Embrace the drool

One thing everybody knows about Newfoundlands is that they drool. There is no way around this fact. I can't count the number of times someone has commented on how perfect the breed is... except for the drool. I usually laugh and nod my head in agreement, but it's made me realize something. I don't mind the drool anymore, and I no longer consider it a "flaw". Sure, it isn't fun arriving at work and noticing that my slacks are covered in crusty drool. Seeing the splatters of dried drool, usually mixed with some fur, all over the walls of our house can be kind of gross too. Watching the streams of slime hang down their jowls while they beg for food can hinder any human appetite. And it definitely isn't my favorite when one of the Newfies comes over and lays his head in my lap right after he's done gulping toilet water. Yet however messy the drool can be, it consistently provides one thing: laughter. Who can look at a happy, drool-covered Newfie face and not smile? I dare anyone to try. 

Night owl

Boden sleeping. A sight that is rare these days.

Boden has turned into a little monster at night. He wanders up and down the stairs clunking bones and toys around, looking for trouble. I don't know what's gotten in to him, but I feel like the parent of a newborn baby. Every couple of hours, he'll come over to my side of the bed and shove his face in mine to wake me up. When he's certain I'm awake, he'll hop up part way onto the bed to be pet for a few minutes. Sometimes he has a toy in his mouth, sometimes not. The first few times he did this, I assumed he was trying to tell me he had to go potty. So I begrudgingly trudged down the stairs to let him out, only to discover he just wants to play and has absolutely no need or desire to go potty.

Well last night, I let the dogs out at 11pm for the last time. After I climbed back into bed, I heard him banging around in the living room downstairs. Really loudly. I figured he was probably just dragging around a bone or knocking something over, so I tried to fall back asleep. The loud thumping continued for awhile, then stopped. Just as I was starting to drift off again, the noise started. I decided to go check on him downstairs and at least make sure no one was breaking into our house or anything. I get out of bed and accidentally step on Thatcher, who's sleeping on the floor next to me. I walk downstairs and into the living room, and Boden is nowhere to be seen. Then I hear the thumping again. I stand there, puzzled, until I realize he has accidentally shut himself in the bathroom. Not the first time this has happened, I might add.

I open the door and let him out of the prison he created. He sprints into the living room happily, and I see his cheeks are bursting because he has something in his mouth. I reach out to grab him , and he dances away playfully, clearly proud of himself and whatever's hiding in those jowls. We've caught him running around with toothpaste and shower gel (separate occasions) before, so I wanted to make sure whatever he had in his mouth wasn't going to harm  him. I finally catch him, only to discover it's just the empty cardboard tube from a roll of toilet paper. I throw it back in the bathroom garbage, shut the bathroom door, and head back to bed. He was already attempting to wake me up again about an hour later. I should have just left him in the bathroom, then maybe I would have gotten a full night's sleep for once.

Never be late

Just when you think you can trust them. This happens. Then you realize you're the dumb one for trusting dogs with garbage. That's down at their level. Out in the open. 

Since getting Boden, we've had to keep bathroom garbage cans on top of the back of the toilet, because he would constantly tip them over and play with the trash. I stopped doing this recently because we hadn't had any terrible instances of him shredding things for a while. I got home later than normal tonight, and the dogs were so crazy with excitement that I forced myself to bundle up and take them for a night walk. I fed them and played with them after the walk, then tromped upstairs to take a shower and get ready for bed. As I turned the hallway light on, I noticed a piece of trash on the ground. Then another. As I stepped further down the hallway, there was an actual trail of trash leading into the bathroom. I turned on the bathroom light, and to my delight, found that the dogs had gotten back at me for getting home late. With the parents away, the dogs will play. Needless to say, trash will be going back up. 

Growing pains

Yesterday we went to Petsmart to pick up dog food. While we were there, we weighed both of the boys. Boden's in great shape and growing like a weed; just shy of 6-months-old, he has surpassed 80 lbs. I was a little nervous to weigh Thatcher, but knew it must be done. He weighed in at 126 lbs, about 10 lbs more than he was at his last vet visit in August. The vet had emphasized clearly several times - do not let Thatcher gain any more weight. His build is more on the slender size for a Newfie, and at 116 lbs, the vet was starting to feel a little bit of fat over his ribs. So in a nutshell, we've totally failed as parents the last few months. Thatcher took the opportunity of having a new brother as a means to eat double the amount of food he was supposed to. And we utterly failed in preventing this. Large breed dogs are prone to a plethora of diseases as they age, particularly bone and joint problems. So obesity is a major concern and we're kicking it into gear. We started Thatch on a large breed weight management dog food a couple of weeks ago, and we're trying to sneak in some extra exercise whenever possible. Time to slim our chunky boy back down. 

Merry and bright

It's crazy how quickly the holidays come and go. After all of the anticipation leading up to it, our Christmas was fairly anti-climatic. We had family at our house the weekend before Christmas. This made the Newfies extremely happy, as they got spoiled big-time by their "grandma." I swear, my mother has single-handedly contributed to Thatcher's ever-increasing chunkiness. Of course, Thatcher doesn't mind one bit. Both of the dogs like to act like we starve them in front of guests, despite the littering of bones and rawhides around the house. We've learned to tread carefully in the dark, because stubbing your toe on one of their giant bones really hurts. It hurts bad. Anyhow, they had a jolly time showing off for my mom and sisters all weekend. One of my little sisters slept downstairs on the basement futon, and when we went to check on her before bed, we saw that she had in fact found a nice boy to keep her warm for the night. Apparently they were both equally exhausted from the weekend and had passed out together in the nice quiet basement.

After spending Christmas Eve with one family, we drove up late that night to the next family gathering. We swung home to pick up Thatcher and Boden and began our three hour trip, only to end up in what felt like the North Pole. Because of the sub-zero temperatures and the heat from the dogs in the backseat, the windows stayed frosted over the whole drive. We would periodically hear a licking sound and would glance back to see either Thatcher or Boden melting the ice of the window with their tongue. I've always joked that if our dogs were actual children, they would be the kids in their kindergarten class who eat glue. So we finally arrived pretty late that night, and spent most of Christmas day there. Thatcher, as usual, ran around frantically looking for my dad's cat Che, and Boden sneakily tried to eat the ornaments off the Christmas tree. Once again, the dogs were stuffed with treats and plenty of leftover ham from dinner. They slept soundly the entire way home.

As if they just weren't spoiled enough in the past week, Thatcher and Boden were surprised with a visit from Santa. To their delight, they received a plethora of new toys (which are by now mostly shredded) and bones (which are by now mostly eaten). The first thing Thatcher did when he saw all of their goodies was to grab at the largest treat he could find, a rawhide in the shape of a big candy cane, and run upstairs to stash it away in a safe location. As I discovered later, this location turned out to be our bed. And in the process of trying to bury it thoroughly, he managed to claw a hole in the sheets. We also created a new game, in which the we stomp on all the toys with squeakers repeatedly while the dogs try to find out which toys are squeaking. It makes them go nuts and trot around hilariously, inspecting every suspicious toy. It's true, sometimes the humans are as easily-entertained as the dogs.

Chasing snowballs

Winter has settled in. The temperature has stayed mostly in the 20s or below, which has kept the snow crusty and the sidewalks icy. Thatcher and Boden are content. They don't seem to even notice the frigid weather. They don't feel sorry for us when we have to pile on layers just to walk them. They just want their walks. In fact, anytime we start putting on shoes or jackets, even if it's to leave for work or errands, the Newfies assume it means they get to go on a walk. They'll pace around us excitedly and follow us to the door. Needless to say, they are frequently disappointed when we close the doors and leave them behind. We've had to change our routine to shorter, more frequent walks rather than the long meandering walks we used to take. An easy way to let the dogs get some exercise in is to take them to the park up the street, which consists of a small playground and mostly vacant soccer and baseball fields. Here, they are free to run. Playing fetch when there's snow on the ground with dogs who are usually apathetic about retrieving consistently is not an option. We would lose far too many balls. So instead, we tromp around the outskirts of the field, throwing snowballs or sprinting ahead for Thatcher and Boden to chase us. We know it's time to head back home when the dogs won't stop lying down in the snow and biting at their paws - ice gets stuck in the hair around their toes and it drives them crazy.

Ice ornaments

Turns out there is one major drawback to the Newfies' long black hair in the winter, and I've never noticed it until this year. Not only does their fur attract snow, but it causes snow to hang in large clumps all over the warmest parts of their bodies (insides of legs, tummies, etc.). It kind of looks like we decorate them with little white beads or ornaments. This effect is especially dramatic on Boden's cobweb-like fur. He gets chunks of snow larger than golfballs hanging from his bottom. At first I thought they'll melt off pretty quickly once the dogs warm up in the house for a bit. But no. Instead, they turn to ice, causing them to stick to the fur even more. Thatcher doesn't seem to be bothered by this. If he actually happens to notice or feel any clumps on himself, he'll calmly lie down and bite it off, just as he does with burrs. But Boden went crazy trying to shake off those suckers, so I helped finger-comb them out the best I could. Now, ice has always been one of their favorite "treats", so when they discovered what I was pulling off of Boden, big balls of icy snow, they excitedly started gobbling up the chunks I removed. At one point, Thatcher tried eating one directly off of Boden's back leg, which made Boden yelp at him. It was quite a site, which resulted in our kitchen floor turning into a small lake. Ah, the joys of winter. 

Thatcher ignoring the little snowballs

Proof. Golfball size

Boden eating the little snowballs

Awkward stage

Boden is almost five months old and weighed in at 66lbs today. He's starting to look a little lanky and awkward, as his limbs grow longer and his head gets bigger. Since I see him every day, it's hard to notice how much he really has grown. But when I examine him in the photos I take, it's quite clear. He's no longer a tiny ball of fuzz. If only he would realize this too.

Although he is almost as tall as our bed is high, he doesn't seem to understand how easily he could hop up onto it if he wanted to. Instead, he'll run and take a really big leap, only to land with just his front arms on the bed. He'll then stand there looking at you, waiting for someone to boost him up the rest of the way. Thatcher thoroughly enjoys this, and uses the bed as his one true escape from Boden. Whenever they are fighting over a toy or chasing each other, Thatcher will zoom up the stairs and onto the bed, staying just out of reach of Boden, looking extremely pleased with himself.

Go for a ride?

Gator

I forget how much puppies love toys. Thatcher has always had plenty, and many of them have been around since he was a puppy. Worn out and missing limbs, but still alive. When we got Boden, we didn't really prepare like we did for Thatcher. We already had toys, food dishes, leashes, etc. So, in typical second-child fashion, he received Thatcher's hand-me-downs. Lately we've been trying to make up for this by buying a new toy every week or so. It's hit or miss, finding out which dog will take the new toy as "his". The first, a blue fuzzy dog whose four legs squeak, Thatcher claimed. He carried it around constantly for the first couple of days, even bringing it along when he went outside to use the bathroom. Well this weekend, we picked up another new toy - a furry yellow gator who is made of squeaky compartments. Boden and the gator have been inseparable ever since.

Winter appears

We woke up this morning to the first real snowfall of the year. Hardly any, but a light dusting is covering the ground. Saturday was nearly 70 degrees and Sunday, yet today is cold enough for that little bit of snow to remain. Being born in July, this was Boden's first time experiencing snow. When I let the dogs out earlier this morning, Boden tiptoed down the back steps, confused as to why they were covered in all that cold white stuff. But he quickly discovered the joy of eating it. On our walk, every few steps he would scoop up a mouthful of snow and happily chomp away. He hasn't mastered ice yet though. At one point, he slipped and belly flopped onto the sidewalk. He flailed around like a seal for a few seconds, unable to get his footing, then found his balance and continued on his merry way. Meanwhile, Thatcher, the snow veteran, stood there waiting with an exasperated look on his face. This will be his third winter, so he's already spent many a day tromping through knee-high snow and climbing up snow mountains created by the plows. I just let them out a minute ago to use the bathroom, and Thatcher was already rolling around in the snow.

There goes the puppy fuzz

Boden is starting to lose all his soft puppy fuzz. The last week I've been noticing the dog hair all over the carpet has been really bad. I've been vacuuming literally every day, and I still can't keep up. It took me a while to realize it's coming from Boden. You can pet him, and large tufts of his fuzz float off into the air. So this morning I thought I should brush his fur out to try and minimize the number of times I have to vacuum. With how much fur came off him, you would think he'd be bald. But alas, plenty of fuzz still left for the carpets.

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.

Allergic reaction

For the first time in my life, I called in sick for work. We woke up yesterday to discover that Boden had some sort of allergic reaction overnight. His eyes and jowls were all puffy and swollen. He seemed pretty lively overall, and wasn't having any difficulty breathing. But I immediately called the vet to see when I could bring him in. Of course, come to find out the vet doesn't get in until 9am. This was at 6:30am. So for more than two hours, I sat and monitored him. We gave him a little dose of Benadryl, which didn't seem to help. He was walking around, drinking water, playing a little bit. But whenever he would lie down, he would just paw at his eyes and whine. I don't think he was in pain, just extremely uncomfortable. Even Thatcher knew something was wrong. He stayed right next to Boden keeping him company.

When we finally got to the vet, they agreed that it was an allergic reaction. They recommended hospitalizing him for a few hours, giving him a couple injections of antihistamines and monitoring him to see if the swelling subsided. I went back home and tried to keep myself from constantly worrying about Boden. My mind tends to play out worst-case-scenarios, I can't control it. Finally, around 1pm, I decided to call them and check on Boden's progress. The vet said he was doing great, and most of the swelling had gone down. She explained that we should keep him on Benadryl for a couple of days just to be safe. So Thatch and I scurried out the door to go pick up our puppy. He seemed perfectly back to normal the rest of the day, even slightly more crazy than usual.

Two worst parts about this whole incident though. 1. We have no idea what caused the reaction, which makes it impossible to prevent this from happening again. We couldn't find a single thing in the house that he could have gotten into, so my guess is that he ate something outside. Otherwise, it could have even been some kind of bug bite the vet said. We'll just have to be observant. 2. They used a catheter during his hospitalization. So all afternoon and evening, he just leaked pee everywhere. He wasn't even trying to go potty, he just literally couldn't control it. It was kind of funny, but only until you accidentally stepped in a spot he dribbled in. That was our adventure. I'm very glad that Boden is back to normal, because my emotions could not have handled anything else.

Forty pounder

Boden and I ventured to the vet this morning. I thought the appointment was at 8am, so I pretty much just woke up, swigged a cup of coffee, let the dogs out to use the bathroom, then jumped in the car with Boden. After rushing to get there in time, we walk in only to discover that the appointment isn't until 9am. Boden was acting really nervous, whining and frantically pacing around me in circles, so we just got back into the car and drove home. I had time to give him and Thatch a walk, have another cup of coffee, then run out the door again. 

He was a trooper though, and didn't even flinch when he got his shots. He absolutely adores all of the reception ladies and vet techs. They were all shocked at how much he's already grown. The last time they saw him, three weeks ago, he weighed in at 29lbs. Now he's just over 40lbs. I've really taken note of his size difference when I go to give him a boost onto the couch or our bed. He still hasn't found enough coordination to hop onto furniture, so he will just stand with his front paws up, waiting for you to lift his back end up. Hopefully he figures out how to work his muscles before he gets a whole lot bigger. Sometimes he refuses to get out of the car. The 1.5 foot drop to the ground is just way too dangerous, so I'm forced to lift him out. That's when I really feel those extra pounds.

Later today, the dogs got a nice treat - our nieces and nephew stopped over to visit. The littlest one, who is 3 years old, referred to Boden as "Cottonball." I kept hearing, "Come here, Cottonball. Here, Cottonball," and would look over to see Boden attacking the kids with kisses. All of them kept bringing toys outside just for Boden, but of course Thatcher would not allow himself to be overlooked and would confiscate any toy Boden even glanced at. They had lots of fun, and it was a win-win for all of the human adults. The kids were tuckered out for the car ride home, and the dogs napped the rest of the afternoon.

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.

Messes, messes everywhere

My plan of baby-gating the shoe room failed. Although Boden cannot even climb onto our bed or the couch, he is apparently agile enough to jump over the baby gate, which is even taller than both aforementioned pieces of furniture. His motivation: the kitchen garbage can. If he can sniff even the tiniest hint of food in the garbage can, his main objective becomes getting to that food despite all risk. The first time I caught him, he was inside of the garbage can. He had knocked it over and crawled into it, and was munching delightedly on some dinner scraps. First, I whipped out my camera to quickly record the action. Then I tried to scold him. He looked so confused as to why I was sounding angry. Like he could not understand what was naughty about forging through the garbage can.

He has this thing when he gets in trouble. He doesn't ever seem remorseful or guilty, he just seems puzzled. I don't think he fully recognizes yet that "no" and "naughty" are negative words. Just looks at me like, "Mom, what's wrong with you? Why does your voice sound louder than normal?" Thatcher is the exact opposite and always has been. When he does something wrong, he punishes himself more than we do. All I ever do to scold Thatcher is say, "Thatcher, that is so naughty." He does the rest. He will literally grovel at your feet and make you feel like the guilty one for scolding him. There have been rare occasions when he gets sick and throws up or has a potty accident in the house, and my heart almost breaks for him because he seems so distraught. He does not like letting his mom and dad down, and he has the saddest facial expression a dog can possibly have. The other day I came into the bathroom to find the toilet paper roll shredded. I knew it was Boden, so I called him into the bathroom to tell him that was naughty. Thatcher, ever the masochist, brought himself into it and sat right next to Boden while I scolded him. Good big brother.

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.

Taking turns

No matter how many times I've seen it, I will never get used to walking into the bathroom only to see that it's already occupied. By my dogs. Nobody likes having to wait their turn for the bathroom, but being behind two dogs in line is even more exasperating. I did laugh this morning though. I waltzed into the bathroom to find Thatcher waiting patiently for Boden to finish sneaking a drink from the toilet. Such polite Newfies I've raised.

Boden walks Thatcher

Walking the dogs is now the morning task that takes me the longest. I used to take Thatcher for a mile long walk in the morning before work and in the evening after work. Now, it takes us the same time to walk half the distance with Boden. Walking an adult dog and a puppy at the same time takes skill, and lots of tripping and adjusting the leashes. It used to be easier just to keep Boden off-leash and let him follow us. But lately this backfires if there is any human life form in site, as he'll beeline directly to them. Regardless of if he has to cross a busy street to get to them. He obviously has no concept of stranger danger, or that cars can be dangerous. So although it's kind of a hassle, I now keep him leashed. This is how an average walk with Boden goes.

I put leashes on both dogs and leave the yard. Thatcher walks perfectly. Boden walks about 11 steps, then abruptly stops. So I give Boden's leash a little tug, trying to get him to move. He sits, plants his front paws and braces himself firmly. Throughout this little struggle, Thatcher gently moves forward, trying to keep the walk going. I give Boden's leash another little tug, and luckily I'm still the stronger one. Boden finally starts walking and we move along our merry way, with Boden whining in protest. Boden will finally stop whining once he realizes that it's not going to get him out of walking. So he instead directs his attention to attacking Thatcher's head repeatedly. If Thatcher ignores him, he decides to go to more extreme measures and grabs Thatcher's leash in his mouth. So for most of our walks, that's what we look like. Me walking Boden, Boden walking Thatcher.