Cider Press Hill

Terry and Mom unglued.

About a month ago, I wrote about Terry’s [the greyhound] unhappiness since her little brother died on August 30. She’d been restless and unhappy and I was having a difficult time with her. Since then I’ve tried any number of ideas to help her over the grief hump; a little tick-tock clock near her bed to lull her at night, several stuffed toys to keep her company, a radio tuned into classical music, jazz, oldies (etc) to keep her company at night or when I’m not home, a dozen or so chew toys over the course of the last month, lots of family time and personal one on one time....she’s still not happy and she’s growing worse. I am truly to the point now where I find myself thinking that if I don’t get her a new doggy buddy, she is going to find herself in a new home. I’m at the end of my rope with her. I love her dearly, don’t get me wrong, but I just am at my wits end.

So far this week:

1. She has gotten into a bag of apples and eaten them all, spitting the apple seeds out, of course. All over the kitchen floor. Mopping up apple juice and sticky seeds is such a nifty job—after skating halfway across the floor in the slippery goo and landing on my butt.

2. She figured out how to pull a bag of birdseed off the top of the refrigerator (god only knows how she did that!), and scattered 5 pounds of it All Over. Then she ate about 2.5 pounds of it.

3. Between the apples and the bird seed, she’s had one bodacious and, more or less, continuous case of diarrhea all over the kitchen and dining room floors. She’s peed in front of the kitchen sink twice.

4. She has torn apart the trash in my bedroom trash can and the one in the bathroom. I’ve weighted down the lid on the trash can in the kitchen after she opened that and mined it for goodies.

5. She pulled the clean folded laundry off the dining room table and flung it around.

6. She pried open the door to the cupboard under the kitchen sink and shredded my new box of coffee filters.

7. She chewed up one of my garden clogs.

8. She wants to go out, two minutes later she wants to come in. Two minutes later she wants to go out and two minutes later she’s whining and woofing to come back in. Rinse, repeat ALL DAY LONG.

8. She chewed a hole in the corner of the sofa pillow.

9. Last night, not 30 seconds after the lad let her back in the house, she squatted in front of him and dropped a steaming load on the floor.

10. She has licked a spot on her right front leg raw.

This all screams to me that she is bored, unhappy, and mentally whacked. The boredom does not come from being ignored or unattended. But I have not been successful in easing her unhappiness. And she’s acting out in every possible way she can think of. I’m ready to try tranquilizers.

Or just get her a new puppy. At this point, I think a new puppy would be a freakin’ godsend. *I* can’t cope with many more weeks like this. I sat down on the floor with her last night and just cried. “Please, Terry, you have to get over it. I can’t bring Peeps back. I know you miss him. So do I, but he’s not coming back and you have to get over it. You’re making me hate you.”

Well, that’s not a very diplomatic thing to say to someone you’re trying to soothe, but that’s where *I* am at this point. The vet says we can try tranquilizers if I really, really think it would help, but, “Frankly,” she said, “I think your puppy idea is the way to go. Some dogs don’t adjust to being alone (as in sans dog companionship) and you have one of them. She’s a classic case.”

Actually, I think that I need tranquilizers more than she does. Or the new puppy. As I write, there is a pile of dog poop on the kitchen floor and I looked at it and walked away. We cannot go on this way any longer.

Posted on 10/20/05 at 07:57 AM
 




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