Life with Tuffy
the scruffy puppy doesn’t allow for very many dull moments these days. He’s far
more clever than I gave him credit for. He had me lulled into a false sense of
complacency. After all, for most of the seven months since we’ve had him, he has
slept a lot during the day—my prime working hours.
My daughter had
told me that the smaller breed dogs don’t have the same stamina as larger ones
do. I believed her because the evidence was right there before my eyes. That dog
slept a good 18 out of 24 hours every day. His behavior was regular as
clock-work.
The operative
word in that last sentence: was.
Over the last
few weeks it’s as if the aliens came down and exchanged my happy to be
not-too-energetic puppy for a different dog entirely.
He used to let
me sleep in each morning. My beloved gets up at 4 am, and leaves the house by
4:45. When he gets up, he also gets the puppy up, takes him outside, and then
has “daddy puppy time” while he makes his lunch and gets ready for work. Then he
puts the puppy back in bed with me, and leaves. Puppy used to go right back to
sleep until I “awoke naturally” or to the alarm at 7:30 if I had the kids
overnight, whichever the case may be.
But for the
last few weeks, Tuffy the scruffy puppy believes it is his job to make sure that
mommy wakes up and knows that daddy has left the building. Then, of course,
since mommy is awake, maybe she would like to play?
I have been
saying “no” a lot more lately. And I know he understands me. But rather than
complying, he has a doggy grin on his face and I know that really, he is just
mocking me.
“No, mommy does
not want to play. It’s not time to play. It’s time to sleep.”
Ah, but Tuffy
does not want to sleep. And not only is he a cute, cuddly scruffy puppy. No,
sir! He is the big, brave, bold guard dog! Daddy is gone, so it is his job to
protect mommy by...barking at every leaf, squirrel, or car that passes by the
house—which he can see from the bed, by looking out the window.
Another canine
being walked by its owner is cause for DEFCON 3!
Usually, after
a few minutes of this energetic, vociferous behavior I do get up—long
enough to put Tuffy outside the bedroom, and close the door in his little furry
face. I wish I could tell you that the door is substantial and blocks the sound
of the energetically barking puppy.
You have no
idea how very much I wish I could tell you that.
Only once over
the last few weeks was I able to get back to sleep by placing my extra pillow
over my head, thus covering my ears. It’s a feather pillow and does a passable
job of noise cancellation.
Unless, of
course, the noise in question is the sharp, shrill yip/bark of Tuffy the scruffy
puppy.
Gone, too, are
the fondly remembered mornings where the puppy is content with just a few
minutes of play time. What happened to my stamina-challenged little mop head?
Lately, Tuffy doesn’t seem to know the meaning of quit, or tired, or go rest or
stop!
The other day,
the groomer mentioned that at 9 months of age, Tuffy the scruffy puppy is a
“teenager” puppy. That bit of information explained a lot, and gave me
pause.
I had three
children who all became “teenagers”—two of them at the same time. It wasn’t that
many years ago, and I remember the trauma of that period of time with horror and
gratitude that it came to an end.
I love that
puppy and I have no choice, I know it. But dealing with a teenager? I
really do not want to go there again.
Love,
Morgan
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