So the whole three dogs scenario is turning out to be pretty tough. Let me preface by saying that I am crazy about dogs, but I in no way know how to train them. Not only do I not know how, but I am not interested in learning. I don’t have the time, energy, or patience. I don’t think this makes me a terrible person; I think it makes me normal.
We were blessed that Cleo and Eddie are so well-behaved. Pretty much the only bad thing they do is chew the window sills, and Eddie has these random panic attacks that disturb our sleep from time to time, but overall they are very laid-back and sweet. We had a good life, a calm life. We had our routines.
Oliver has changed all that. We have learned the hard way that he has to spend the night in his crate, along with any time that we’re not home to supervise him. Of course this makes us feel guilty, but it is the only solution at this point. Any time we’re home we let him out, but that means we can’t relax. He needs constant monitoring and attention. Gone are the days that I can just lounge on the couch after a 12-hour work day; Oliver is up there with me, in my face and on top of me. Gone are the days of somewhat clean floors; Oliver tracks dirt wherever he goes.
We have had some good days. There were a few mornings that were SO good that I thought we were through the hardest part. I would let all three dogs out together and they would all do their business. I would feed them, and all three would eat. Eddie and Cleo would hop on the couch to doze, and Oliver would lie at my feet while I ate breakfast. Then I’d put him back in his crate and go to work.
Today, I’m about to lose hope. Since the dogs have been getting along so well lately, I put them all outside to play while I cleaned the house. They were out there for a couple of hours, and when I glanced out the window they looked so cute together. I was in the middle of mopping the floors–furniture moved, water everywhere – when I heard barks that didn’t sound right.
I ran outside to see Oliver and Cleo in a real fight. Thankfully I had already researched how to break up a dog fight without getting hurt, and was able to get them apart by pulling on their back legs. I got Oliver into the garage and promptly gave Cleo a bath with the hose. We were all muddy, and both dogs were bleeding from a few spots; nothing deep, but enough to alarm me. I cleaned the wounds with hydrogen peroxide as best as I could. I left Cleo and Eddie outside while I finished cleaning the house, then I let them in and shut them in my room with bones.
Oliver wasn’t as dirty, but he wouldn’t let me clean his bloody ear. I let him in the house, and for a little while, with them all separated, things were calm. Then Oliver peed on one of my nice coats, which was hanging from the back of a chair, right in front of my face. Needless to say, he’s back outside.
Many times have either David or I uttered the phrase, “We have to give him away.” But every time the other one says no. I can’t really blame him for all these problems. He’s just a huge, hormonal puppy with a bad leg who doesn’t know what to do with his energy. He’s adorable, and sweet if you give him a chance. I love him, but I don’t know what to do with him.
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