Lessons learned

My son was bit on Tuesday, right on the lip, by a dog we didn't know. Let me answer your questions in the order they occur to you::

1) Cocker spaniel
2) He's OK, just has a fat lip.
3) No, he didn't do anything to provoke it.

As a "dog person," in general, and a pit bull owner specifically, the first question I always have and always hear after a biting incident is: "What kind of dog was it?"

It was startling, bloody (oh how head wounds bleed!) and a bit painful for Josh. It was startling and concerning for me -- not only had my son been bitten, but if this had been a pit bull or a "pit bull-type dog" as too many mutts are now called, it could have been headline news. Ultimately, though, it just presented a whole lotta teachable moments.

Josh knows his way around dogs of all kinds and all sizes, even though he's not quite 12. He and his sister had to learn about the characteristics and behaviors of pit bulls before I even considered bringing Hathaway home. Both kids are knowledgeable and conscientious, but they're also kids and sometimes they forget.

Josh loves dogs and they love him. He was not doing anything obvious to make a dog feel threatened and bite (teasing, startling, cornering etc ...) He gave it his hand to sniff. The spaniel licked it. He bent over a little to pat it on the head and the dog jumped up and bit him. No growl, no warning.

Thankfully, it was one bite, not an attack, and it didn't happen to a more delicate part of his face. It was a reminder to him to keep his face away from strange dogs and to ask the owner if it's OK to pet the animal. It's also a reminder that different actions are threatening to different dogs: Maybe his bending down scared it. 

The woman was shocked when I told her her dog bit my son. Her first question was "Did he have food?" (No) and then "Can I see?" (Uh, sure, just please don't touch his blood-covered face.) I also explained that there are a lot of younger kids at the park at that time of day that will be much less cautious about approaching her dog than my kid was. Hopefully she got the message.

For me, the incident reinforces my belief that EVERY dog -- regardless of breed -- has some trigger that will cause it to bite a person, and it's the owner's responsibility to learn what it is (or assume what it could be) and avoid that situation.

My dog has not bitten anyone and I don't think he would, but I watch as if he might. I have always handled my dogs this way, and always will, whether I have a house full of pit bulls or pugs.

We need a bigger bed

It's been three and a half years and there's still a pit bull in my bed. But like any couple that's been together for awhile, we don't always see eye to eye on certain things, and that has nothing to do with Hathaway being only knee high. For instance, he thinks it's his bed. (He can get his own blog.)

More often than not these days, he takes up all the bed, or at least two-thirds, leaving me a little tiny sliver of space with not enough blanket to cover my bottom. It's winter in New England, it can get a little drafty.

I'm not really sure how he manages to nudge me out as much as he does. I get in bed first, and stake my claim close to the middle of the bed. He has his own pillow and part of the fleece blanket he so loves, but I have most of the bed. Once he finally moseys upstairs, he snuggles up in either the crook of my knees or in what would be my lap -- the yin to my yang and all that metaphysical stuff.

But during the course of the night, he manages to inch me further and further from the center toward the edge, and I wake up on the short end of everything. Have you ever tried to move 70 solid pounds of stubborn dead weight? You need a plan.

What has evolved is our own little midnight waltz that involves strategic timing and hip checks so I actually get some space, some covers and a pillow. If I squirm enough, he is roused from his beauty sleep and has to reposition himself. When he starts to move, I throw a hip check one way, perfectly timed with pulling the covers the other way. Voila! Back to center. Often, I end up with a pit bull on my hip, but it's a bony hip and not very comfortable for him, so he has to move.

He doesn't move far, just repositions himself in one of those niches where he feels safe. At least until he scoots up and stretches out. Most mornings I wake up to whiskers and a cold nose on the pillow next to me, attached to a warm pit bull contentedly snoring away.

Eight days a week

Alas, my days of Hathaway have turned into weeks. Whether it's a matter of being lazy or being busy, I'm not sure. Maybe being busy makes me lazy. And being lazy makes me look up quotes.

It's the first thing they teach you in Journalism School -- leading with a quote is cliche (read: lazy). Sometimes if I'm stuck for a lead, I'll look up a quote just to kick-start the battery; it's kind of like jumper cables for my brain, a little spark for the thought process.

So, I looked up quotes (at brainyquote.com no less) about days and weeks and found some from some fellows I find quite insightful and downright entertaining, like Mark Twain:

"I must have a prodigious quantity of mind; it takes me as much as a week sometimes to make it up."

And George Bernard Shaw:

"Few people think more than two or three times a year; I have made an international reputation for myself by thinking once or twice a week."

I do think at least once or twice a week. I'm finding that sometimes, it's the remembering that's the problem. This morning, for instance, I got the kids up and fed and off to school with snacks and lunches and homework. I got the dog fed and dressed and walked and relieved and settled. I got myself together and to the train on time. I put in productive hours, got home, shoveled the driveway, finished some unfinished business and got the dogs together for their afternoon excursion.

And I couldn't find Hathaway's sweater. I took it off him after our morning walk and hung it up, just not in it's "spot." The sweater has a "spot" so I neither have to think nor remember when it comes to dressing the dog on a cold morning. And the spot was empty. I looked all over, but couldn't remember where I left it, no matter how hard I thought. The kids couldn't find it either.

We took our walk without the sweater, and thankfully without much shivering. The dogs ate, and I sat down to blog, without an idea beyond googling "week."

And sitting here typing, being neither lazy nor busy, not necessarily thinking and certainly not remembering, I found the sweater. Hanging on the bedroom closet door at eye level. In the right place (closet door) but wrong spot (different closet).

I'm guessing there's probably a moral to this story. Maybe I should google "Aesop."

The 12 Days of Hathaway -- Day 4

Yes, we're out of order, but we're no longer out of sorts.

The big boy started slowly, but was mostly back to normal by the end of the day. We'll still keep a close eye on him for another 12-24 hours in case it was something toxic, but so far, so good.

And you would have thought that regurgitation followed by nearly 24 hours of continuous sleep is the formula for awakening the superpowers within. When we went for our morning jaunt, both his nose and his hearing seemed sharper.

He was following scents like our bloodhound buddy Lucy and attentively listening like (fill in the blank). Is there a dog breed known for its hearing? Or a superhero for that matter? I think the bionic woman had a bionic ear.

Wait! There's actually a whole list of superheroes with super-hearing (thank you Google, the most powerful superhero of all). Superman tops the list on comicvine.com but I think God wins because He comes in at No. 6 and No. 12, and it IS the season and all that.

Anyway, Hathaway was listening this morning,not to me and my commands, but to what was going on around him. I think he was just happy to be up and out in his world after a day of misery. Call it his new leash on life.

The 12 Days of Hathaway -- Day 5

(We'll come back to Day 4.)

Hath has been sick all day today. He hasn't eaten since Saturday, and didn't finish his food then.
He went right to sleep on Josh's bed when we got home from the dog park this morning, and threw up the cookies he had snacked on. Mr. High Anxiety didn't know I had left the house, didn't come down when he was called by one of his favorite people and was shaking.

He finally curled up on the couch and slept there for nearly 8 hours. He sat up and gave kisses to the kids when they got home, and went outside for a brief walk. When we got inside though, he took a drink and was back on the couch and didn't even open an eye when I yelled "Fumble!" or "Touchdown!!"

In my well-dog book, just about every entry for which listlessness is a symptom is extremely serious and in more than 2 years, Hathaway has skipped maybe one meal. So far, we're up to 3. (FYI -- it also says you can give them Pepto-Bismol for tummy problems.) Josh, who had a similar day earlier in the week, said "Maybe he got my bug Mom." Maybe he did.

In some ways, it's harder than having a sick child because he can't tell me what's wrong. I can touch his various parts (paws, legs, shoulders, belly) to see if they're tender, but pit bulls can be rather stoic. At most, Hath will flinch slightly if something hurts. Fortunately, he didn't.

As the evening wore on, he started acting a little more like himself. He got up and stretched. Had some water. Wagged his tail for the kids and curled up with us for stories. I think he's on the mend, but I won't be sure until I see him eat something.

12 Days of Hathaway -- Day 3

OK, I'm cheating a little because I'm going to post twice today, but as long as I get to 12 by Christmas, nobody will know, right?

Our walk yesterday morning was a real turkey. Actually, its highlight was the neighborhood flock of turkeys (16 in all) that we happened upon during our walk.

Hath is usually off leash in the cemetery and I noticed the birds long before he did. But he's not impulsive, and was more interested in watching them than meeting them.

So there we were, watching 16 turkeys and 16 turkeys watching us. Some of them thought about making a getaway over a berm and down a hill, but a scout turkey flapped up into a tree to keep an eye on us and the turkey-in-chief led his platoon in the opposite direction, off into the middle of the cemetery. We walked past the group, the scout turkey in the tree to our right, covering their flank, and the rest heading off to our left. I think they had a vague idea we weren't a threat because we passed within just a few feet of them.

Once we were past the turkey in the tree joined his group. However, the road we were walking makes a loop, and when the flock realized we were passing them again, he flapped up into a different tree. It was fascinating to think that the turkey had an assignment, and it was rather comical to see what was probably a 15-20-pounder balancing on the skinniest, lowest branch of the scrawny sapling.

That road that led us past the turkeys also took us down a hill. Part way down, we heard Canada geese passing overhead and don't you know, Hathaway stopped and watched the geese as they headed southeast, flying in formation.

I don't know if he could link the idea that the geese were similar to the turkeys, but I do know he'd never stopped to watch them before walking through that flock.

5 more minutes ...

Hathaway has been sleeping in my son's bed lately. I apparently take too long to wash my face and brush my teeth, so rather than waiting for me to claim my spot in the queen-size, he hops into Josh's twin bed and snuggles in to the fleece Red Sox blanket he finds so comfortable.

Recently, I peeked in before either one of them was awake and they were side by side, both heads -- the boy and the bully -- sharing the pillow. It made me wonder which one of them had hit the snooze button.

Hathaway has always been a good sleeper. On the weekends, when I don't have to be up to make the lunches and herd the children, we sleep in. I still stir around 6 or 6:30, often because a certain furry companion has taken all the covers or all the space. Sometimes he moves, sometimes he doesn't. I usually start waking up for real around 7, fully intent on staying under the covers as long as the dog will let me. So I ask him: "What do you think pal, is it time?"

Now and then, he wags his tail,stretches, gives a kiss and starts to sit up. That's when I know we've got to go. But most of the time, he just blinks those big brown eyes, gives a snort or a snore and rolls over. Giving me at least 5 more minutes ...

Aware and enlightened

I had wanted to post something for Pit bull Awareness Day Oct. 9, but Sunday came and went without a minute to spare. So imagine my delight when I found out that October is actually Pit bull Awareness MONTH! Woo hoo.

Truth be told, however, Hathaway and I try to make every day of every month Pit bull Awareness Day so people start to realize how incredible these dogs can be. We have made friends at the dog park and around the neighborhood, at the soccer fields and the pet store. People I have never seen before call out his name and rub his big head. And on Saturdays and Sundays at sporting fields teaming with hundreds of kids and adults, Hath is usually laying on the sideline, watching the action and getting his belly rubbed by child after child after child, or sometimes an entire team at once.

Puppies climb on him and toddlers standing at eye level pluck his favorite ball right out of his mouth and he plays or waits or chases, whatever he understands his job to be at that moment. We have taken the first steps toward teaching him to be a therapy dog.

And still we have moments, like the lady at the dog park a couple of weeks ago in her fancy clothes walking her trendy Lab. As I was talking with my friend Beth, another regular with two small schnauzer types, Hathaway was stretched out in the cool grass, chewing his rubber ball like bubble gum. He wasn't on a leash. He rarely is.

When the woman was about 20 yards away, she waved and very sincerely called out, "Is it safe to walk by?"

Caught off guard (being in a place where everyone knows Hath's name), I looked around for a moment. When I saw it was only me and Beth standing there, it was clear she was asking about the dog.

I waved back and just as politely said "Of course" and turned back to my friend. Beth bit her tongue for as long as she could, so the woman had passed us but wasn't completely out of earshot when she burst out with an "Are you KIDDING me? Did she mean Hathaway?" followed by a few more colorful words.

I just shrugged. It happens -- not all the time, but regularly enough. For some people, it doesn't matter that he is an AKC-certified Canine Good Citizen or how much training he's had. For some people, it won't matter that we will eventually be visiting nursing homes or helping kids to read. They'll hear the word --pit bull -- and the rest won't matter.

So every day, if we can meet someone new or play with another kid, if we can be out around town and in stores, sitting for pats and playing with puppies, we might change one more opinion. That might mean one more dog is rescued and that's why every day is Pit bull Awareness Day for us.

Oh deer!

Yes, I'm way behind. This working-for-a-living thing really has its drawbacks. On the bright side, Hathaway has a brand spanking new, personalized (!) mat under his dinner dishes that is keeping the kitchen floor much cleaner ... that is on the days he doesn't rummage through the trash.

Those days are fewer and farther between. Our encounters with wildlife this fall, however, are definitely more frequent. No, we haven't had any more coyote adventures thank goodness. But there are the squirrels and turkeys and deer, oh my!

Our deer encounter was by far the coolest. Bambi wanted to play.

In late September, Hath and I took some early morning walks, usually strolling through the cemetery across the street just after the sun came up, enjoying the last bits of summer before the autumn chill set in.

I usually have him off the leash over there, since we are away from the cars and he's really not too spontaneous. He never bolts after anything, and he comes when he's called. So we are walking along. He's sniffing and peeing. As we came around a bend, I see two fawns about 30 yards away. I'm so surprised, I stop in my tracks, hoping to have a moment to look at them before they run off.

The deer, however, aren't paying much attention to me. They are watching the fawn-colored pit bull walking along the edge of the path. Hathaway, oblivious, is sniffing and peeing. As he got closer, they got curiouser, still standing quite still, but raising their ears and twitching their tails. Their noses were sniffing like mad and the bolder one took a step forward.

Though he was now only about 10 yards away, Hathaway still hadn't noticed his company. I hadn't moved much, wanting to see what they would do.

When the deer finally started to move, Hathaway looked up and stopped. His tail went up and he sniffed. He looked at me, and looked back at them, then tentatively took a couple of steps forward, then a couple more. I was getting a little closer to take pictures with my phone, but Hathaway got to within about 5 feet.

The bolder deer, to my amazement, not to mention awe, stretched his front legs forward, neck bent, butt raised, in the classic play position. "Bring it on, pit bull," he was saying. "We want to run!"

Hathaway doesn't even chase squirrels, so he certainly didn't know what to make of these two creatures who were more than twice his size. He watched them and sniffed then, and then he did it -- he chased them.

Sort of. He trotted forward, at not even half speed. The deer took off, running about 10 yards, then circling back to wait when they saw he wasn't following. They did it again and again -- Hath sort of chasing, the deer running away, then coming back to wait for him.

The three of them played for nearly 15 minutes, working their way through the cemetery until I finally put him back on his leash. They were getting closer to the busy street at the bottom of the hill, and I didn't want any of them taking this game into traffic. We did another lap around the cemetery and one of the deer followed us a for a short distance before running off.

People who have pets know that animals are very effective communicators. They let us know many times a day what they want, what they need and what they do and do NOT like. They may not use words, but their body language says it all.

They do it between species as well. The deer told Hath that they wanted to play, and he obliged them with a little game of chase. It was the most incredible moment (to date) in a series of special moments with this dog.

Rescue Me

People always ask if we've had Hathaway since he was a puppy, and they're always amazed when the answer is no, he's a rescue.

The kids and I are celebrating our year anniversary with our big boy, and looking back to when we got him, thinking about many of the months before that, I think it's more accurate to say that he rescued me.

Last year was not a good year, from divorce and the tsunami it creates, waves and earthquakes rising up in places you never expected; being laid off without the option of filing for unemployment; the instability of freelance work; to minor health issues cropping up one after the other and running out of the resources to adequately address them, basically it sucked.

With all that to deal with, of course the logical solution is to adopt a dog. Or better yet, a 2-year-old male pit bull that has been surrendered twice, right? Friends said "Think about everything you're dealing with right now. Do you really need to deal with how people are going to react to a pit bull as well?" Family said "Pit bulls kill people in Detroit."

But we brought him home anyway, and what he's given us in the last year -- besides teeny tiny pieces of what used to be our stuff (cell phones, stuffed animals, food, reading glasses for starters) -- is the comfort of unconditional love and the sheer joy that comes from the very center of the heart. He is always happy, always ready to play or lick your face or just curl up next to you and find peace in the warmth of the connection.

He's given us -- me especially -- peace of mind. When we started walking, getting back to the exercise was not just good for the body, but helped clear the mind and restore the soul.

He helped me find a refuge where the only thing you are judged by is how you treat your dog. The dog park -- bark park -- is my sanctuary, whether I need to be alone or in the center of the canine mayhem. It is my reset button, regardless of how the day went.

And Hathaway has brought a world of new people into my life, a safety net of sorts. Friends and love I wouldn't have except for my dog. It all has revived feelings long ago given up for dead.

A group of us were walking the other day and somebody noted how amazing it is that we all found each other -- all with similar needs or voids to fill. And here we were, walking, needs met in many ways, filled with the simple joy of watching the dogs play and run and wrestle.

So yes, my dog may be from a shelter, but the real rescue is me.

Eat, pray, love

It always cracks me up when I offer Hathaway something to eat and he sniffs it first, like there's the remotest chance he will not take it.

The only thing thing this dog has declined is leafy greens without dressing. Even then, because he is always the gentleman and his manners are impeccable, he will still daintily take the lettuce or baby spinach, just to spit it out when he thinks I'm not looking. The same thing goes for raw mushrooms; he prefers his fungi sauteed or on pizza.

Still, offer him things he loves: a nut or a bite of bagel, piece of apple or his favorite -- banana -- and he will take a whiff before accepting your offering. Maybe he's checking the vintage. Maybe he's whetting his appetite. Regardless, his devotion and his pleasure are food. Indulge him, and he will worship you. He eats as we all should: with love and gusto as evidenced by his prolific and appreciative drool, if not by his svelte body.

Maybe we should all follow our noses.

Go jump in the lake

Five days of our vacation are being spent at a lake-front property. It's rough, let me tell you. All this swimming, fishing, paddleboating and lounging. (Hathaway is laying at the edge of the water as I type, watching the butterflies.) It's exhausting.

Back in November, I wrote about Hath's dislike of water. As the weather got hot early this summer, he actually started dipping his paws in the ocean to cool off. Next he started chasing his pals, splashing along the shore. Then I started throwing a ball for him, and voila! the pit bull can swim. It isn't always pretty, especially since his head and shoulders account for about 45 of his 64 pounds, but he retrieves better than some of the retrievers.

Now swimming is a regular part of his daily walk, vacation being no exception. I think he likes the fresh water better than the ocean's saltiness. The water is also calmer, so I throw the ball farther. It's also warmer, so it's not a big deal if I have to go rescue him. He charges into the water with a big splash and power paddles his way out to the ball, leaving a wake like a motorboat.

The day he found a 4-year-old to throw the tennis ball for him was like a dream come true. She was as tireless with her tossing as he was with his fetching. He'd bring it back and drop it at her feet. Again! And Cassie would squeal and laugh and throw it. Again!

Even though he thinks he's a Lab sometimes, he's still a pit bull at heart. Despite all the swimming and fetching, I haven't yet been able to get him to jump off the end of the dock.

And he still avoids puddles at all cost.

Bedtime story

Another day, another new place with new adventures.

Just when Hathaway was getting used to the farm, we came to my dad's lake house. New smells. New dark corners. New beds to sleep on!

Our room has three beds: A double for me, twins for the kids. When it was time to use them, Hathaway tried them all, and it was like watching Goldilocks.

This one's too hard. This one's too soft. This one's where Mama sleeps, so it's juuuuust right. At one point before curling up, he jumped from bed to bed to bed without ever putting a paw on the floor.

What we have always loved most about our boy is his joie de vivre and this vacation is no different. I was worried he'd be anxious, and there are moments of that. But for the most part, it's like traveling with another kid, full of excitement and wonder. It's all an adventure and he shows us something through new eyes each day.

Vacation, all I ever wanted

I was a little ... what's the word ... wary, I guess, preparing for our annual summer trek to Michigan this year. The 750-mile drive was to be Hathaway's first long road trip, our first border crossings with a pit bull, first time staying in unfamiliar houses for any length of time. With cats! (And toddlers, horses and chickens ...) There was a lot to be prepared for.

Silly me. Mr. Laidback rolled with it, the way he pretty much rolls with whatever situation we throw at him. Six hours in a car? It's a good time to catch up on some sleep. Motel room? New beds to sleep on. Customs? They barely looked at our passports, forget about the dog's papers. Strange house? Lots of corners to explore and stray snacks to find.

About a half-hour after we got into Dodge, er Romeo, the kids and I walked Hath over to the pool to meet my sister-in-law and nephews, who are almost 5 and almost 2. He won Jill's approval, was pretty much ignored by the boys and made a new BFF, Sofie, in a matter of minutes.

I was a little hesitant to let him off the leash around the pool, around the boys (who at their ages are very similar to bowling pins around a tank like Hathaway) and Sofie. But we got a tennis ball and the dogs played and ran -- exactly what he needed after two days on the road.

He was puzzled by the kids playing in the pool, thinking that they might be in distress, and started to get worked up and anxious. He looked like a canine David Hasselhoff, running up to the edge of the water, ready to jump in and save the children, but I really didn't want to find out if he'd actually make the leap.

I leashed him and headed back to the house, followed faithfully and unexpectedly by Sofie, who would not turn around and go home. She ran along in front of us, urging Hath to play. Of course, the minute after I let him off the leash, a huge doe sprinted across the road in front of the dogs. Sofie knew what it was and charged after it. Hath stopped for a minute, then followed his friend in futile pursuit.

He's afraid of the horses, likes chasing the chickens and finds the boys finger-lickin' good. He spent the dinner hour under the table, licking knees and snuffling for scraps. We ended our night with an unheard-of 2.5-mile walk filled with lots of new smells and territory to mark.

And, of course, some very loud snoring from the foot of the bed.

Dog is my co-pilot

OK, this may be the worst picture ever, but you can sort of see Hathaway sitting in the front seat.

I know a lot of dogs ride in the front seat, but my boy has always stayed in his space in the back of the little SUV. We go for a ride, he sits in back. I run an errand, he waits anxiously, drooling, and with his nose smudging the back window.

So today, in Ontario during a brief stop to stretch legs, relieve bladders and fill bellies, imagine our surprise when we didn't see the silhouette of that damp little nose pressed against the tinted rear window. It was even more surprising to see him riding shotgun, nose pressed against the passenger-side glass.

For 11 months, he had a clear shot at the front seat, without any suitcases, computer bags, backpacks, smelly shoes, water bottles, juice pouches, books or beach bags to impede his forward motion. But Hath held his ground and maintained his space.

For nearly 600 miles in the last 24 hours, the pit bull sat out longer pit stops in higher temperatures. But something today, during the 15 minutes it took to hit the head and grab burgers to go, prompted him to climb over piles of stuff and plop himself in the front seat to wait. We can only imagine his motivation.

All in all, he is treating his first road trip like a great big adventure, which of course, it is.

Independence Day

As we learned from our nation's founding fathers, the struggle for independence is never easy.

In honor of the Fourth of July (not really, but let's just say) Hathaway and one of his best friends, Lily, re-enacted the Colonists' bid for freedom the oppressive motherland, England. The part of independence was played by a blue rubber ball with a smiley face on it. (Believe me, it's in there.)

Our forebears, with the determination and gameness of pit bulls, were tireless in their struggle to wrest the basic freedoms on which the United States of America were founded from under the thumb of King James.

With clenched jaws, and often, bared teeth, the members of the Continental Congress debated forming a new nation. In the end, as you know, the pit bulls, er, Colonists, came away with the blue ball (independence) and, waving it in their opponent's face, pranced away from England to become America, united, under Dog, with liberty, justice and rubber balls for all.

Dog park friends

Can't believe I haven't updated this in so long, but it has been a hectic spring. Between softball two nights a week, baseball three nights a week, soccer twice a week x2 and dance once a week x2 ... well, if you do the math, it adds up to more than 7 nights a week.

So yeah, hectic. Hathaway is in some ways getting the short end of the proverbial stick, but he's been really good about it. And we do get to the dog park in short bursts. One of our early-Saturday walking buddies posted a video on YouTube. Mufasa is cute as anything and it's quintessential Hathaway, doing what he does best: chasing his ball. (more on the magic ball another time.)

Anyway, click the link above or check out MrBullMastiff100 on YouTube.

Roommate

Hathaway is having a sleepover. For the next eight days, we are dog-sitting my favorite dog-nephew Sebastian.

For the last five years or so, we have hosted Sebastian for the first week in May while our neighbors are out of town. The first few years, Sebastian was one of three, fitting right in with my previous dogs, Jake and Lily (pictured). But for the last couple of years, Sebastian has been an "only child" during his visit. And of course for the last eight months, Hathaway has been king of the castle, getting all the attention in his new home.

Sebastian, some kind of hound dog mix, is about 12 now, and likes to take a walk and then nap the afternoon away. Hath, being almost 3 and very, very social, approaches every dog as his BFF and playmate. He is learning not to pounce on Sebastian, who outweighs him by at least 20 pounds. Sebastian just looks at him the way an 8th-grader looks at a 5th-grader. I know he'd roll his eyes if he could.

So far, so good. They are sharing a water dish and napping on either side of me, but each time one moves, the other sits up and watches: What are you doing, friend? Where are you going, friend? Is it time to play?

Tails are up and wagging. I'm expecting this to be an interesting experiment.

No place like home

I left a full trash bag out yesterday before I went to work for six hours. That thought clicked in my head about 5 seconds before the key clicked in the lock, so I walked in ready for some serious cleanup.

What I got was a happy boy, wagging his tail and offering a celebration ball. You're home! Love me! And he was standing in the middle of a clean floor. I'm home! I love you! And I'm glad I don't need the Swiffer!

Watching the dissipation of separation anxiety is interesting. When we first brought Hathaway home at the end of August, we tried crating him, but that just exacerbated his anxiety. He was a drooling, barking wreck and I worried that the stress would kill him or he would hurt himself trying to break out of the crate.

So we left him out, leaving for short periods of time. You could tell from the trail of drool that he'd ramble from room to room looking for me. According to the neighbors (oh kind and patient neighbors), he would bark. Continuously.

Once I knew he wasn't going to destroy the furniture or go through a window, I'd leave for a little longer. Before I'd go, I would tell him to go lay down, I'd be back soon. He would for awhile, then he'd look for things to chew, pulling papers off counters, place mats off the table, rummaging in baskets or boxes. Or, if we forgot to move it, get into the trash.

But you could also see his trust start to build. He was wandering farther away at the dog park. Letting me out of his sight both there and at home. And judging from what I was greeted with when I came through the door after work, it seemed as though the naps were getting longer as the rambling and rummaging subsided.

When I'm going to be gone for an extended period, I leave a banana on the counter for him to "find." He peels it, eats it, naps.

Over the last couple of weeks, especially, we have come home to nothing ... or nothing but a smiling, wagging pit bull next to an empty banana peel.

There has been less destruction, less chewing of random crunchy objects, and yes, less rummaging of the trash, which means (in my human brain) that Hathaway (in his doggy brain) finally feels like he's home.

Down Dog!

Q: How do you get down from an elephant?

A: You don't. You get down from a goose.

Q: How do you get down from a pit bull?

A: Let him sleep on your comforter.

Hathaway likes to make himself a little nest before curling up to sleep. You've probably seen dogs do it: They turn in three circles one way, another couple of circles the other way and paw at their sleeping area in what appears to be an attempt to fluff it up a bit.

So this is what my pit bull does. Circles. Paws. Fluffs. I try to leave a pillow on the bed for him to curl up with, or some recently worn sweats. (Author's note: Hey -- separation anxiety, remember? Anything I can do to encourage him to lay down and wait for me rather than randomly roaming the house looking for crunchy things to chew, I do.)

What he has been doing, however, is making himself a little down nest on my comforter. Now, it is a good thing that he is settling down. However, the first part of the problem is, he doesn't know his own strength, and lately, as he has pawed and fluffed his sleeping area, he has also ripped the comforter.

The second part of the problem is, I don't always notice the first problem until I pull up the comforter, sending a little cloud of feathers gently into the air. They cascade lightly back down to earth, in this case the floor of my bedroom, and taunt me into trying to suck up every last one with the vacuum. Hathaway doesn't seem to mind the feathers, although they tickle our noses, making both of us sneeze.

I sewed up the first couple of rips and moved the comforter to a spot he doesn't really like, but he started nesting as I was getting into bed the other night, and by the time I said stop, it was already to late. The comforter now has more stitches in it than Frankenstein's neck. Anyone know where I can get a cheap duvet cover?