But, I digress.
In the blog description there is talk of pugs. But, in reality there's only one pug. Just the Emma pug. There is another dog (Waldo), but he is not a pug. He is a "mutt" that I rescued about a month after graduating from high school. He is, and I am confident on this point, the best dog in the world. About three years ago I was recovering from a strong bout of "not pregnant, anymore" and also realized my beloved Waldo was becoming quite elderly and decided the answer was a puppy. This seemed like a brilliant plan, as I was also semi-employed (by choice).
Being me, I had to make certain we got the right breed. It had to be cute, it HAD to be small, but not purse dog small. I had a whole list of criteria. I spent weeks creating a comparsion matrix (yes, anal is the word you're looking for) to rank criteria (shedding, plays well with children, attractiveness to me, attractiveness to G, etc...) then give each breed a score based on how well they met the criteria. But, for real, I did that. I bought books and investigated on the internet. I was a woman obsessed. After much calculating and research I decided upon the pug. So, I began to search for pugs. Now, I know about the whole puppy mill thing and I don't like it, either, but I found a fiesty fawn pug at the pet store in the mall (save your lectures, puh-lease). I did all of the puppy tests and she was "the ONE." So we took her home.
Being semi-employed I had lots of time to train a new puppy. It was going to be sooooo much fun!!! I remember when Waldo was little, and it was a breeze. See training Waldo went something like this:
Me: Waldo, pee here (pointing to grass, very much NOT my carpet)
Waldo: *pee's*
Me: Good Boy!
Me: Waldo, sit *taps butt*
Waldo: *sits*
Me: Good Boy!
and so on...
At least this is how I recall it. Now, I'm not so young, and my Walds is elderly, so we realize this happened more than ten years ago *gasp* and I may not remember it clearly. But, I very clearly do not remember him using my home as a toilet, chewing shoes or furniture, or being a general pain in the ass.
The pug, not so much. This one came into the house hellbent on taking over. Dominate little thing she is. She pee'd on EVERYTHING, she poo'd wherever she pleased, she barked and growled and stole from Waldo and was just generally maddening. I joke that part of the reason I went back to work was to get away from the pug. (pssst... Wanna know the truth? I just really like to spend money, and you have to make it to spend it!)
But, after two years of hard work she is much better. Not good persay, but better. We're still working on the excitability and jumping on people. She's loose in the house without using it as a toilet, she listens to commands when there are relatively few distractions. All-in-all, I don't want to give her to people I hate for the weekend anymore.
I know, it sounds like I don't like her, which couldn't be further from the truth. I love my puggins. She really helped in my time of need, and she is a cuddly little lap dog 85% of the time. But, she has one habit that is driving me to my wits f'ing end.
The dog will not go outside unless I pick her up and carry her out.
Ever.
So, every single morning I carry her from the bed to the couch so I can make the bed. Then while I'm in the shower she goes back to the bed. Then I have to carry her from the bed to the back door. Unless for whatever reason she get a hair up her arse and decides she doesn't want to go out. Then she hides under the couch in her "nest." If she hides in her nest, I have to get my fat, RA* ridden self onto the floor and pull her out with my insanely stiff and painful hands. Then I have to manage to get my fat, stiff, RA ridden self back off of the floor with Emma tucked under one arm, and carry her to the back door. This has been going on since she stopped sleeping in her crate, and it's driving me crazy.
I have no idea how to get her to go outside. I need that British lady from TV that helps with the dogs, because I am at a complete loss. I've tried standing outside with a treat. I've tried pulling her out on her leash. I've tried a box and a fox. Oh, wait, wrong story! Seriously, how do I get this dog to willingly go outside? I'm asking, for real. Anyone?
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* RA: Rheumatoid Arthritis - see this link for more info. http://ww2.arthritis.org/conditions/DiseaseCenter/RA/ra_overview.asp I need a fun name for it. Jennepper has "The Diabeetus" (check her out, if you haven't already http://www.jennepper.com/), which makes her very un-fun GD much more tolerable. I need some tolerable right now as TTC and RA really aren't very good friends.
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