. 

And so, I'd take her for a quick walk and then crate her while I was at the office. I hated doing this after she'd already lived the first four years of her life in a crate, but I had no choice: she had to learn to pee outside before I could give her free rein of my home.  

Finally, when no progress was made after two weeks, I called a trainer for advice. Janis said this was a common problem with dogs that had a preference for particular substrates, like grass or (GULP) carpet. "Try a couple rolls of sod," she suggested. "When she produces, lavish her with praise like she's just done the most brilliant thing in the history of dogdom."

Okay. So I bought some sod, which was pretty darn cheap thanks to California's drought because hey, no one's planting sod these days, right?  Laid it in the area where I wanted Hazel to go, just like the trainer said. 

Then watched. Waited.Prayed.

It was all of 10 minutes before Hazel came sniffing around with Olivia at her side. Helloooo, what was this?  And maybe another minute or two before the sod was baptized. My neighbors must have thought I'd gone nuts because allelujia!  I lavished praise upon my little girl as if she'd just done the most brilliant thing in the history of dogdom. 

And don'tcha know it? She had.  

Week Two with Hazel

Judging from this photo, I'd say Hazel is feeling right at home, wouldn't you? 

Our first two weeks together have gone incredibly smooth...oh, except for that sea of urine, in the center of my living room, that was so large I swear it had waves. The "accident" occurred after I turned my back on her for one minute. Okay, maybe two.

Olivia just looked at the bright yellow puddle slowly seeping across the hardwood floors, and then at Hazel with this stunned expression that said, "Oh no you didn't." And then she looked at me like, "I didn't do it. Honest."

I couldn't get mad. Hazel was brand spankin' new, right off a Florida racetrack just last May. As far as she was concerned, any place outside her crate was fair game. This was how it worked at the track, right? But eventually, she would learn to go outside, as did Elvis, Lucy, and Olivia. I mopped up the floor, threw away the contaminated throw pillows, and dragged Olivia's bed into the yard for a good wash, followed with a spraying of Nature's Miracle. 

The ramp-up period with a new dog is always a challenge, I know. But I signed up for it because I also know that every puddle, every "NO!" and every chewed slipper will be worth its weight in gold when replaced with needle-nose nuzzles. Oh, there's nothing more rewarding, trust me.

Just ask me about Elvis, Lucy, and Olivia. And coming soon, Hazel.