Cookie monster

I'm very proud to say that I went (almost) a week eating no sweets at all. After discovering last weekend that I've gained a distressing amount of weight, I realized that my comfort level with food has gotten a little too, er, comfortable. It's nice to finally be able to eat without feeling guilty or weird about it, but it didn't meant that I don't still have an odd relationship with food. As in, I really, really like food.

I came to depend on eating something sweet after every meal, sometimes more than once, plus I'm eating pretty subtantial meals. Most nights I'm happy with a big old bowl of tomato soup, but being married now, I feel more pressure to cook a couple nights a week. That means big bowls of pasta, hunks of meat, crouton-filled salads. These are all good things that I enjoy making and eating, but paired with a night full of cookies, frozen yogurt and candy, it really adds up.

So I've been keeping my meals pretty normal, but ate fruit and yogurt instead of reduced-fat Oreos and mini Reese's peanut butter cups (mmmm)... I have to say, it felt good. Very empowering. It got to the point when I was actually looking forward to eating an orange after dinner. They're as sweet as cookies, but I didn't feel the need to eat six of them.

Last night we got Arby's for dinner (I'm not trying to diet, people), and they had these yummy looking chocolate chunk cookies sitting in a case. I very happily ordered one and it was the perfect ending to the meal. After eating it, I found myself craving more, but I managed to push it off (okay, later I substituted with a few Doritos and an orange, but the point is that I didn't eat more sweets!)

Yeah, okay, so I'm not quite ready to weigh myself again. But at least I'm doing something proacative.

If you're missing Otto posts: I exhausted the heck out of him today by chasing him around with the dreaded vaccuum cleaner, jogging to our obedience class, and then working on training for over an hour. At long last, the little guy is fast asleep, snoring on the sofa, just the way I like him.

Otto likes panties

So the vet says that Otto has "trust issues." He's very defensive if you mess with him when he's resting, resorting to very aggressive snarls. And by "mess," I simply mean trying to move the little bugger. It doesn't happen too often, since you can usually get him to move by bumping him over or standing up, but if you physically put your hands on him, he growls. We're not exactly sure how to cure this. I mean, trust issues? Who doesn't have trust issues?

We've tried the domination thing, lots of no's, water bottle squirts. Then Aaron discovered the other day that when Otto gets overly excited and wanting to chew on our hands (it's not aggressive, just playful, but a potentially scary thing for people who don't know him), he was able to calm down the dog by petting his head. I also discovered that he liked being tapped on the top of his skull (I was bored).) So last night when he was starting that gutteral little groan that can escalate into a full on snarl attack, Aaron petted him and I tapped his head, and he calmed down. So maybe if we keep trying that, we can teach him that we're not trying to hurt him, or take over his space or anything. Besides, what's space to a 10 pound Chihuahua that sleeps nestled against my butt?

Anyhoo, here are more pictures.

I accidentally got someone's red g-string mixed up in my laundry. Either that or my husband is cheating on me, but honestly, when it comes to stuff getting lost and found in the laundry, the first option is much more likely. Because I'm a big procrastinator, it's been sitting on my dresser for a couple of weeks. I finally threw it on the floor with the intention of bringing it back down to the laundry room, which wasn't very bright of me since Otto takes everything and anything that is on the floor-- socks, shoes, feathers... So with apologies to its rightful owner, I think the panties now belong to Otto.

Considering his rude behaviour when he's sleeping, you'd think he would be all territorial when he's eating. But he's surprisingly polite. His bowls are near the fridge and dishwasher, and if I have to open either one while he's eating, he backs away quite nicely. Anyhoo, I just think he's really cute when he eats. *head down* crunch crunch *head up, mouth open* crunch crunch *head back down* crunch crunch ...

I still haven't found the red-eye (or in this case, demon blue) reduction feature.

I'm sorry to report that Otto partook in his first revenge poop.

He seems to be getting used to hanging out in his crate. I mean, I trick him in there with treats and then shut the door behind him, but he's stopped whining so pathetically. This time we decided to just skip the crate and close the living room door, and he dropped two loads for us to discover later. Bad dog. When Aaron found it, he was the picture of guilt, standing by the poop with his ears back, staring up sadly. He also knows that when I bring out the can of Woolite that he's been very bad.

Oh well. Dogs and poop seem to go hand in hand. I won't even go into what I had to deal with after the salad incident.

Today we're going to the vet. He's got a lump in his back that's a little scary, so fortunately I was able to get an appointment for this afternoon. Poor little guy. He makes me feel equal and alternate amounts of pure love, irritation and concern.

Training for humans

We both heard the crunkling sound of plastic coming from the other room, so I went to investigate. Otto somehow managed to tip over the garbage can just enough for my plastic salad container to fall out. The garbage can is still standing, fortunately. There was about a quarter cup of iceburg lettuce, salad dressing, possibly some corn and chicken left in that bowl when I threw it out, and now it's licked spotlessly clean. I can't wait to see how that plays out in our next walk.

So I started obedience school today. I say "I" because dogs didn't attend the first meeting, just the humans. When I walked into the organic pet food store (clearly we live in LA), I was kind of excited to meet other dog owners. It was about 6 women my age and older and one young married guy. I was all, we have a common interest and probably live in the same area, and began envisioning our dogs having play dates and stuff. The slighly older women were quite nice, but unfortunately the two women who looked closest to my age were both kind of nuts.

I get that dog owners are a little overinvolved with their animals, and clearly I'm no exception. Since we got Otto two weeks ago, most of my conversations involve him in some way, and I have to make a concerted effort with my husband to not make him the center of all of our conversations. Plus learning about training methods and dog psychology is a fun hobby- it's an awesome excuse to surf the net and watch the Dog Whisperer.

But seriously, this meeting involved each person talking about their pups and the issues we want to work on. I had to go last, and honestly it took about an hour and a half for five before I went. People can really go on about their dogs. The first woman, in particular, reminded me of a pre-school mom on her first kid. First she kept interrupting the trainer's orientation of what materials we need (i.e a leash and a collar). She needed all sorts of clarification (well, how do I know which brand I need? What material is best?) When asked about her dog, she took up pretty much a solid half hour. Soon after that, she had to leave because she had to relieve the dog's babysitter. Yes, the dog's babysitter. I did enjoy a moment of eye rolling with the woman sitting across from me, but it wasn't quite the environment for me to be all "Dude, that lady's a freak" and have someone else be all "Word." Except I don't actually know anyone who says "Word."

Upon the leader's recommendation, I picked up Otto a bone full of marrow. He's way into it, and pretty much avoided both of us for a long time while he gnawed intently. This was before the salad incident, so like I said, I'm very curious to see how this all manifests in a few hours.

We're also working on our first exercise. Getting him to focus on me when I say his name by holding a treat up to my nose. It worked, but I'm not sure he really got the association.

More pictures

I'm teaching Otto that his crate is a happy place, but he's not agreeing with me. I would very much like to eat my tomato soup without having a furry creature staring at me intently from my lap, so I'm toughing this one out. He's whining with such fervor that it would be comical if he weren't my dog.

Anyhoo, picture time!

After his butt squeezing trauma:

Have you ever seen anything more pathetic?

Aforementioned play time. Scary, isn't it?

Blue-eyed demon dog:

I'd like to add that he is now sitting quietly in his crate, licking his own tail. Schmoopers.

Dog learnin'

Learning how to deal with a dog, even one that thinks he's part cat, is a process. Aaron is out of town for a couple of days, so it's my first time hanging out with Otto all by myself. So far so good...I bought him a crate today since he's developed the bad habit of pooping on the floor. Yes, it's as gross as it sounds.

His first poop on the floor--actually, his first three--took place the night he got back from getting his butt glands expressed. I know, it just keeps getting better, right? He was heavily medicated and I guess the drowsiness wore off in the middle of the night. The antibiotics plus whatever else must have done a doozy on his tummy, cuz he just did his business all over the apartment. All over.

Then the next night he made a mess all over our bedroom! It was horrible and upsetting. Not knowing any better, we scolded him, spritzed him with water and gave him a time out in the bathroom. We had his best interests at heart, but we learned soon after that it doesn't help to punish a dog after the fact, because they develop anxiety over the poop itself, not the act (I don't know how much I actually buy that theory, but I do firmly believe that they forget what they do five minutes later). That and spritzing with water is better for stopping growling and barking, and time outs aren't too effective because of that whole short-term memory thing (thanks Kristin).

He was good for one night, but this morning there was lots of business by our dining table. Alas, we figured out that he can't let us know that he needs to go in the middle of the night, because we don't let him in our bedroom and keep the door shut. Doh! I bought him a crate today so he can hang out in the bedroom while staying in his own bed.

Btw, right now he's smushed up against my legs fast asleep. He's tilted in a 45-degree angle.

Right, so this dog stuff takes getting used to. He gets playful several times a day, which usually involves doggie type roughhousing, with lots of snarling and teeth and shaking his head so hard we worry about his tiny little brain. It would scare the crap out of me if Aaron hadn't showed me that the dog won't ever bite down hard enough to hurt. It's pretty impressive- he can stick his hand right in the dog's mouth while the little monster snaps and snarls. Me, I wear a thick winter glove, which he loves to bite on. He also loves his little blue ball with a strap attached- he shakes it in his mouth back and forth with such force that the ball actually whacks him on the head. Again, tiny brain issues.

And he's a champion snuggler, which makes me happy.

Oh yeah, and the reason I think he's part cat, besides the fact that he resembles one, is that he's got a new habit of walking across the back of the futon. I live in fear that he's going to fall right over on his head, thus upsetting that whole cat theory.

See, kind of cat-like:

Introducing Otto

After years and years of talking, we finally went for it and got a dog. We just love him. We started off by trying to adopt a dog from a woman who seems to rescue them as a side hobby. Noble work, but she was an odd duck, and never seemed too interested talking to us. After a couple of visits, we left feeling dejected. We halfheartedly agreed to stop by the pound on the way home--having been there before, we knew that it's a spot for dogs that are either really big or really old.

I was totally drawn to this little Lhasa apso that looked like a living mop. But next to her was a scrawny black chihuahua that Aaron absolutely fell in love with. Don't get me wrong, I love a good, non-yippy chihuahua, but this guy was a little bigger than I usually like, and SO trembly and jittery. But the mop dog was 10 years old...so sad that older dogs get left behind like that, but for our first pet it didn't seem like a good idea. And the more I looked at the chihuahua, the more I was into him.

So we took the little guy home, and now his name is Otto. He doesn't seem to speak English, as he comes from an Eastern European (or something) family that dropped him off at the shelter the day before. Must have been a traumatic 24 hours for him, but he came home with us.

I know! (his eyes aren't blue, the just photograph that way. It's like canine red eye.)

I took him to the vet this morning and discovered that he has...an infected anal gland. Oh yes. His anal glands got impacted and infected, so they had lance it (all together now, ewwwwwwwww). We finally got him home in the afternoon, all doped up with the pathetic plastic cone around his neck. Poor fella. All he's done tonight is sleep and throw up. Only once, but it was quite nasty. He's back asleep now, so let's hope it all wears off by tomorrow, and his butt heals nicely.