Puppy Poop and Witching Hours

It's now almost two months since Jackson the cocker spaniel puppy moved in with us here in St. Albans, Vermont.  Amazing how you get into a routine with such a little guy, who's getting bigger by the minute.

Jackson the Puppy attacks an errand stick that fell
out of the brush pile yesterday. Bad stick!

Funny how his routine is apparent, too. I feel like a parent, because I'm watching Jackson grow and develop his own personality.

He doesn't have the bathroom routine down yet, unfortunately. He dutifully goes outside first thing in the morning to pee and poop on a corner of the lawn, like he's supposed to. Then he runs inside, receives a Scooby Snack for his excellent bathroom behavior, then marches straight to the hallway or spare bedroom to pee and poop once again. Sigh.

Makes me want to pee and poop on Jackson to teach him a lesson, but I don't want to get gross.

He's developed a couple of unhealthy fascinations. Like all good all-American boys, Jackson loves motorcycles and loud trucks. He stops whatever he's doing to listen very carefully as such vehicles go by. It's just a matter of time before he starts chasing them. How do you explain to a puppy that a rumbling dump truck bites back if you try to nip at its wheels?

Like other boys, Jackson likes playing in the mud. With all the rain we had, the little brook by my house that we've named the Woof River is running again after drying up during an arid July. So, usually, right after a bath, he rolls in the muddy gravel on the edge of the Woof River and almost gets sucked over the falls and through the culvert. Puppies and boys love scaring their parents, don't they?

Witching hour comes around 8 p.m. each evening. I'm sure theres logic to this, but at that hour, after a brief nap, he gets up,  takes each of his toys, one by one, bites down on them,  shakes them as violently as he can, runs full speed into the kitchen and slides hard into the cupboards, then runs full speed with the toy into the living room, crashing into the plants by the windows. This goes on until he goes through all his toys.

Then he goes to me, where I'm sitting on the couch, and leaps up so he can bite the tips of my fingers. They taste good, I guess.

Then it's time to go outside, ostensibly to pee and poop some more - he's a pee and poop machine - but he ends up hunting crickets. He pounces on each one he sees, eats them, spits them out, and eats them again. Yum!

It's amazing I have any crickets left on my property. I wish he'd chow down on the mosquitoes instead, but us dog owners know we can't be picky.

This post sounds like I complaining about Jackson a bit, but really, inviting him to live with us was among the best decisions Jeff and I have ever made.

He's such an ego booster. I come home, and he runs over to greet me as if I'd been given up for dead years ago, only to materialize out of the blue, happy to be home. I get a hero's welcome from Jackson, at least until it's time for another Scooby Snack.

Last evening, I got home, and Jeff was away running errands. Jackson was home alone.  I opened the door and he leapt out to greet me, I got down off my feet onto the deck and wrestled an ecstatic Jackson. He was so funny during that, I had the best, loudest, longest belly laugh I've had in years.

That can only be a good thing.