Who’s Being Treated Well?

Today, Rebar The Pit Bull Dog has been in my home for exactly one week.

He is as wonderful as I had hoped. Of course, I had made sure of a few things. The sign on his kennel door at the shelter said he did well with cats. We had him “cat tested” to be sure (they walked him into the cat room where he gently sniffed the kittens, who were not sure about being sniffed). He seemed to have a good temperament and, when not distracted by other cool, potential-friend dogs and people, he was attentive to me–until we got to my car to drive home. Then, I was surprised to see him ignore the open door and ignore my happy “let’s go for a ride” encouragements. He sat down facing away from me and away from the open door and pretend neither I nor the car existed. We were invisible and I was inaudible, apparently. I had to pick up all 60 pounds of him up and put him in the car. He remained frozen like a statue in the exact position he landed for the entire ride home. Okay. Does not like car rides. Noted.

I got him a new soft bed, and that went over really well,

 

 

 

 

even if he sometimes ended up perpendicular to its general design.

 

 

 

 

He obeys Sophie The Cat’s signals not to get too close, even if it is rather dejectedly. Hopefully, Sophie will warm up to him more over time. He tries really hard to learn all these new commands and routines that I have for him.

He loves walks. I love walks. While we were out walking, we met our psychiatrist/psychologist (cannot remember which he is) neighbor. We talked a little bit about his arrival–how he had been in the Hoke County shelter, then the Cumberland County shelter, and then the Fayetteville Animal Protection Society shelter, that he had wear on his limbs from being kept constantly on a hard floor, how he was adjusting, that I was working on heeling with him. Then, my neighbor said, “You’re treating . . . ” and my mind immediately anticipated the end of his statement as something about giving him a home/saving his life–and at Christmastime, too. Luckily, I was polite enough to let him finish his own statement. He was saying, “You’re treating yourself well.”

I smiled. Indeed, I was. I now had a necessity to be outside several times a day. Today, I was outside walking while it was 67 degrees in December. Global warming is not a good thing, but not missing an opportunity like that to be outside is a good thing. I have met more of my neighbors and the guy who does the yard work at a couple of homes.

I hope 2018 is a good year for you! Don’t forget to treat yourself well, sometimes.

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Sophie’s Well-Timed Failure

Until recently, Simba (cat), Sophie (cat), my daughter (human), and I (human) all lived together. Despite our best efforts over a couple of years, Sophie and Simba never became good friends. They tolerated each other. So when my daughter got her own apartment, Simba followed her soon afterwards.

This was a photo-worthy moment when they lived together specifically because it was
the only time we had ever seen Sophie (top) and Simba (bottom) peacefully in proximity of each other.

I am off to the GI Rights Network Conference early tomorrow morning. It will be my first event representing Quaker House.

Knowing that I would be working straight through today with both a court hearing and document review work, the original plan was for me to bring Sophie over to my daughter’s place later tonight. There were visions of a happy sleep-over type reunion. But, court ran long, and we decided that I would just bring Sophie by on my way to document review, mid-morning.

All seemed to go well. Sophie immediately ignored Simba and began exploring the new surroundings.

I got a text from my daughter later: “Sophie has been very unhappy lol.” I called her. “Maybe if you came by and said ‘hi’ to her.” So, I stopped by on the way home from document review. Things had gotten so bad between Sophie and Simba that Sophie had her own room in the bathroom, complete with litter box, food, water, and Cat TV playing on the laptop — which she refused to watch. And, she was angry at anyone who came into the (one and only) bathroom.

This obviously was not going to work for my several-day absence. So, I took her back home where my daughter would check in on her. It was obvious the second she figured out that she had won the battle to go home. Picking her up was a bit tricky because of her expressions of anger. But once she realized she was out the door, she completely relaxed, and she thoroughly enjoyed the ride home.

It was good that court ran long and we had most of a day to figure out that the situation would not work rather than a catastrophe developing later, either when I was on the way to the airport or already several states away.

Now, to packing.

105 days until Sophie and I are unpacking in Quaker House.