Puppy Diaries: Baby versus Puppy

     I've never had a baby and puppy at the same time. Buddy was already two years old when Bean came along. He was no longer chewing up favorite summer hats, or trying to nibble our toes off and he wasn't having accidents in the house.
     We were used to having Baby and Dog in the house. I didn't think it would be so much different with Baby and Puppy.
      Boy, was I wrong.

      Day Two: Baby Blueberry scoots close to Gibson, studying him over with the most serious expression on her face. The puppy is a bit hyper. Jumping around, running around, grabbing toys. "Hey, he's grabbing MY toys." Her glare seems to say as she smacks the air with her hands. I have noticed when she's frustrated about something, this is her sign language for it.
       She starts to crawl after Gibson and he freezes in mid chop.
       "What is that tiny person doing?" His worried doggie brow seems to say.
        His big paws don't move as she's close enough to touch him now. His ears arch up and then he wiggles away from her. She startles and wants held.
      We all laugh as we realize they are afraid of each other.

       And for the next week that is how Baby and Puppy react with each other. Trepidation. Nervousness. Fear.
       He bounces over too close...she wants picked up.
       She crawls too close...well, I'm sure he would want picked up. Or certainty a lap to sit on. Despite the fact that he has Great Dane DNA running through his veins and he's going to be a huge dog, Gibson has decided he likes to be a lap dog. Right now, Bean and Abu love it. He snuggles up on their laps while they are reading or watching a movie and they're all happy. Of course, one day they won't be able to get up on their own because they'll be pinned by a large mutt.
        But every time the baby gets close...he's gone.

    Until Day 7: This is the day that Gibson has decided perhaps this tiny creature is actually another puppy. She just looks weird. So he starts by walking close to her, being brave with a tall stance.
    I laugh. Baby Blueberry isn't sure what the mutt is doing and she narrows her eyes at him.
    He carefully, and when I write carefully, I mean I have never seen a puppy be so gentle with their frenzied and hyper paws, yet he slowly places the pad of his paw, not even the tips where his trimmed nails are, on her bare knee.
    She looks at me. "Is this okay?" I scoot close to her, since I know Gibson isn't going to hurt her on purpose but he's still a puppy.
     And then this is when he decides she must be a puppy too. And he gently pounces on her like she's a breakable puppy but still someone to wrestle with.
     I catch her as she topples over backwards and scold him that she's not a puppy.
    
     Day 8: But now his mistake has now changed the way she looks at puppy. If he thinks she's for pouncing then he must be okay for pulling hair. And so now she crawls after him and tries to pet him but oh, that hair is so tempting to a little baby.
     Especially when Mommy and Daddy hate it when she pulls their hair. But the puppy must not mind it. He lays still, not hardly breathing as she yanks on his silky black hair.
   Mom is clearly mistaken, Baby thinks as Mommy scolds her, Puppy would move away if he didn't like it.

    Day 9: Gibson has changed his mind about Baby. Yes, she pulls hair, and he can't chew on her toys even though they have the best flavor, and boy that Mommy person really didn't like it when he had an accident in her room. Although, in his favor, he didn't did it on the carpet and only on the hardwood floor.
         And he can't pounce on the Baby.
         But he has discovered the greatest secret of canines kept throughout history...kids equal food. People food. A few times a day those big people put her in chair and feed her food. Which the Baby has a habit of dropping. Isn't he helping if he keeps the place tidy?
        Of course, he can't understand why the big people yell when he tries to clean the Baby after they get her out of the chair. He's just trying to be a helpful mutt.

    Day 11: He has realized that it is not in his best interest to try to nibble on the Baby's toes. The big people really started yelling then, followed by time out on his chain. But he does think its vastly unfair that the Baby can bite him and she doesn't get thrown outside.
              He was laying on Abu's bed, a battle I have quickly lost because as soon as I leave the room he thinks he needs to snuggle with his favorite girl. I was tucking Abu in and Blueberry was using the edge of the bed to learn to walk. His slender tail was hanging over the edge. Tempting like hair. And...
             Baby bit Puppy's tail. He pulls his tail away and stares at her. What did that Baby just do? She actually bit my tail!

    Day 13:  We are on a walk in the park, one of his favorite activities, and I notice he's constantly doing headcounts.
       Bean. Check.
      Abu. Check.
      That Baby. Check.
      Keeping track of his girls, just like the good dog he's going to be.

       There is one thing they can agree upon. They both love to chew on shoes. Puppy can't believe that the Baby loves to find shoes and chew on them too. She must have good taste. Because those shoes are tasty. He almost had the strap chewed completely through on Mommy's shoe before she noticed.
    
        This morning he sits in my lap, legs stretched over my thighs. Head dangling over the other side when Baby sees me. The puppy is in HER Mommy's lap. She crawls quickly across the room, crawls right over that puppy, and takes HER lap back. He slides off my legs and looks at her as if to say, Hey, I was here first.
      And then tries to nibble on her toes. She tries to pull his hair.

      Gibson outside!
      Baby no pulling hair!

 

Puppy Diaries: The Beginning

              It's been over two years since the canine love of our lives, Buddy, died from cancer. Two years that we didn't have dog hairs on everything, two years since the house lack that wet dog smell after a rain storm.

                Twenty eight months since we stepped foot into our favorite pet store to buy his dog food and special peanut butter biscuits.

                And at first the pain was too raw and the holes in our hearts were too big to fill with another canine presence. We didn't want another dog around.

                As time flew, with life, and then pregnancy and bed rest and now a Baby Blueberry, I was too busy to want a dog.  Hero Hottie and I really missed Buddy the day we brought home the Baby, because he always loved the babies. He was kind and gentle with them. Sniffing Bean and Abu so delicately around their cheeks and their toes and then wagging his tail wildly as he looked at them with promise in his eyes.

       He knew, and perhaps it was the lab in them, he knew to protect them. And right up to the end he did. When they were outside together, his job was to guard them, bark at strangers, and keep them safe. In the evenings, if Hero Hottie was gone, he would sleep in their room until the man of the house was home and then he would go to bed. He loved them. Adored them. Cherished them.

   So it was hard to not be able to share that with him when we brought home Baby Blueberry.

    Abu has been wanting a dog. For months now. She's my animal lover and she has solely missed having a canine around here. For a while it was okay, she would shower affection on the neighbor's cat, who she nick-named Orange Soda.  The cat, hobbling ably around on three legs, would come over for a little petting every time she heard Abu.  Sometimes Orange Soda would be waiting for Abu in the yard and as soon as Abu saw her, she would bounce out of the house, eager to stroke the feline's long, orange fur and cuddle her as close as any cat would allow.

   And then a week after Baby Blueberry was born, I sent the girls out to put the recycling in the bins and they found her. Lying in the yard. Motionless. Bloody. Gone.

   The most we could figure, is that she had been attacked by dogs and had dragged herself to someone she loved. We weren't sure which neighbor she belonged to, so we buried her behind the compost bin and had a funeral for her.  After a few days of searching we finally found her owner. The man was heartbroken but grateful we haven't just dumped her body in the trash. He even came and visited her grave site.

   But after that Abu's heart was aching. She didn't have an animal companion to love. After much debating and discussion and promises that I wouldn't be held responsible for dog duty. We told her she could get a dog for her birthday.  Which coincides with summer, a perfect time to potty train a new pup.

                On her birthday we went to the pound. The smell was so overwhelmingly stenchly that Baby Blueberry started crying, her little nose wrinkling in protest. But a few minutes later our sense of smell had been totally obliterated and the Baby stopped crying. 

              We paused in front of each metal cage, wondering if Abu's and Bean's new canine friend was waiting inside. One puppy seemed sweet. She was white and timid, huddled in the corner of her cage, listening to us talk to her...Then a noise startled her and she jumped, from a sitting position, six foot straight up into the air. 

            I had a dog once that loved to lick your eyebrows as a greeting. So I told the girls to move on. 

            There were too many strays; older labs, many pit bulls, small, snappish dogs- ankle biters- and puppies of various DNA mixes. I always find the pound a sad and lonely place. Metal cages, a stench that will fry the hair off a bear, and a sense of foreboding in the air. 

           There was a beautiful blue heeler pup, but they bark too much for me. And I think they do better if you buy them a sheep to herd, which isn't an option for me. Dog, yes. Sheep, no. 

           A lovely, bushy German Shepherd pup will hopefully go to the perfect family. Just not us. 

          We exam all the cages and there isn't a puppy there that matches our idea. Abu wants to look at them all again. 

           So we do. 

           And then one of the volunteers bring back Gasol, a small black lab and Great Dane mix from his daily exercise outside. 

           The girls are close to his cage and underneath the door, he reaches out his white tipped paw and touches their feet. When he manages to make contact, his slender black tail wags happily. 

           Abu and Bean fall in love with him instantly. 

           Reluctantly, we have to leave and bring back Hero Hottie later. The day is long as they wait for their Dad to get home. 

           Then they are dragging him into the pound, signing up to visit Gasol in a private room and he is just a darling of a puppy. Sociable. Well loved by all the volunteers and staff at the pound. And oh, so careful with the Baby. 

            He sits on Hero Hottie's shoes and peers up into his face. Please take me home. See, I'm a good dog. His expression seems to say. 

             Obviously, a smart dog too, since he knows which person he has to convince the most. 

              Well, his charming behavior worked. Hence the picture below. But we changed his name to Gibson. 

             Yes, after the guitar. 

             

Gibson- charming, easy going and mischievous

           

               

It's a Gluten Free Life

    Ahh, what is food?
 
   Just sit there for a moment and ponder that question. Because I can guarantee the longer you think about your answer, the more complicated it grows.
   On my Dad's side of the family, food was Southern. My Midwest farmer's daughter Grandma grew up and married a Southern guy who had to have his food fried.
    She quickly learned how to fry just about anything in a large, seasoned cast iron skillet. Chicken, okra, fish, hush puppies, etc.
    When we would go a visiting, which was a few times a year, there was always food.
     Food frying in the cast iron skillet.
     Food laid out on the table.
     Tons of snacks in the fridge or the pantry cupboard.
    And once dinner was called, you better fill up your plate quickly or there wasn't going to be anything left.
    Food was socializing. It was visiting cousins and grandparents. It was being fed treats you never got at home. And food meant eating doughnuts in the early morning hours with Grandma, as she cradled a hot mug of coffee, sitting in her bathrobe, and chatting with her oldest granddaughter, alone and in a quiet kitchen.

     Food in my house is quickly becoming a dangerous territory. A problem. A bleeding ground for stress and resentment. All the things I never wanted it to be.

    When Bean and Abu were six and four, we found out they both suffered from celiac disease. As far as diseases goes, it holds very little power over it's victim, unless you don't eat gluten free. And that's where it wields it's power.

     Our lives changed in one phone call. I put both girls on a gluten free diet and they grew an inch or more in just a couple of weeks. Suddenly, their skin was glowing and we weren't having anymore stomach aches.
      But it's been a tough road. Especially living in a little ole' town that's twenty years behind the big cities. Especially when not all family members were on board with the changes and it felt like a fight every time we had to meet for dinner or snacks or even just visiting.

     To understand the gluten free living, let me go over a few points.
     1. Even a few crumbs of gluten can effect a person. This makes food a nemesis. Cooking a battlefield. We use separate toasters for gluten and non gluten items. Wooden spoons are just for gluten free items. I don't bake gluten items because the dust would linger in the air.
        Packages have to read, ingredients scrutinized and companies called. It's a pain in the rear end. Joy in food can easily be destroyed.

   2. Eating out can be a nightmare. There are places you just simply can't eat. It's not safe. And unfortunately, not everyone in your life is going to understand that. When you tell them your children can't eat at a certain restaurant, it's not because your kids are being picky. They just can't find something. Sometimes, there is nothing to be found. So when I say, there are seven places in town they can eat at...I'm not just saying that.

    3. Family get togethers are not going to be the same unless there is an understanding of the gluten free requirement. My sister has food allergies and my nieces might have peanut allergies. So when we're planning family food feasts on my side of the family, my girls know they are going to have food to eat. It's not going to be a guessing game, or a disappointment that they're left with carrots sticks to munch on, or that someone will make a fabulous dessert and forget to mention it's not gluten free until it's being served.
     With that being said, I always try to forge communication with the hostess and I'm quite happy to bring a gluten free dessert along for my girls. It's never a problem. I will bring my girls entire meals if I have to. I just have to know what the plans are and that is where communication breaks down because either people don't understand or don't care to understand that when you HAVE to be gluten free, it means you can't cheat.
      Friends that make sure you know the menu so you can bring food or they make sure something is gluten free are such blessings.

   4. There are people that will make your children feel like they're being picky eaters.  Other children at school don't often understand why my girls have to pass on the birthday cupcake or why they can't trade food during lunch.

   5. Communication is the key. At school, I make sure teachers, the principal, and the nurse know about their food needs. That way, when there is a pizza party planned or other special events, I get a phone call and I know when I need to supply a gluten free pizza or dessert.

   So Bean is having trouble with being gluten free. She's going through a phase of denial. Which I suppose is normal, especially at her age. Especially with going to middle school and the promised gluten free lunches turned into a baked potato and some fruit every meal.
   She's tired of going to a restaurant and there are two items on the menu she can have. She's tired of gluten free doughnuts tasting like dry, crumby pieces of cardboard.

   She's just tired of being gluten free in a gluten world. Of course, I made it worse by trying to point out to her that in the scope of things that can be wrong, being gluten free is not such a big deal.
    Wrong thing to say to a preteen.
    So I'm going to be patient instead. I'm going to emphasis the good things about the food in our house. Find the good stories that go with our meals.
   Buying tons of gluten free snacks for her slumber party, making dinners together and building that love of food. Focusing on what we can have, since the list is actually so much longer than what we can't have and just trying to ride out this preteen storm.

   I just want her to have good memories of food when she's grown and has her own children. And for her to realize that Mom will always have some gluten free in the house, even after she's grown.