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?

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.

Requiem for an orange ball

Oh orange ball, my orange friend
I can't believe you've met your end

Inseparable were you and I,
and I carried you proudly, head held high

While showing you off to one and all,
"I'm Hathaway; this is my ball."

I chased you down through mud and Nor'easters;
kept bringing you back, out-retrieving Retrievers

You didn't break in my pit bull jaws
or under stomping pit bull paws

You kept your bounce, unlike the others
that split their seams and shed their covers

I could find you in a foot of snow,
and held you when I had to go

I shared with friends, Carmen and Danny,
Toby, Jake and even Manny.

We fished you out of the water before,
but this time you sank too far from shore

Dear orange ball, where for art thee?
At the bottom of the ocean, buried at sea.

Fright night

It takes a lot to rattle me, but after walking Hathaway tonight, consider me rattled. Still trying to unwind.

I took the dog out tonight for a quick walk around the block -- 7-10 minutes tops. Just long enough for him to water the neighbors' bushes before we tuck in for sleep. Even though we don't do this every night, my pit bull and I have a usual route and a usual routine. And usually, I let him off his leash. Tonight, thanks to some sort of divine intervention, I kept him leashed.

We were walking and peeing (him, not me), and peeing and walking. We got about 40 yards, when Hathaway stopped, and looked -- alert to something behind us in the dark. I saw a huge, black shadow near a neighbor's house for a second, then it disappeared. It was enough to spook me good.

I couldn't help but think of the third Harry Potter book, "The Prisoner of Azkaban," when Harry thinks he sees a big, black dog, not sure if it's real or a hallucination. "The Grim," his Divination teacher calls it -- the symbol of death.

OK, so I read too much. And just home from book club, after a glass of wine, maybe I'm overreacting. I gave the dog a tug and said "walk," and we went a few more yards, starting up a side street, when he stopped again.

I turned and looked, and trotting behind us, 10, maybe 15 yards away, is the biggest coyote I've ever seen. It was the size of a German shepherd and the only thing telling me it was a coyote and not a wolf, was logic and a basic knowledge of geography. The beast was well-fed, had a beautiful coyote and scared the living crap out of me. It moved swiftly and silently, from house to house. It's trash night in the neighborhood. Plenty of goodies for a late night snack.

The coyote stopped and looked at us and we looked back, and then I yelled. Like an idiot. A loud idiot. Yelling as I searched and groped desperately for rocks that I could throw if he started toward us. "No! Go! Get!"

Thankfully, he went on his way, which was away from us, but I was scared. We finished our walk with Hathaway oblivious and me clutching my rocks, risking whiplash, trying to watch every direction at once.

I have been closer to wild coyotes before, so I'm not sure what made this different, why this time I felt threatened. Maybe it was the sheer size of the thing -- just devastatingly huge to be living that close -- and twice the size of my 60-pound pit bull. I was scared for my dog and for myself; something I've never felt walking or hiking or breaking up a dog fight. I know my dog could take care of himself if the coyote came after us. I know he would protect me at all costs. I just don't ever want to have to see it.

Hathaway and the Action Figure

Or maybe we should say Out-of-Action figure. Hathaway shares more than just a big head with "Alice in Wonderland's" Red Queen. His new favorite song is "Heads Will Roll," by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs.

Off with his head!