DOGS CHEW ON STUFF!!!!
It’s the aggravating part of being a dog owner. This is why I remain a cat person. She keeps her destruction confined to the banister. And the occasional hairballs on the carpet. I’m hoping that if we ever replace our banister that I can just mount what’s left somewhere so she won’t move on to other sculpturing projects. Our next cat will be declawed!
“People are always saying he’s a cat person. No. If he were a cat person, they would be like, he never goes near the pool.” -Demetri Martin. Just had to throw that in there…
You sure can’t detooth a dog, however. Our dog, the Big Oaf, is six months old and is still a puppy. He chews, not only because he’s teething but because he has a separation anxiety issue. He only likes to chew on things he can actually destroy. So nothing rubber, of course. He loves anything made of material. What this means to him is “I loooooooooove soft things.” What is means to us is a good percentage of our house is vulnerable to attack. We’ve tried giving him his own stuffed animals and soft material things to chew on. All it does is get him extra wound up. Oh you gave me something I’m allowed to chew on, let’s play!
He’s unpredictable, we never know when he’s going to strike. He’ll go several days without destroying anything, and then will go on a destructive rampage.
This week we got him fixed. I’ve had a hard time getting the kids to understand WHY he needed to be fixed. The Professor and Princess kept looking at him trying to figure out what was broken. I tried explaining that when we adopted him that part of our agreement with the shelter is that he needed to NOT be able to make baby dogs. To which the Professor began drawing up plans that included giving puppies to neighbors, friends, and people walking down the street. I think if we hadn’t been in the car at the time he would have drawn up some flowcharts. Obviously he was missing the point here, and me going on and on about all the unwanted pets in the world was not working. It finally ended with me saying it wasn’t negotiable END OF CONVERSATION!
Animals, like humans, can’t have food twelve hours before surgery. The night before we put everything up that was food related, including the rawhide chews. This was unnerving to me, because without chews all soft material things in the house were vulnerable. The last time he was without his chew stick he ate one hat and one crown-at least he chose a theme. Evil Genius INSISTED that we did not need to put the dog in the bedroom and shut him in. Why would he care, it’s not HIS stuff getting destroyed, at least not yet. After everyone else went to bed, I kept an extra close eye on him while I was doing stuff downstairs. I fell asleep on the couch while I was waiting for it to cool off enough to open the windows (when it’s warm outside it’s toasty upstairs even with the a/c on.) I woke up to find the dog laying on me, snoozing away. I figured he was good and tired, opened the windows and went to bed.
The next morning I came downstairs to get my son up for school and witnessed a scene of mass destruction. The dog had pulled a pair of winter boots out of the container of stuff for the consignment shop and had decimated them. Bits of black nylon and foam everywhere as far as the eye can see! Does that count as eating? Will he die in surgery because he may have ingested some seemingly delicious black foamy stuff? The vet, who has an awesome sense of humor, alleviated my fear when I dropped the dog off. He said that at least he made a set by chewing both boots.
While the dog was gone, the cat was elated. I hated to tell her that the dog would be returning. She acted a bit like this:
When we returned to the vet eight hours later, we left with one dog, three days worth of pain meds, four months worth of flea treatment, but no cone of shame. No cone! How do we keep a dog who chews on his own legs to not chew on his incision? The evening consisted of me staring at him yelling NO! every time his mouth went anywhere near that area. Being a puppy, he was only slightly phased by the ordeal, other than a little extra sleep. By nightfall he had already managed to get his nose almost taken off by the cat. He missed her, she didn’t miss him. He doesn’t quite get why not everybody likes him. I’ve tried explaining this: she really doesn’t like much of anybody.
I was a little nervous about going to bed, worried about what I would find in the morning, since he started getting all wound up about the time I was ready to turn in. My fears were unfounded. The next morning: no destruction and the stitched area was still intact. And the cat didn’t kill him in his sleep…