His first treat bone...

My beloved puppy dog just earned his first treat bone!  His momma finally was able to catch him before he made a mistake inside and was able to scoop him up and plop him down outside.  What made the moment more spectacular was that she tried to herd him back inside (it is quite cold outside tonight) and he insisted on running back across the yard to winkle.  I was almost dumbfounded!

My poor puppydog did not even know what a treat bone was.  However, my Oscar worthy performance of jubilant praise over his dual accomplishment was enough to get him to follow me to the deacon's bench, leaping and wagging his tail and falling down in his excitement without even knowing what he was about to discover, where I have been keeping the bag for this very moment.

This whole "gentle" way of potty training a puppy is not my cup of tea.  I am a fan of rubbing their noses in mistakes.  After all, that worked really well last time around.  I have not been diligent enough to catch his mistakes.  When I take him outside and he is productive, I heap copious amounts of praise on him.  But when I am...uhm...slightly less attentive to his wanderings due to fatigue he has no compunction about pooping before the front door and winkling on the kitchen floor.  While he does make clean-up easy, I am weary of doing so.

Thus, I am rather estatic that, just now, I was able to halt his pooping and relocate him to the appropriate location.  On top of that, I am hoping I was enthusiastic enough in my praise and reward technique that he might begin to be slightly more inclined to conduct his affairs out of doors.

Lest you think that I am putting too much hope in his intelligence, especially given that it took a few moments for him to recognize the bone treat as something to consume and then further time to actually figure out how to do so, I will note the following:  Before today, Amos had approached the house from the front only two times.  First, the morning he was ripped away from his family, shoved in a car, and abandoned in a strange new place.  Second, yesterday he managed to walk (and I do use the term loosely) on the leash for the first time.  So, today, when we went out to try the leash again, my stinking brilliant puppy dog turned in at our walk ahead of me and trotted up the steps!

Lest you think I have fully embraced the "gentle" training mentality, last night I drew a rather firm line in the sand with Amos.  When he is tired, he runs around like a wild, crazy toddler who is too tired to go to sleep.  He bites anything and everything in his path, getting more and more aggressive, no matter how many times I firmly tell him, "No!" or hold his mouth shut.  After yet another night of him driving me to the loony bin, I thought very long and hard as to where I put the squirt bottle when I unpacked.  For once, I prevailed against my MS riddled braincells and managed to pinpoint the location.

Amos does not like being squirted in the face.

Tonight, all I had to do was merely lift the squirt bottle up into his line of sight and all biting ceased.  With one eye on the bottle, Amos wisely decided to reconsider the chew bone I had put in front of him.  He made the right choice.  Now, I am sure we will have set backs, but I should not have any more Amos-mouth-sized bruises about my body!

The photo I chose for this entry is one of my favorites.  You can see that he is still a fan of draping himself about.  In fact, this evening, he fell asleep on my chest.  After a while, he rolled over and resettled himself with his head hanging off to the side.  That head of his has to be squeezed into a small space, perched up atop of something, or hanging off below the rest of him.

What else have I learned about Amos?  He snores!  I, of course, only snore when Bettina is trying to sleep.  He snores quite frequently.  He also grunts when he is waking up.  In fact, he is rather horrible about waking up, preferring to snuggle against me when I pick him up and grunts and whimpers in a pitiful breathy manner.  All that doesn't matter, though...for Amos allows me to sleep longer than 8 hours without waking me up.  In fact, only one morning has he actually be desirous of getting out of bed before I dragged myself to my feet.

He does still fret rather frenetically whenever I shower, spending the entire span of my ablutions trying to join me in the tub.  What do you think would happen if I just let him shower with me?

We are a good fit, I dare say.  Over the next few weeks, I need to work on having him adjust to my being gone so that when God provides a job, he will not become melancholy in his separation anxiety.  For now, though, I have been utterly comforted with his companionship.

In so very many ways, he is absolutely, utterly, totally, completely different from Kashi, my beloved buttercup, my darling daffodil, my precious petunia.  What mercy!

The Luther teaches in the Large Catechism that God created all things for the uses and necessities of life.  Do you imagine that includes puppydogs for those of His children in need of comfort?  In many, many ways, I know that my Good Shepherd has provided this house for me, meeting needs in ways I am still discovering, like the hepa air filtration system.  Is is wrong to think that He also provided Amos, with the perfect temperament for me in this very difficult time of my life, ways in which he is a comfort that I am still discovering? 


Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief!