Vote

Not the most pleasant morning. I woke up to the dogs jumping onto the bed and smothering me. We went downstairs, and while they usually sprint down the stairs ahead of me, they trailed behind this time. I knew something was up. I entered into a living room full of potty accidents. Five, to be exact. I kept myself calm and continued to the back door to let the dogs out. We then made it to the entry way, which was covered with shredded garbage - coffee grounds, paper towels, banana peels, etc. The entire garbage can had been completely torn apart. I know who the guilty party is. Thatcher hasn't done anything like this in at least a solid year. But of course, when I scolded them, he acted just as distraught as Boden. So I spent the next 20 minutes cleaning up garbage, opening windows to air out the smells and scrubbing the carpet. Fun way to kick off the day. But on another note, we're very excited it's election day! I'm getting ready to head to the polls and am interested to see how close this race turns out to be.

Poor Wubba lost his head

Thatcher finally got groomed by a professional. We dropped off a very scraggly Newfie this morning and a few hours later picked up a clean, soft, respectable-looking Newfie. Amazing how much of a difference a bath, blow-dry and hair trim can do. He also got sent home with a sparkly Halloween theme bandana, so I'm pretty psyched about that. Love bandanas. Not only because they look cute, but when you have a drooly dog, it's a really convenient way to swipe a drool glob before it gets you. We try and keep a bandana on his neck anytime he's going to be around a group of people. Less hassle and fewer grossed-out strangers. But we really ought to take him to the groomer more, it's just one of those things we always put off. Not to mention he only stays clean for a couple of hours on average, before he's rolling around in the grass or dripping toilet wet with water all over his chest. 

I bought my Newfies a new toy this weekend - a Wubba dressed as a witch. We have a regular blue canvas Wubba that the dogs have had for a few months. It's pretty durable, it squeaks and it has a bunch of legs/arms for the dogs to pull on. So I was really excited to show the dogs this new witch Wubba when I got home. I brought them outside into the backyard and showed it to Thatcher. He gingerly took it from my hand and pranced around the yard proudly with it. The moment Boden noticed and grabbed one the of limbs sticking out of Thatcher's mouth, I swear I blinked and it was shredded. The yard looked like an early snowstorm hit. Stuffing covered the entire ground. I am still in awe that that small toy could hold so much stuffing. Apparently the witch hat compromised the sturdiness; once the hat was torn off, it left a hole in the top of the head.

It's so completely random, the toys that live and the toys that die. Rubber toys seem to be the safest. We have a rubber chicken, giraffe and flamingo that have all been around for months and months. Stuffed lion, who is a mix between a stuffed animal and a bean bag, has survived two years - even with a hole in the top of his head and stuffing sticking out. How do they choose which toys are allowed to live another day? I'll never understand. Thatch and Boden did enjoy playing with the leftover half of the witch Wubba this afternoon. So at least it lasted a solid two days.

Twelve weeks

12 weeks today!

Boden is 12 weeks old today, and just over 30 lbs. I've really been noticing how much taller he is lately. He can now see out of the window in the backseat of the car without propping himself up on Thatcher's back. He can also drink out of the water tub in the backyard without having to stand on his makeshift step-stool (two pieces of wood stacked next to it). I swear it was just the other day that he fell into that water tub. The water level was at about half, so he had to really stand on his tip toes and lean in to take a drink. I happen to be watching as he tipped just a little too far in, lost his balance and dropped into the tub. He was so confused he started thrashing around frantically, so I had to run over and rescue him. Also, he has mastered stairs. Runs up and down them like a champ.

He's really becoming a little spitfire though. Poor Thatcher is never left alone for long. Just like us humans, he loses a lot of sleep due to Boden's new-found mischievous side. It's become a morning tradition for the three of us. I will wake up, or be woken up by one or both of the dogs, go downstairs and let them outside. Come back in and grab a cup of coffee. They will then commence their routine wrestling match. It mostly consists of them growling and mimicking each other's weird sounds. Otherwise, it's Thatcher on the offense, knocking Boden over every chance he gets. Boden, on the contrary, prefers a hit and run strategy. He'll run out and strike at Thatcher, then run and slide under the ottoman (which he just barely still fits under). As I write this, Boden is barking at Thatcher, taunting him to play. A wrestling match has begun.

 Throughout the roughhousing, many toys end up with missing limbs. We have dozens of dog toys littered all around our house, yet Boden prefers the items he isn't supposed to have, namely shoes. I remember losing several pairs of shoes to Thatcher, but I fear Boden is going to be much worse if we aren't careful. Most days when I get home, I find a shoe that was in the bedroom upstairs has made its way to the kitchen. Or a shoe that was in the back entryway has wandered to the upstairs hallway. So far, no terrible chew marks. But I'm starting to be aware.The entry way / shoe room is now safely guarded by a baby gate. Hopefully Boden doesn't learn to climb over it any time soon, I'd like to get past this puppy stage without compromising all my pairs of heels that I've finally started building back up since Thatcher's puppy days.


The moments I love the most with both dogs are those random little times they want to snuggle. Boden will walk over flop into my lap, or wait to be lifted up onto the couch with me. Thatcher's always been the same. Some mornings I'll wake up to him lying right next to me on the bed, quietly watching the squirrels out the window while he waits for me to wake up. Or I'll be working on a computer, and Thatch will climb right up onto the couch and rest his head in my lap. These are the moments that always make my heart melt. Right now is not one of those moments. Thatcher and Boden are lying on the floor right beneath my legs, staring at eachother and barking for no reason in the world. My legs keep getting lifted up by Thatcher's back, as he tries to reach Boden who keeps hiding under them.

Wild thing

 

Wild animal on the loose tonight. Sharp teeth like needles, black fur and crazy eyes. Completely uncontrollable. No stuffed animal, human foot or piece of furniture is safe. Seems to have taken a liking to our home. Can we tame him? Yet to be determined.

So alike, and yet...

Getting to know Boden has confirmed that some qualities we love about Thatcher are just inherent to the Newfoundland breed, not necessarily traits unique to the individual dog. In other words, although we adore Thatcher, I'm starting to think that you just can't go wrong with a Newfie. Not to say Thatcher doesn't have his own personality, he certainly has his own little quirks. But we always wondered if he turned out so great because of how we raised him or because of his genes. Nature vs. nurture if you will. And while we'd love more than anything to take full credit for how he is, Newfoundlands are consistently sweet, loyal dogs across the board. 

Thatcher and Boden are hilariously alike in many ways. Yes, puppies tend to copy the adult dog. But some things started from day one. For example, drinking out of the toilet. Boden had to have learned that before living with us, because he started doing it the first day home. He is too little to drink out of it comfortably, so he literally places both paws inside the toilet bowl to brace himself. Which leads to example two, the obsession with water. Boden, like Thatcher, will passionately attempt to splash around in water at any given chance. His water dish is his mini-pool. It's a no-spill kind, so try as he might, he has a difficult time tipping it. We were hand washing one of our cars the other day, and Boden thought it was the most exciting activities ever. Unlike Thatcher though, he loves getting splashed with water, and will go right up to running water or sprinklers. And example three, a love for sticks. When I let the dogs out into the backyard, they will immediately lie down and start chewing sticks. They would be content to do this all day long. Our next door neighbor asked us the other day, "What's wrong with the dogs?". Puzzled, I asked her what she meant. Apparently, she was confused because she's never seen dogs so mellow.

And yet, Thatcher and Boden have some differences. Overall, Boden seems pretty fearless so far. He's cautious in new situations, but very outgoing. When I brought him to Petsmart for the first time, he wouldn't come in the automatic doors, they were way too scary. When I finally got him in the door, he was freaked out of the cold, slippery tile flooring. He did not think it was safe to walk on. But for the most part, he's really very brave. Loud noises, which Thatcher cannot bear, don't phase Boden at all. One of Thatcher's oldest nemeses, the vacuum cleaner, gets along just fine with Boden. Also, Boden loves being snuggled and held. Thatcher never did. The most major difference though, is that Boden wants to please us. He already comes when he's called. Despite hours and hours of work with Thatcher, he still does not come on command. He does come, eventually. But on his own time. The differences go on and on, but we love them both the same.

Warrior puppy

 

Thatcher and Boden are starting to become buddies. Woke up at 5:30am to the sound of Boden barking incessantly. I peel myself out of bed, stepping in a potty accident in the process, and stumble down the stairs in search of the dogs. I find them in the kitchen in the middle of a stare-down. Boden is trying his hardest to get Thatcher to play.

We are quickly learning that Boden has a very confident personality. He does not back down from Thatcher, but instead barks and growls playfully back. I've been watching them wrestle around the house for the past two hours, wondering if our house will be able to sustain the beating of two full-grown Newfies romping around and crashing into furniture. Time will tell. In the meantime, it's comical to watch our little 20lb ball of fluff run around chasing Thatcher. We always assumed that Thatcher will be the dominant one, but we did not expect to get such a brave puppy. This little guy is going to give us, and Thatcher, a run for our money.

Eleven seconds flat

Eleven seconds. That's how long it takes Thatcher to chew the plastic cap off a water bottle, including the little plastic ring around the top too. I can't remember exactly when or why he developed this obsession, but no water bottle in his path is safe. Even full water bottles better watch their back. Tonight I was sipping out of my bottle of sparkling water when I realized Thatcher was sitting directly in front of me staring expectantly. You'd think it was prime rib or something. But no, our dog is cheap to please. We've gotten in the habit of tossing him our empty bottles when we're finished. He dutifully chews the cap and ring off, then looks around for another. Doesn't chew the actual plastic bottle, doesn't eat any of the plastic at all. It just really bothers him when the plastic cap is left on. Of course, this means that our entire house is always littered with little plastic caps that I have to constantly run around cleaning up. Yet another one of the endless perks of owning a dog. Between caps, and the tufts of fur covering any floor surface, and the crusty drool marks on most walls, not to mention his dozens of half-chewed bones and toys with missing limbs, it is near impossible to keep a house with a Newfy in it perfectly clean. And here we are about to double our mess by adding another Newfy to the family. I don't know where my sanity went.

We're leaving Saturday morning to meet and bring home our little guy. They live about three hours away, so we'll be up and on the road bright and early. After waiting for about six months, it's so strange that we'll have him here in less than two days. We haven't even gotten anything ready yet, so I guess Petsmart will be one of his first fieldtrips. Yet to determine how Thatcher is going to react when he learns that he has to share his parents with a brother from now on. Let the puppy days begin!

Fight or flight

So the state fair is going on and it happens that we live fairly close. How close? During the day, we can catch the aroma of fried doughnuts in the air. At night, we're able to hear the music from band concerts in the grandstands. Needless to say, many downsides to this. One being traffic. If we want to trek to our regular grocery store, the fastest route requires us to drive right by the fairgrounds. Now, this is actually a good way to practice your how-not-to-hit-pedestrians skill. Another downside comes around at about 10:30-11pm. Fireworks.

Thatcher is deathly afraid of fireworks. This did not stem from any particular incident. He has never had a bad experience around fireworks. In fact, he really hasn't been around them except for those rare occasions in the summer. But during the state fair, they shoot off fireworks every single night. It always happens right as I'm about to drift off to sleep. I don't wake up to the boom of the fireworks. We live in a big city, my brain is used to tuning out loud noises like trains, planes or crazy people. But I wake up to Thatcher's deep bark. He is convinced that the only safe place in our house when fireworks are going off is right in the doorway to our bedroom. So when they start, he runs upstairs barking, lies in the doorway of our room and does not move a muscle until they've stopped. Poor guy. Comforting doesn't even help. We try to get him to snuggle on the bed during this ordeal, but he will not move from his safe place.

Puppy update: 10 more days until we get to snuggle our new little Newfy. We received a packet of info from the puppy person. Contract, a book about the breed (can't wait to read!), etc. So Thatch and I are sipping coffee on the front porch, browsing through all the fun info. I may be slightly more excited than he is.