Does anyone want a dog?

In April 2007, four months before my relapse (who knew?) I got a puppy – an adorable chocolate lab. Our faithful golden retriever, Misty, had died at a good old age the winter before. I told the kids that I couldn’t think about getting another dog until spring.

Spring came, and I had gotten used to going dogless. Here’s what happened.

Kids: It’s spring. Where’s the dog?
Me: What dog?
Kids: You know, the dog you said you’d get. Plus, we want a puppy.

I’d lived through puppies and vowed never to do it again. So I called some shelters and went to visit one, in search of a nice two-year-old.

When a friend said she knew of a great breeder of labs in Vermont, something came over me. All of a sudden I was on the phone …getting a puppy.

Now almost a year and a half old, she is adorable, fun and cuddly. We named her Madison, but everyone calls her Maddie. Maddie has just one problem. She was house-broken, and then had a relapse.

My life has been enriched by dogs, but my experience with them has taken some odd turns. Before Misty, we had another puppy, a golden that we called Charlie. He had a split personality, adorable one minute, crazy the next. As a puppy, he’d snarl and nip. “That’s nasty,” our vet said when she saw him do it. He bit Ben and Joe, two of my three kids, but it was nothing serious. Still, he worried me, so we went to dog school and even had a trainer come to the house to school us in showing Charlie that we were the alpha dogs.

On the day he attacked me, he was almost full-grown. He had stolen a piece of banana bread from the counter, and I merely looked at him and said, more disappointed than angry, “Oh, Charlie.” He ran at me, snarling and growling, and sunk his teeth into my leg, then my stomach. I threw hot coffee on him and ran upstairs while he settled back on his bed.

The next day I talked to the vet, who said that if I wanted, she would put him down immediately. But our friends Jim and Jane Bloom insisted on taking him. Jim sent him to some doggie boot camp (I didn’t ask what they did) and he returned more subdued. Jim with his booming voice became the alpha dog, and Charlie lived with them to a good old age.

Misty entered shortly afterward, a well-behaved three-year-old. What happened with her wasn’t her fault. One rainy night shortly after I returned home from my first transplant, she got skunked. She ran through the house, yelping and stinking everything up. I was afraid that the fumes might somehow make me sick, what with my fragile immune system. I threw on a mask, went into my room, and called the nurses’ station on 6B at Brigham and Women’s, were I had received my transplant. Vytas, a nurse who was later to become a great friend -- and who over the years would answer many strange questions that I posed – answered the phone. No, he said, skunk stink could not make me sick.

Back to Maddie. She has started peeing and pooping on the kitchen floor, but only at night and in the early morning. We keep her in the kitchen and dining room at night, because given full run of the house, she raids the trash and chews up shoes. She’s been to puppy school and has actually calmed down in many ways. She’s good on the leash and knows her basic commands. She is gentle and sweet and gets along with everyone.

Advice from friends, the vet and the trainer goes every which way.
Some say: Put her back in the crate.
Others: Never put her back in the crate.

Some: Take her water away at night.
Others: Never take a dog’s water away.

Trainer: Don’t yell at her or stick her nose in it. Praise her when she’s good, but don’t raise your voice unless you catch her in the act.
Vet: Go ahead and scold her.

I have used Nature's Miracle, a stain and odor remover guaranteed or your money back. It is no miracle, and I don't really want my money back. I'd rather have a big box of scented candles or potpourri so that my kitchen would maybe stop smelling like a kennel.

I praise the dog so effusively when she does her business outside, you would think that she had laid a golden egg.

We solved the problem with #2 by feeding her just in the morning. But nothing has worked for #1. I should add that since I am not even 100 days post-transplant, it is not the greatest thing for me to be cleaning up dog mess. Sometimes the kids do it, but if they’re not around, it’s up to me.

The vet and trainer labeled the problem inappropriate urination. Somehow, that struck me as funny.

The vet suggested checking for a urinary tract infection. So there I was wearing a mask and gloves, walking the dog and sticking a Tupperware container under her to try to catch a bit of pee. (I was a failure. Our friend, Karen, tried and managed to get about a teaspoon.) No infection.

By the way we are not asking her to hold it in for very long.

The trainer said to take notes to see if there is a pattern. She doesn’t do it every morning, and when she does do it, it isn’t even after a long stretch. So, not much of a pattern.

The vet said maybe she has separation anxiety at night, and he suggested we let her sleep with the pack. So we got her a second dog bed and put it in my room. Twice I got up with her at 6:30 and praised her for waking me up. I took her out, and she did her business immediately. Then I left her on her downstairs bed and went up to sleep some more.

Yesterday when I came downstair, only a few hours later, she had peed near the window. So last night I figured that when I brought her down, I wouldn’t give her a drink. I put some chairs over the spot where she usually goes. She peed outside at 5:30 a.m. I tried to get her to take a nap in my room, but she wouldn't, so this morning at 6:30, I left her downstairs.

When I came down, she had peed UNDER the table.

Bad dog!

People say that these naughty labs usually get the idea when they turn 2. In the meantime, that’s a lot of cleaning up.

The Dog Whisperer would say it’s our fault, not the dog’s, but I can’t figure out what we might be doing wrong.

Sometimes, in other areas of training, we give her mixed signals. (But which “parent” doesn’t ever give a young one mixed signals?) She likes to get up on the couch, and we usually make her get down. Sometimes, though, she looks so cute, all curled up in a ball, that we just leave her be.

The other night I stayed up late to talk to the kids. The dog was curled up on the couch, and I leaned over and lay my head on her back, her warmth and her breathing soothing me. I closed my eyes and almost fell asleep.

I guess I won’t give her away after all.