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.

Don't drink the water

I always wonder what's going through Hathaway's head when I leave for awhile.

When we first brought him home seven months ago, it was easy to tell because you could follow either a) the trail of saliva from window to window, room to room as he searched for me; or b) followed the line of destruction from room to room as he chewed stuff when he didn't find me. As you know, Hathaway is a stress chewer. The good news is, he only swallows if it's edible (see There's a pit bull in my ... fridge? posted 11.13.09).

Fortunately, he seems to be growing out of his separation anxiety. He can sleep in the chair across the room instead of right next to me. I can go to the bathroom by myself and he'll wait patiently outside the door rather than try to push his way in.

And that makes me wonder what he does now when I leave. There are clues: paw-shaped indentations on the couch cushions, mussed up covers and pillows on the bed. Those are good signs; it means he's sleeping for at least part of the time he's alone.

Apparently, though, he's even more comfortable than I thought. On Thursday, when I got home, there were the usual clues, but an interesting new one as well: drops of water on the nightstand next to my bed and the book sitting under my half-full middle-of-the-night cup of water. Hmmmm ... I wiped up the water and left the cup where it was.

After running an errand for about 45 minutes on Friday, a drowsy-eyed dog met me at the top of the stairs. I checked the bed, and his spot was still warm. Looking at the nightstand, there were some drops of water near the almost-empty cup of water.

Now, I'm no Sherlock Holmes, but my best guess is that as soon as Mr. Please Don't Leave Me hears the car start, he heads upstairs, helps himself to a drink and goes to sleep. Of course, I discovered this two days ago, so it makes me wonder for how long and how many glasses of water he's actually been doing it.

The Remains of the Day

I have no idea what Hathaway was looking for in the closet, because the shoes certainly don't smell like food. He pulled out a shoe rack and some shoes, then apparently found the cones I use for soccer drills. Looks like they were crunchy.

Did I ... Did I ... Did I ...

I don't know whether or not all dogs have ADHD, but I do believe that most dogs instill OCD in their humans.

I will affectionately refer to leaving the house as a routine, but the truth of the matter is that it has evolved into Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder.

Each time, whether I'm leaving for 5 minutes or 5 hours, I have to make sure:

1) Nothing I care about being crushed by anxious pit bull jaws is on my nightstand

2) The upstairs bathroom door is shut

3) The downstairs bathroom door is shut

4) The trash is out of reach or in the breezeway

5) The remotes are not lying around

6) Look at the crap, er, toys lying on the floor and decide what can be sacrificed.

And sadly, I have come to do it in that order. If by chance I drive away and can't remember if I have actually closed a door or taken out the trash, then I have to decide if I need to turn around and do it.

If you're a regular visitor here, you've seen the Remains of the Day. Hathaway gets into the trash. And spreads it across the kitchen floor.

The 62-pound lapdog with separation anxiety has also trapped himself in the bathroom twice. I needed new molding after the first time. Fortunately, I hadn't had the work done when it happened a second time, so now I still need new molding and a towel rack. Give him credit for being a smart boy: He pulled on the towel rack trying to get the door open. Resourceful, and yet, to paraphrase Bullwinkle the Moose, "Guess he doesn't know his own strength."

So I may not wash my hands over and over, or lock the door repeatedly, but I do find myself wandering from room to room, shutting doors and checking for "chewables." And often, by the time I've finished the circuit once, I can't remember if I actually did steps 1-3, so I have to start again.

Maybe Purina should commission a study of doggie-induced OCD. I'd volunteer, but there's a chance I'd be late for the appointments. It takes awhile to get out of the house.

The Remains of the Day

Hathaway has separation anxiety. That's one of the reasons we fostered him for a few weeks before adopting him outright. I'm home a lot -- or I was at the time -- but I had to be able to leave when I wanted without worrying that the house would be destroyed when I got back.

Or as Kim at the shelter put it, "That he's not going to jump out a window trying to find you." Um, yeah, that too.

The good news is that Hathaway is working his way through it. The neighbors say he no longer barks the entire time I'm gone. I can tell he still goes room to room looking for me. I can also tell he sometimes settles in and curls up in a warm spot to wait.

Often, though, he chews something. From the counter or my nightstand. He prefers things that will nourish him, which I must say, is effective multitasking that I can appreciate. If he can't find anything to eat or chew, he will pull papers or oven mitts off the counter.

In a way, it's a battle of wits. Can I put away everything that he will potentially chew/eat while I am gone?

He is winning. The Remains of the Day is the photographic evidence of that.

It's the first thing I look for when I come in the door -- The Remains of the Day -- and I anticipate it will be a regular feature.