A Boy and His Dog(s)

Well, the good news is that Mattix is hitting Ed and I a lot less.  The bad news is that he’s taken to beating on this little thing:

I feel kinda guilty and here’s why: I’m quite pleased that I’m no longer on the receiving end of the smack downs every single time. I really prefer to share the love. Plus, she sort of deserves it. This animal uses our entire house as one big toilet. She’s skating on thin, thin ice. We bought her at the end of October, just about a month before we traveled (thinking there wasn’t a shot in hell we’d travel before the new year). We were TOLD she was 12 weeks old, but once we had her home, it became apparent that she probably wasn’t much older than eight weeks. I feel badly even admitting this, but the reason she ended up with us is because we had to let our amazing dog Reese go just a week earlier.

Reese was only seven years old and was truly the neatest animal to walk the earth. She was a survivor for sure. She was born with a congenital lung defect that we of course weren’t aware of when we bought her. However, even if I could have gone back and done things differently (i.e., chosen a different dog) and saved $10,000 plus in vet bills over her seven years of hard-fought-for life, I would NOT have done it. She had an amazing spirit. Putting her to sleep was the hardest decision I’ve ever had to make in my adult life. I had to do it because my husband couldn’t.  We have an amazing vet who came out to my parent’s house (b/c their beautiful, lush, giant back yard was her favorite place on earth). She wasn’t scared; she was a little confused, but not at all scared. She passed in my arms with her beloved red ball by her side after playing fetch for an hour (even though she was not well at all).  Anywhoo, now that I’m bawling my eyes out…

Unfortunately, Reese’s passing was VERY hard on this dog:

We brought Reese and Gidget home within one week of each other and they spent all of their lives as “best friends.” Seriously. They spooned at night. I’m not being funny. They spooned. They cuddled. They did other things, but I’m not going to talk about it here because it’s not appropriate.  They loved each other so much it was almost a little strange.

Here they are when we were working on Mattix’s room, shortly after his referral:

So when Reese died, Gidget was a wreck. You might be able to tell from the photos – Gidget is a big-boned girl. She doesn’t mess around with food. She likes to eat. She actually doesn’t overeat, but she certainly doesn’t miss a meal. After Reese died, she stopped eating entirely. Gidget skipping a meal is like me skipping a meal. If it happens, you know there’s a BIG problem. She wouldn’t eat anything for days. I had spent the last two weeks of Reese’s life COOKING for her (I don’t cook anything for anyone) and feeding her strange concoctions with my fingers. Towards the end, I was literally laying by her each morning and night for an hour doing everything I could to get her to lick weird combinations of food off of my fingers. I SO wasn’t going to do that for my healthy dog, even though I understood how sad she was.

We tried sending her to my parent’s house while she adjusted because she also loves my parent’s dog. Unfortunately, Gidget loves me way too much and being away from me was even more difficult (Reese was Ed’s dog and Gidget is mine). We tried bringing my parents dog to our house, but my dad has some serious personal issues and loves his 8 pound Chihuahua a little too much (yes it’s true, male testosterone really does decline with age…this is the man that had large hunting dogs his entire life). So the only solution we could think of was to bring another dog into our house. I wasn’t up for it. I missed Reese so much. I wanted her back. I cried myself to sleep at night and I would cry more every morning when I realized I couldn’t go outside with her and throw her red ball that she loved more than anything. So the idea of a new dog was upsetting, but I knew Gidget needed a buddy. Not the best reason to bring a new pet into the home, but what can we say? We were desperate. I was honestly worried that Gidget might die of a broken heart.

So along came this:

I loved Reese b/c she was 19 pounds of solid Daschund muscle. That dog could run like nobody’s business, even with one lung full of fluid and an enlarged heart. She had amazing determination. We had her de-barked (I know it sounds horrible, but it was that bad) TWICE and both times, she worked at it until her vocal cords grew back. She ended up with the bark of a very large dog, which was hilarious.  Nobody told Reese what to do, period. But it didn’t matter because she always just knew what to do.  Every morning, she wanted to go outside and refused to come in until the sun went down, at which time she demanded excessive amounts of cuddling and human attention.

I didn’t want an identical dog because that just weirded me out, but Ed and I both wanted another athletic Daschund that looked different. So I started calling around. Everyone had minis b/c Paris Hilton dogs are all the rage. Unlike my father and his declining male hormones, I did not want a purse dog. I finally found a woman who told me that although this dog was not a standard, it certainly was not a mini and that she should end up somewhere between a mini and a standard. 

One word: LIAR.

So now we have a five pound hellion that spends her days stealing Mattix’s toys, chewing them up, defecating and urinating everywhere, and generally wreaking havoc. But damn is she cute. And sweet.

My parents watched our dogs while we were in VN and my mom swore up and down that Slinky was potty trained. Well, if my mom’s not lying (and I don’t think she is), Slinky must not have gotten the memo that the no-crapping-in-the-house policy applies to both my parents house AND our house.

So, when I noticed Mattix giving her a good beat down today, I briefly thought, “Karma, baby.” He doesn’t do it to Gidget, who is the world’s most loving animal. She follows Mattix everywhere, lies down by him, and anxiously awaits the moment where he grabs and pulls on a chunk of her hair because that’s how Mattix rolls. It pleases her to no end to be on the receiving end of his attention/strange affection that it does not matter that such attention is painful. She lies on the floor by his changing table while he screams about diaper changes, she sleeps by his door, she guards him like he’s her little puppy.

But the little dog?

She steals his toys, takes his teething biscuits directly out of his mouth, drinks out of his bottles, and steals her own toys back from Mattix. (Yes our kid plays with the dogs’ toys. I do draw the line at the placing-of-the-rawhide-bone-in-the-mouth  move, so I’m not that bad.) She is, however, an incredibly sweet dog. Besides stealing everything that belongs to him, she’s good with Mattix. Plus, Mattix steals her stuff, too. She’s playful, she’s not even remotely aggressive, and when Mattix is giving her a good beating like he was today, she actually stands there and takes it (this brings her intelligence into question, but whatever).

And so I’m left with guilt. My dad fell in love with her while we were in Vietnam and offered me fifty bucks more than we paid for her. (Total joke, but he really would take her in a second. Slinky got along incredibly well with his little excuse for a dog, who also happens to be very sweet). But then we’d have the same problem. Gidget would be heartbroken.

Before I forget to mention it and you think I’m a terrible mom for putting my baby on the floor with dogs that scare him so much he feels it necessary to beat them, he really likes the dogs and they don’t scare him a bit. He just beats Slinky for sport. He was fascinated with them from the minute we came home from Vietnam. Every morning before breakfast, he insists on being put down on the floor with them for a few minutes so that he can say “hi,” and sometimes when he’s inconsolably upset and crying, the dogs are the only thing that will calm him.

On a serious note, I think Mattix is just learning boundaries, and that’s a great step in the right direction. Maybe not many internationally adopted children hit or act out physically after they came home, but I have a hard time believing that Mattix is the ONLY one. I know it has a lot to do with the age at which he joined our family. I’m well aware of the fact that his behaviors are very different than those of a child who comes to their family at say, five or six months old, but still…  

Anyway, it’s not okay for him to take his frustration out on Ed and I and he realizes that. He’s one smart kid. We tell him no and firmly take his hand away from our face/head/chest (wherever he’s hitting), then open his hand and touch our face lightly with his hand and say “Gentle.” He gets it. He may test it, but he understands. So I guess the next best thing is the dogs.

Although I’m being a smart ass, we’re really not letting him smack around the five pound puppy, even though she probably deserves it. We’re working on it as well.

Here they are going at it over the drain plug that Mattix jacked from the cupboard. Because it was technically a stolen good when Mattix took possession, I let them battle it out.

I know the dogs wonder what we were thinking, bringing this little man into their territory. They can’t even get to their water dishes any more. He either empties them by splashing the water everywhere, or he creates barriers.  They have to eat really quickly while I prevent Mattix from stealing their food. He made it to their food dishes eight (I counted) times tonight, even getting a few bits in his mouth before they finished up. The good news is that they let him have at it without any resistance.

This morning I heard a lot of banging around the water dish. It was Gidget, signaling for help. She was VERY thirsty. I went over and found this:

So I removed the plastic bowl, only to find this:

And of course Mattix had hidden this at the bottom:

Lest you think one of the dogs hid their bone at the bottom of the pile, Mattix really does steal their stuff. He learned how to be a thief from Slinky. She’s a sneaky one. She stockpiles all of Mattix’s toys under the giant ottoman in the loft b/c it’s low to the ground and I only move it to vacuum.

Here’s Mattix, giving Slinky a taste of her own medicine:

Slinky: “Oh hell, here he comes”

Slinky: “Crap, he got it again.”

Mattix: “Heeeeyyyyyy-ohhhhhh. It’s mine, now!”

Matitx” “Arrrggg. The big blond lady is telling me to put them down again.”

Slinky: “Ha! Mine again!”

Mattix is doing great. Not with the puppy beatings – he’s still really into those. But with everything in general. I truly am astounded and humbled by him. Every time that I think about how hard this adjustment is on me, I fully realize that I have NO idea what an adjustment is. NO idea. I anticipated this adjustment. This was OUR choice. Mattix is having to adjust to something over which he has no control. I can’t even imagine how his world was turned upside down and yet he blows me away daily. He laughed and smiled so much today that I was overwhelmed.

I do have more serious things to post; I’ll try to get to those tomorrow. I just needed a little lighthearted stupid humor to get me through the night, which is setting up to be a long one (and it’s only 11:10!).

For everyone who is waiting for I600 approval: I am thinking of you daily (and stalking your blogs every chance I get). Truly. You are in my thoughts and prayers as you wait to receive the single email that will allow you to meet your little ones.