In Honor of Uno's Birthday...

Our awesome dog Uno turns dos today, and in honor of his birthday, I am reposting a piece I wrote when he was three months old and all the world seemed dangerous.  

He's lasted this far, though, so I think he's gonna make it.

Danger, Danger, Everywhere!

A veterinarian once told my husband, after he assured her that his housecat did not need a rabies shot, that ALL pets, even those who were indoors-only needed to be vaccinated because (and I quote) “a rabid bat could fly down the chimney and bite your cat”.  Instead of being terrified by this horror-movie-like visual, my hubby simply rolled his eyes and filed the suggestion in the same category with tsunami insurance for Iowa residents and life jackets for dolphins.  He still declined the shot.  Since his cat had almost died from a seizure following her last rabies vaccination, he decided to take his chances with the bat.

Since then, the vet’s warning has become sort of a euphemism in our household for the ridiculously implausible. 

Me:  “What did you do with that scorpion I found in the bathroom?”

Hubby:  “Took it outside.”

Me:  “How FAR outside???  What if it crawls back inside during the night and climbs up into our bed and stings me???”

Hubby:  “Oh yeah, and what if a rabid bat flies down the chimney and bites you?”

Me:  “Point taken.”

And we laugh and consider ourselves clever.

Well, recently, Hubby and I got a puppy.  His name is Uno and he’s AWESOME.  (See visual proof of his awesomeness to the right.)  Even though he is only 11 weeks old, he is already, hands down, the best puppy in the world.  No hyperbole.

Anyway, ever since we brought Uno home, the warnings, cautions, suggestions, and advice have been flooding in.  Apparently danger lurks around every corner when you are a defenseless little canine. 

On the one hand, we are told to be very cautious with our puppy until he is four months old.  He hasn’t had his rabies shot yet.  He is not yet completely immune to doggy diseases.  The ground is teeming with germs.  Parvo can live in the soil for up to a year.  He could step in another dog’s poop, lick his own paw and die a terrible death.  Best to keep him away from any area any other dog has ever or might have ever set foot in.  Yes, your best friend’s dog may be healthy and have all of her shots, but what if SHE has been around dogs who HAVEN’T?  Are you willing to take that risk?!?! 

On the other hand, we are told it is SO important to properly socialize our puppy before he is five months old.  He needs to meet other dogs.  He needs to experience new places.  Fears set in at 20 weeks.  He needs to be exposed to every type of surface, temperature, noise, smell, and weather condition.  He needs to be around cats, birds, squirrels, deer, horses, rabbits, and llamas.  He needs to meet humans of every age, size, gender, and race.  He needs to interact with people wearing hats, sunglasses, masks, scarves, vests, and hoop earrings.  How will you feel if your dog gets to be six months old and he is terrified of elderly Asian men wearing bow ties?!?!

It can be a bit overwhelming. 

Still though, we try to take it all in stride and find a happy balance between disease risks and socialization phobias without becoming paranoid parents. After all, the idea of a bat flying down our chimney or a rabid dog sneezing on our front porch is preposterous. 

Or so I thought.  

Last week I stopped into a pet store which, for the purposes of this blog, we will call MegaPet, to buy some chew-deterrent spray.  (It did not work.  However, this does not denote a lack of awesomeness on the part of my puppy – See second pic for further proof of his awesomeness – it instead denotes a lack of awesomeness on the part of the product.  This face can obviously do no wrong.)

Anyway, I was standing in line behind a woman buying a medium-sized, brown, cushy dog bed.  This was the middle of the afternoon and the store was nearly empty.  The only people around were me, her, and the male teenager behind the checkout counter.  It was a slow day at MegaPet.

While Teen Boy was swiping the lady’s credit card, she was reaching down into the plush recesses of her new doggy bed, when suddenly she said, “Oh!  I don’t think the bed was supposed to come with this!” and she lifted up out of the crevasse… a dead mouse.

Teen Boy and I just stared while Clueless Lady held the thing by the tail and said stuff like, “Looks like I got an added bonus!  Almost walked out of here without paying for this!”

I ventured to ask, already knowing the answer to my question, “Is that a dead mouse?”  To which she replied, “No, it’s a toy.  Looks real, though, doesn’t it?”  And I thought… yep.

Clueless Lady set the dead rodent on the counter next to my bitter apple spray, then, seeing my look of concern, thought better of it, picked the thing up AGAIN, and set it on Teen Boy’s cash register.  Then she stood there, cluelessly waiting for her receipt.  When she noticed that Teen Boy and I could not stop staring, jaws dropped, at the thing on his cash register, Clueless Lady finally got a clue.  She gasped and said, “Is that a DEAD MOUSE!?”  We both nodded.

Now I must admit, once Clueless Lady got a clue and realized that she had, in fact, been waving a dead mouse around for the past couple of minutes, she handled herself very well.  She demanded (and received) a new dog bed, thanked Teen Boy, and hastily escaped to her car, where I can only assume she got a huge case of the heebie jeebies and doused her hands in antibacterial gel.  Meanwhile, back in MegaPet, I watched as a very dismayed Teen Boy picked up the dead mouse with a dog food coupon, and threw it, along with the contaminated dog bed, in the trash.  I’m pretty sure MegaPet has no data on this incident whatsoever.

I left the store with my ineffectual chew deterrent and a bewildered expression on my face.  What boggled my mind more than the fact that I just saw a grown woman play with a dead mouse was the idea that maybe there was something to the whole bat theory after all.  I mean, if I had bought that bed for Uno and NOT rummaged around in it before bringing it home, he could have found the dead mouse, eaten it, contracted some horrible dead mouse disease, and gotten sick or died without me ever even knowing what had happened to him.  It was a sobering thought.

But still, you can’t live your life in fear.  Yes, there is danger everywhere.  There are diseases in the soil.  There are mean people in the world.  There are rabid animals.  There are poisonous plants.  There are fast cars. There are dead mice in dog beds.  There are germs, germs, germs on every surface everywhere.  But everything should be taken in moderation, including safety precautions. Our goal is to raise a healthy, well-adjusted puppy while avoiding becoming “the people who fear the bat in the chimney”.  And we do this by following a few simple rules.

** Keep up with regular vet appointments and vaccinations.

** Take puppy to safe, clean areas to socialize with friendly people and healthy dogs.

** Be cautious of high-traffic dog areas until puppy is older.

** Keep fireplace doors closed at all times.

** Thoroughly inspect all items purchased at MegaPet.

And I think we’re doing pretty well, because our pup is AWESOME.  Seriously.  Look at him.

Beware of Ninjas

Uno is like a ninja. A slow, clumsy ninja that smells like dog. Ok, so that doesn’t sound very ninja-like. Then again, I am also exceptionally unobservant, so he gets away with a lot. His M.O. is to wait until I am not looking or concentrating on something else, usually the computer screen. Then he tiptoes ever so slowly past me, takes whatever forbidden item he wants (used tissue, waded up paper ball, wooden ghost figurine) softly in his jaws, and then tiptoes out again. When he is safely out of sight, he picks up speed, taking the treasure to his lair (a.k.a. pillow) to devour it.

Not exactly a ninja in this picture, but trust me, it happens.

I know this is what happens because while I am writing, things go missing from my office and end up mutilated in Uno's bed. Also one time I randomly turned around during a marathon writing session to catch my dog, head low, paw raised in silent tiptoe, wadded-up paper towel clutched in jaws, frozen behind me on the way out of my room. It was an uncomfortable moment for both of us.

Well this morning… (spoiler alert: things get a little gross)… Uno got a little too bold. He found a treasure so awesome that it warranted some unprecedented ninja-ing. He could not dare to leave this prize unguarded until I was safely distracted, so he attempted to carry it right past me while I was looking directly at him.

It didn't work.

I was in the hallway when Uno slunk out of Mark's office, head low, paws moving carefully, shoulders gliding up and down in an extremely deliberate fashion. He was making his way to his pillow, but he was doing it with finesse. Seriously. If dogs could be nonchalant, then Uno was the king of cool. Except they can't. Cause... they're dogs. He might as well have been wearing a t-shirt that said, “Nothing to see here. Just acting casual.” Even if I had bought into Uno's super-chill attitude, he was still in trouble because I could see something sticking out of his mouth. It looked like a cigar. I said, "Uno, drop it." He looked at me, knowing he was caught, but unwilling to give up his prize. I wasn’t in the mood for games. It was early and I was still sort of sleepy (OBVIOUSLY since I had not yet figured out that we don't smoke and the thing protruding from my dog’s mouth could not possibly be a cigar) and so I grabbed his collar before he could run.  Then I reached into his mouth to extract... a large cat turd.

Yeah.

This event actually happened hours ago, but I couldn't write as I have been washing my hands ever since. And brushing the dog's teeth.

Someone's not getting kissed on Valentines Day…

Today is actually the 14^th birthday of Gink (the dropper of the turd).  I could ask him WHY he pooped on the floor where the dog could get it, instead of in the litterbox, or at least NEAR the litterbox, but I didn’t.  I don’t ask why anymore.  There’s just no point.  My guess is that he took that birthday card that said, “It's your day! Do whatever you want!” too literally.  It’s probably also why he has spent the rest of the day meowing in my face, beating up on the other cats, and jumping up into the top of the closet and refusing to come down. It’s my fault really. I never should have bought him that card.

Happy Birthday, Gink. Click here to read the sweet blog post I wrote about Ginker 

in December of 2011. It sounds a little sentimental now. I wrote it before

 the vet told me Gink could easily have another good five years left in him. 

(That news was received differently by various members of the household.)

Anyway, my morning started with a cat turd in my hand.  That’s really all I wanted to say.

So Long to Rawhide

“Keep movin', movin', movin',

Though they're disapprovin',

Keep them doggies movin' Rawhide!

Don't try to understand 'em,

Just rope and throw and grab 'em,

Soon we'll be living high and wide…”

No, not THAT Rawhide.  I am saying goodbye to the popular dog treats made of rawhide.

Ever since we got Uno, I have been leery of rawhide products.  Lots of people say they are fine and their dogs have eaten them for years with no problem, but others say the material does not digest properly and can be a choking hazard.  Even with the warnings though, it’s hard to avoid.  This is not some rare delicacy—there are aisles and aisles of pet stores dedicated to the stuff and it comes in every size, shape, and flavor imaginable.  Still, being overprotective, semi-hippie dog parents and since Uno was not picky about chew toys, we decided to stay on the safe side and avoid it.  Instead we went with Nylabones (I highly recommend them), rubber Kongs (also great), and stuffed friends of every variety (we tend to lean towards dragons, but that is probably more a reflection of our taste than Uno’s).

Nevertheless, rawhide seems to be quite insidious and it has wormed its way into our household three times, all with negative results.

Rawhide Infiltration the First:

When Uno was still a tiny yellow fuzzy bundle of clumsy big feet and baby teeth—(In my head, I just transitioned into my high-pitched, pouty-lipped baby talk voice.  It was unavoidable really.)—I bought him a pink egg-shaped treat that had chicken paste in the center.  I really don’t know why; I think it was on sale. When I bought it, I didn’t realize the outside was made of rawhide.  Then the hubby read the package and pointed out my error.  But… eh.  It was already in the house and Uno was so small, we figured it would take him a while to get into it anyway, so we decided to let him have it while monitored. 

It was love at first bite.  Uno grabbed that thing and wrapped his furry paws around it and went to town with a passion.  It did take him a long time to make a dent in it though and after a long chew session we decided he’d had enough for the day, so we reached to take the egg away.  And that’s when our sweet, adorable, three-month-old baby bared his teeth and GROWLED more ferociously than either of us thought possible. 

I searched all through PetSmart’s website and cannot find the egg toy, 

but here is a picture of Uno holding it. 

You can already see the rawhide-induced evil in his eyes.

As soon as we got over the shock of this eighteen-pound bag of bones threatening us, we took the treat away, put the pup in time out, and decided this was a situation that needed to be remedied quick.  Uno had never behaved that way with any of his other toys or treats before and never hesitated to let us take his food away from him, but he was SERIOUS about that egg.

So we used it as a training tool.  Once in a while, we gave the egg treat to him (it got slimier and slimier as the days went on) and let him chew on it for a few minutes before trying to take it away.  If he let us, he got praised and got the treat back.  If he didn’t let us, it was time out and no treat.  It took several attempts before he would behave with it.

Rawhide Infiltration the Second:

The egg treat obsession was weird, but we didn’t at that point connect any weirdness with the rawhide part.  We were still avoiding rawhide in general and were now also avoiding the pink egg toys because, in addition to making our puppy act feral, it was also just kind of gross.  Then, for Uno’s first Christmas, someone gave him a bag of small, thin rawhide chews.

We weren’t excited about them, but… they were small and they were a gift, so we decided to try them with supervision.  Well, to make a boring story shorter, he got choked on one of them.  I had to reach into his mouth and pull out the white, sticky mess that was blocking his throat.  Those went in the trash and the rawhide avoidance was back on.

Rawhide Infiltration the Last:

Like this, although I don't think
it was the Kong brand.

This Christmas, Uno got another rawhide chew, a big bone-shaped one this time.  At first we just put it away, intending to give it to someone else or donate it.  But… eventually we decided to give it a try, since Uno is bigger and older and healthier and we could monitor him with it. (Are you seeing a pattern yet in our parenting?)  So, we gave our sweet, gentle, sixty-five pound dog the rawhide.  And then we tried to take it away.  And then he growled at us.  Again.

Uno is almost two and he has NEVER acted possessive of ANYTHING else.  Toys, Nylabones, treats, food, Frisbees, stuffed animals… all are to be shared with mom and dad.  He may play keep away.  He may ignore our command to “drop it” and run around the yard instead.  But the only thing he has ever felt the need to defend by aggression is rawhide.  And I have no idea why.

We should have thrown the thing away immediately, but we are gluttons for punishment or at least for training opportunities, so we went back into time-out/reward mode. 

Until last night. 

This is just a yawn,
but you get the idea.

Quick background:  Uno is scared of our black cat, Gink.  Gink is declawed and fourteen years old, but he’s also scary and extremely “assertive” and really put Uno in his place when he was a baby.  Uno gives him a wide berth.  When they are less than three feet away from each other, Uno does not look Gink in the eye.  If Gink is in the kitchen when I put Uno’s food in his bowl, Uno will wait outside the gate and whine until I pick up the black menace and remove him from the area.  Uno is totally and completely cowed by that cat.

Last night, while Uno was chewing on his beloved rawhide, Gink jumped up on the couch near him, and Uno ROARED and LUNGED and GROWLED and SNAPPED and pretty much scared the crap out of everyone.  He did not touch Gink, but I fear that if the cat had been stupid enough to come any closer, he would have.

The dog got locked in the kitchen, the rawhide got thrown in the trash, the too-startled-to-move cat got comforted, and the husband and I decided—once and for all—that we will not allow any more rawhide into our home.  Period.  This time we’re serious.

I really don’t know what it is about this substance that turns our sweet boy into a rabid monster.  I realize this must not be a common side effect of rawhide because pretty much everyone else we know gives it to their dogs.  But for whatever reason, it brings out the devil in Uno, so we are done.

So, be forewarned that any Christmas, birthday, or Valentine gifts containing rawhide will be returned or donated elsewhere.  Thanks, but no thanks.

"Dear Santa, Please bring me a treat
that will not make me crazy."

The Nature of Things

Though the title of this blog is The Black Cat Diaries, and there is in fact a rather persnickety black cat named Gink who resides here, there are several other furry creatures that live in our home as well, and one of them is a yellow dog named Uno.

So this is mainly an Uno story.

I have a small, old pillow that I wanted to throw away.  It was a homemade gift from a student a few years ago.  (Don't think me heartless—  This thing has been sat upon and laid upon and who-knows-what upon by teenagers for years.  It is old and dirty and smelly, and its time has come.  However, I did bring it home from school to dispose of because I didn’t want my current students to see me throw away a gift.) 

Instead of tossing it in the trash, I decided to give it to Uno to shred.  Uno’s a year and four months old now and he has gone through his share of toys.  There are a few “tough” ones out there that last a LITTLE longer (these Durable Dragons have been the best we’ve seen) but in general Uno reduces stuffed animals and plush toys to a pile of fluff in less than half an hour.  So I thought it would be a fun ten minutes for him to tear apart this pillow and I was willing to clean up the mess.  It already has a small hole in the side for “easy access”.

Well that backfired because Uno LOVES the pillow.  I gave it to him yesterday and it is still completely whole.  He carried it to his bed and is actually using it as a pillow.  Every time I walk by he hugs it and glares at me, as if to say, “I can’t BELIEVE you wanted me to DESTROY this wonderful thing!”

Sigh.  I guess I’ll be hanging on to the nasty pillow a little longer.

"Thank you for my pillow, Mom."

Hmm, maybe eventually I will learn my lesson.  When you try to “let nature take its course” it doesn’t always work out the way you think it will.  About twelve years ago, I decided to deal with a mouse situation “naturally” by letting Gink take care of it instead of using a trap.  He was young and spry then and, though inexperienced, I thought fully capable of taking care of business.  Another backfire.  That experiment ended with the mouse quite literally running over my ferocious black cat.  Twice.  

Gink was not available for comment.

ADDENDUM:  7/25/12

Uno is not so sentimental after all.  The love for the pillow only lasted three days.

Wait... this belonged to TEENAGERS?!?!

I'm on it!

That was exhausting... But it had to be done.

My Familiar

The black cat who inspired the title of this blog is curled up next to me on the couch right now.  A second cat hovers nearby.  A third is munching food from a bowl behind me.  And a fourth is sleeping on a pillow near the fire.  The dog has retired to his crate for the night.

There are five animals living in this house right now (seven if you count me and and my husband too) all those mouths to feed, all those personalities to contend with, all those little bundles of warmth with which to snuggle.

But twelve and a half years ago when I brought him home from the shelter (May 1, 1999-- I still remember the date) it was just me and my black cat.  And it stayed that way for a couple of years until other pets began finding their way into our lives.

Gink (who is named after Dorrie's black cat in my favorite series of children's books by Patricia Coombs) instantly filled a void that really needed to be filled.  Although I still had cats and dogs who I loved at my parents' home, I had not had a pet living with me for all four years of college.  I craved one.  I don't plan on ever allowing that void to form again.  My life needs animal companionship.

This cat and I have been through a lot together.  Relationships, break-ups, scares, serenity, midnight trips to the emergency vet, and moments of gut-busting hilarity.  Gink spent the first six years of his life being a complete nightmare to most people and even when I pretended to be scandalized by his behavior, secretly I always loved it.  He was my bad boy.  Around age seven, he began to chill out.  He took up a serious but mostly peaceful guard duty job at my front window and developed a taste for Greek olives.  Instead of playing how-long-will-he-be-amused-with-this-toy-before-biting-me, we started singing duets while I showered and cuddling under blankets to read good books.  Although Gink still goes into attack mode for a select few humans (you know who you are) fewer things ruffle him now, and most people can't believe he used to be such a terror.

   

These days, with a demanding job, a long commute, a husband, and four other pets to care for, Gink doesn't get the one-on-one attention that he used to.  There was a time when I would come home from work, he would greet me at the door, and I would drop everything to scoop him up into my arms, rub his soft head, and ask him how his day was.  Sometimes he had much to report.

But despite my busy schedule and lack of time (always always not enough time) there are moments when the activity in the house grows still and quiet and I notice that Gink is next to me--  sleeping or snoring or stretching or sometimes just watching-- and I stop what I'm doing and give him a kiss and stroke his glossy fur and rub the white spot on his belly.  And it kind of feels like it's just the two of us again and I think about how much this black cat has meant to me and how much I still love him.

This is one of those times.

Danger, Danger Everywhere!

A veterinarian once told my husband, after he assured her that his housecat did not need a rabies shot, that ALL pets, even those who were indoors-only needed to be vaccinated because (and I quote) “a rabid bat could fly down the chimney and bite your cat”.  Instead of being terrified by this horror-movie-like visual, my hubby simply rolled his eyes and filed the suggestion in the same category with tsunami insurance for Iowa residents and life jackets for dolphins.  He still declined the shot.  Since his cat had almost died from a seizure following her last rabies vaccination, he decided to take his chances with the bat.

Since then, the vet’s warning has become sort of a euphemism in our household for the ridiculously implausible. 

Me:  “What did you do with that scorpion I found in the bathroom?”

Hubby:  “Took it outside.”

Me:  “How FAR outside???  What if it crawls back inside during the night and climbs up into our bed and stings me???”

Hubby:  “Oh yeah, and what if a rabid bat flies down the chimney and bites you?”

Me:  “Point taken.”

And we laugh and consider ourselves clever.

Well, recently, Hubby and I got a puppy.  His name is Uno and he’s AWESOME.  (See visual proof of his awesomeness to the right.)  Even though he is only 11 weeks old, he is already, hands down, the best puppy in the world.  No hyperbole.

Anyway, ever since we brought Uno home, the warnings, cautions, suggestions, and advice have been flooding in.  Apparently danger lurks around every corner when you are a defenseless little canine. 

On the one hand, we are told to be very cautious with our puppy until he is four months old.  He hasn’t had his rabies shot yet.  He is not yet completely immune to doggy diseases.  The ground is teeming with germs.  Parvo can live in the soil for up to a year.  He could step in another dog’s poop, lick his own paw and die a terrible death.  Best to keep him away from any area any other dog has ever or might have ever set foot in.  Yes, your best friend’s dog may be healthy and have all of her shots, but what if SHE has been around dogs who HAVEN’T?  Are you willing to take that risk?!?! 

On the other hand, we are told it is SO important to properly socialize our puppy before he is five months old.  He needs to meet other dogs.  He needs to experience new places.  Fears set in at 20 weeks.  He needs to be exposed to every type of surface, temperature, noise, smell, and weather condition.  He needs to be around cats, birds, squirrels, deer, horses, rabbits, and llamas.  He needs to meet humans of every age, size, gender, and race.  He needs to interact with people wearing hats, sunglasses, masks, scarves, vests, and hoop earrings.  How will you feel if your dog gets to be six months old and he is terrified of elderly Asian men wearing bow ties?!?!

It can be a bit overwhelming. 

Still though, we try to take it all in stride and find a happy balance between disease risks and socialization phobias without becoming paranoid parents. After all, the idea of a bat flying down our chimney or a rabid dog sneezing on our front porch is preposterous. 

Or so I thought.  

Last week I stopped into a pet store which, for the purposes of this blog, we will call MegaPet, to buy some chew-deterrent spray.  (It did not work.  However, this does not denote a lack of awesomeness on the part of my puppy – See second pic for further proof of his awesomeness – it instead denotes a lack of awesomeness on the part of the product.  This face can obviously do no wrong.)

Anyway, I was standing in line behind a woman buying a medium-sized, brown, cushy dog bed.  This was the middle of the afternoon and the store was nearly empty.  The only people around were me, her, and the male teenager behind the checkout counter.  It was a slow day at MegaPet.

While Teen Boy was swiping the lady’s credit card, she was reaching down into the plush recesses of her new doggy bed, when suddenly she said, “Oh!  I don’t think the bed was supposed to come with this!” and she lifted up out of the crevasse… a dead mouse.

Teen Boy and I just stared while Clueless Lady held the thing by the tail and said stuff like, “Looks like I got an added bonus!  Almost walked out of here without paying for this!”

I ventured to ask, already knowing the answer to my question, “Is that a dead mouse?”  To which she replied, “No, it’s a toy.  Looks real, though, doesn’t it?”  And I thought… yep.

Clueless Lady set the dead rodent on the counter next to my bitter apple spray, then, seeing my look of concern, thought better of it, picked the thing up AGAIN, and set it on Teen Boy’s cash register.  Then she stood there, cluelessly waiting for her receipt.  When she noticed that Teen Boy and I could not stop staring, jaws dropped, at the thing on his cash register, Clueless Lady finally got a clue.  She gasped and said, “Is that a DEAD MOUSE!?”  We both nodded.

Now I must admit, once Clueless Lady got a clue and realized that she had, in fact, been waving a dead mouse around for the past couple of minutes, she handled herself very well.  She demanded (and received) a new dog bed, thanked Teen Boy, and hastily escaped to her car, where I can only assume she got a huge case of the heebie jeebies and doused her hands in antibacterial gel.  Meanwhile, back in MegaPet, I watched as a very dismayed Teen Boy picked up the dead mouse with a dog food coupon, and threw it, along with the contaminated dog bed, in the trash.  I’m pretty sure MegaPet has no data on this incident whatsoever.

I left the store with my ineffectual chew deterrent and a bewildered expression on my face.  What boggled my mind more than the fact that I just saw a grown woman play with a dead mouse was the idea that maybe there was something to the whole bat theory after all.  I mean, if I had bought that bed for Uno and NOT rummaged around in it before bringing it home, he could have found the dead mouse, eaten it, contracted some horrible dead mouse disease, and gotten sick or died without me ever even knowing what had happened to him.  It was a sobering thought.

But still, you can’t live your life in fear.  Yes, there is danger everywhere.  There are diseases in the soil.  There are mean people in the world.  There are rabid animals.  There are poisonous plants.  There are fast cars. There are dead mice in dog beds.  There are germs, germs, germs on every surface everywhere.  But everything should be taken in moderation, including safety precautions. Our goal is to raise a healthy, well-adjusted puppy while avoiding becoming “the people who fear the bat in the chimney”.  And we do this by following a few simple rules.

** Keep up with regular vet appointments and vaccinations.

** Take puppy to safe, clean areas to socialize with friendly people and healthy dogs.

** Be cautious of high-traffic dog areas until puppy is older.

** Keep fireplace doors closed at all times.

** Thoroughly inspect all items purchased at MegaPet.

And I think we’re doing pretty well, because our pup is AWESOME.  Seriously.  Look at him.