Bring on the Kleenex

1/3/2009
inside my shoes
Bring on the Kleenex
By TAMMY MALGESINI
The East Oregonian

I did it again. I insisted my husband take me to a movie where I'd end up crying. Sure, sometimes it's hard to know what will move me to tears. I'm probably the only person in America who cried at the end of Terminator 2: Judgment Day. But the thing is I knew it was coming with "Marley & Me," as I had already read the book.

Luckily, before we left the house, I stuffed my pockets with tissues.

Dogs are part of our family. When people ask if we have children, I always respond, "We have two canine kids." Currently there's Jeter, my 9-year-old German shepherd and Jai, John's 14-year-old Airedale terrier.

The movie really touched me because we previously experienced the full life cycle of my last German shepherd, Gastineau, and are now dealing with the twilight years of Jai's life.

I had hoped to take a mini-vacation over New Year's, but as Jai has edged ever closer to taking up permanent residence next to the cremated remains of Gastineau, John just didn't feel comfortable in leaving his best buddy in the care of our 16-year-old dog sitter, Sean Estabrook.

Sure, Sean says he doesn't mind caring for our aging alpha dog; however, the duty of cleaning up regular mislaid poo really should remain with those who love him the most.

As I watched the movie about mishaps of "the world's worst dog," I compared some of the miscues we've had with Jai.

After a fairly uneventful introduction, Jai brought new meaning to the "terrible twos." Having never really been a chewer, I was aghast when he suddenly developed a hankering for anything made of plastic.

He destroyed part of my stadium cup collection before moving on to VCR tapes and cassette tape cases.

Next, he began chewing the carpet, holes in the bedroom door and the sheetrock by the back door.

It was at this point we decided a crate was in order. However, being a larger Oorang Airedale, finding one big enough wasn't easy.

After finding extra large wire cages in a dog supply magazine, I asked John if he wanted the silver-colored Houdini-proof cage or the regular black one. Evidently John determined it would become an accessory in our living room and opted for the black one.

John had gone to Seattle for the weekend and as I left for the Farm-City Pro Rodeo with some friends, I coaxed Jai into the cage, which was strategically placed near the front door.

"We'll never raise another dog without a crate," John now says.

Mistake number one: not crate-training him from the time he was a puppy.

When I returned home, I found Jai had somehow gotten his snout through part of the wire cage and had proceeded to chew a hole in the wall.

That was it - he and his cage were being relegated to the garage.

Mistake number two: forgetting Jai is quite social and putting him in the dark garage away from Gastineau and the ability to hear the sounds from the outside world tore him up.

We should have gotten the Houdini-proof cage. After Jai found a way to escape, we secured the perimeter with an interlocking link. However, our punishment was having to unscrew the drool-covered link when we got home.

Next, the dog with such a high tolerance for pain he didn't even flinch the time John cut his ear while grooming him, jammed his head through the wire door.

With blood streaming down his face and matted in his hair, we finally released him from the cage. It was at that time he seemed to go beyond the "terrible twos" and we merely sent him under the kitchen table when he needed a time out.

When we noticed sores building up between his toes after romping in the snow, we bought him doggie shoes. When he whined outside the two-man tent while camping, we relented and let him in. When he calls out with a singular bark at the back door, we obediently open it. When he began showing signs of arthritis, we bought him doggie glucosamine. And when he began dropping turds on the carpet, we made sure we had toilet paper, plastic bags and doggie odor spray nearby.

I don't know how much longer Jai will be with us, but one thing's for sure - when his time comes, I'll need a box of tissues.
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Tammy Malgesini is the community editor for the EO. She can be reached at 564-4539 or tmalgesini@eastoregonian.com.