six months

One Friday night in early October when my occasional cigarette had become oh, a pack or two a week habit again, we were finishing dinner and Stuart was going to pop down to the store for something and I asked him, shamefully, if he’d bring me a fresh pack. I think that was Stuart’s break point; he’d been quietly un-judgies about my slide back into smokerdom but that night he asked if I was ever really going to stop. And no, he wasn’t going to buy those cigarettes.

He went to the store and my heart broke a little because I didn’t like the weakness and the addiction, although I did (and probably still would) always enjoy smoking itself. When he came home I said that maybe I should try the patch. I said I’d start the next day. Some part of me said it on a whim - maybe to redeem myself to Stuart, maybe to dare myself into trying. Regardless, I meant it. An hour or so later, when I was going batty from a few hours’ withdrawal, Stuart admitted he had bought a pack, and did I want just one, before bed?

It was the kindest thing he could have done, and probably the hardest. But I had that one and made him promise he’d take the pack and throw it away immediately. I didn’t even want to see it.

The next day, as I was tidying before we went out to brunch with a stop at the drugstore for patches, I noticed some books sticking out of the shelf. When I pushed them in, I realized there was something behind them. The pack, hidden by Stuart in the way I used to hide them when I was secretly smoking. My heart dropped out the bottom of my feet. Stuart was at the grocery store. Here I was in the house with them, freshly resolved to give them up. I could take one. I could smoke it and throw away the tough-cornered willpower I’d found last night.

I don’t know how long I stood there but something forced me to push down the ridiculous tears and put the goddamned things on the kitchen table. I kept cleaning. Furiously. I avoided the kitchen. When Stuart came home I told him, and he heard where we stood, Cigarettes and I. Maybe that was the first time we both realized I was serious. Then he took me to the drugstore and helped me put the patch on and took me to a delicious brunch and I haven’t had a cigarette in six months, today, not even one. Which, so that you have some context, is the longest I’ve ever gone. I don't think any moment was as hard as the one standing at the bookshelf holding my beloved Camel Lights, so it's good I got the worst out of the way first. It's also good to have my prize.

See, two weeks later, as he agreed that night of the last cigarette, we went to the shelter and came home with Nano. Stuart told me I couldn’t smoke and have a dog. Beyond the practicality of not being able to afford the two fairly expensive habits, he knew he could give me something on which to pin my resolve. It worked. He still jokes that if I go back to smoking, he’ll take Nano back to the shelter but we both know Nano is for keeps. So are my slowly recuperating lungs.

not ready for his facebook closeup

Nano obviously totally failing to grasp the concept of the arms-length portrait. Best viewed in rapid succession.

super tuesday

Problem: I've been worrying at this like a rotten tooth for weeks and I still can't decide who to vote for.

Solution:

Results will be posted as they come in.

After being slightly indimidated by the democratic process, Nano made his bed and now he's lying in it.

Atta boy, Nano.

saturdays with the dude

Nano, Sunset Park

in the wars

Today was Nano's first visit to the dog run. Stuart has had many valid concerns about taking him to one, which run along the lines of "our dog will just cower in the corner and be traumatized for life" and "what if we can't get ahold of him?" and I sort of convinced him that much like kindergarten and taxes and hangovers, the dog park is just one of those things Nano has to get used to.

Besides, I said, we're going to a dog run in Park Slope. (Because us poor relations to the south don't have no dog runs). Yuppie dogs are well-behaved. (Unlike yuppie offspring).

So of course right at the moment we entered the dog run on 5th Avenue and 4th Street, about six enormous dogs converged on Nano like he was a juicy hock of ham. Two of them were puppies, and puppies have one favorite activity in this world which is batting other dogs about the head with their mammoth paws. Each of which is the size of Nano's head. Which goes over with Nano like a lead balloon. A lead balloon TO THE FACE.

Two minutes into the dog run as I stood as calm-assertively as possible near Nano while he defended himself best he could against the Dread Puppies, I managed to steal a glance at Stuart's face. On which was written plain as day that ALL HIS NIGHTMARES WERE COMING TRUE. And that this was maybe just a little bit of ALL MY FAULT. I mean, there they went! With the teeth! Right to the scruff of his neck! And Nano just kept slinking off like maybe if he shrunk himself to the size of a neighboring wood chip these monsters would leave him alone.

It took about five assaults from the Puppy Death Brigade for Nano to start standing up for himself and putting his own dukes up, showing his own admittedly tiny under-utilized snarl. And we kept stepping between the Giant Terrorizer, Tie, and his slobbering henchman Casey, when they got too roughly playful. I've watched dogs play for years and have a pretty good idea of what's acceptable play and what's not, but the trial by fire for both Stuart and Nano was a different story. A story that sounded a lot more like 'naaaaaaam, maaaaan.

About twenty minutes later, the Puppy Carousel of Doom started to exit the park. Probably because their owners, to a man, were mortified that their dogs were ganging up on this fluff of a dog in his skull-and-bones sweater that was fooling NO ONE. Nano by then was pretty well defending his back and neck and total lack of balls. And then this giant loped into the ring:

And I guess when you're fresh from the Gladiator Puppies, a hundred pound Great Pyrenee isn't that scary? Nano spent a few minutes trying to figure out why the couch was outdoors and sniffing his butt, and then put up his dukes and got into the game.

We'll get him to earn that Jolly Roger on his back yet.

Battle, or, A Silent Conversation I Had With My Dog This Morning

Nano: It's [jump] seven [jump] fifteen [jump] and [jump] I [jump] need [jump] to [jump] [jump] [jump] pee!
Me: mmmpppggghhhrrrpphhh.
Nano: [jump] [jump] [jump] [jump] [pace] [pace] [jump] [jump].
Me: If you sit quietly in your bed while I pet your head we can talk about this rationally.
Nano: Remember last night when you came home after adult conversation and beverages? And didn't take me out?
Krissa: To be fair, that was five hours ago. Hardly counts as a night.
Nano: I sleep sixteen hours a day. What's five hours. Anyway it's 7:15 as you were clearly informed by the full body shake I executed. What's the holdup?
Krissa: Mmmmppghgrrrpphh adult beverages!
Nano: I do not know the weakness of which you speak. I live on love and kibble alone.
Krissa: And a handy air of superiority.
Nano: Of course.
Stuart: Mmmmmppggrrrphhh!
Nano: Oh LOOK! Bigger Human is awake. He usually responds handily to the Full Body Shake Alarm. I will go pester him.
Stuart: ....
Nano: [jump] [jump] [jump] [jump] [jump] [jump] [small whine]
Krissa: It won't work, you know. It's my turn. Only I really think you should think about this. Look, here -
Nano: [jump] [jump] [jump] [jump] [jump]
Krissa: Honestly, what's the point of -
Nano: [jump] [jump] [jump] [jump] [whine] [jump] [jump]
Krissa: UNCLE.
Nano: Wheeeeeeeeeeeee!

Nano 3, Krissa 0. Stuart asleep.

parentage

Since we got nano, people have asked what sort of dog he is. We know for sure that he's got some chihuahua in there - the golden fur, the slightly domed head, the high curved tail. But he's taller and sleeker than most chis, and lacking the wide stance and buggy eyes.

As his confidence has grown, so has his energy. After walks, when his body is still cold and his metabolism is racing from the outdoors, he tears around the apartment playfully with his favorite toy, running from the couch! to the kitchen! to the couch! to the kitchen! And although he's not much of a jumper when it comes to people, he will jump like blazes for treats. I told Stuart a few weeks ago that maybe that mystery DNA is rat terrier or Jack Russell, because damn, dude can MOVE. I mean, REALLY MOVE.

Then I saw this and Stuart and I thought, wow, Italian Greyhound! When we found this dude, all doubt vanished, as that dog could pretty much double for nano. Italian Greyhound! Explains the temperament and the incredible speed.

And the cuteness. Obvs.

socializing

One of my favorite things about having nano in our life (other than, say, his rollicking adorability) is the whole dog/park-socializing thing. Who knew so many people in my neighborhood were friendly? I didn't, not until I started dragging a ten-pound ball of cute around on a red leash.

We've met an elderly chihuahua dame with speckled fur like a palomino; she wears pearls around her neck and nano is be-smitten with her. We've met a big old boxer/pit mix named Maddie who's gentle as a lamb with nano. We've met two labs named Marlowe and Beckham and their athletic owners, one of whom is in law school. We've met Kenzie, an extremely adorable Shepherd/collie puppy with enormous paws that spent quality time on nano's head.

Of all nano's shynesses, and they are legion, other dogs are not amongst them. He spent most of Thanksgiving weekend politely keeping a three-foot berth from my incredibly patient family, all of whom are good with dogs. He's put up heroic resistance to most of our house guests and everyone on the street who literally cannot help crouch down and coo at his extreme cuteness. I explained to a friend that I suspect to nano, we are all like the Empire State Building, and when we crouch down and think we're making ourselves less intimidating, what we're actually doing is mimicking a controlled demolition of the Empire State Building.

But nano is good with other dogs. And I am good with other humans. So when we meet fellow park-goers, there's this wonderful little repartee where I socialize with the human and nano exchanges butt-sniffing protocols with the dogs.

I'm grateful for that. Not the butt-sniffing per se, but feeling like I'm part of my neighborhood, thanks to the little ball of cute on the end of the red leash.

late night haiku

drinks and dinner, late.
nano, he has to pee, bad.
responsibility!

this weekend has gone to the dogs

Our internet connection at home has been inconsistent and spotty all weekend, but it manned up enough for me to give you this gem. Brought to you by the same snuggle in yesterday's photo. Warning, cute paws-to-face moment might cause squeeing.

moment of zen

Someone asked me last night why I would ever want a dog.

I think this pretty much sums it up.

today with nano

Today in the park, nano met two chihuahuas, two pomeranians, a pekinese, a boxer, and a lab, and he loved each and every one of them. He bounded gaily up to them, exchanged butt sniffings, even let one owner stroke under his chin.

Today he also spent some quality time with Suma, the giant schnauzer puppy in our building. Suma loves nano. Suma loves everything, really, she is the sweetest dog you've ever met but to nano, she must look like a horse breathing fire and wielding doom. Probably because she likes to pat him on the head with her massive paws. I think nano lives in terror of Suma which is a pity because Suma wants to be his bride. But today, nano tolerated Suma's sniffles and whines for a few minutes until his tail went down and he begged asylum between my feet.

Today he also discovered the big rope-ball we bought him before he came home which terrified the stuffing out of him three weeks ago. The rope-ball, it is the size of his head, no lie, but he still ran after it and carried it proudly in his mouth, even dropping it at my feet because fetch and drop is the one thing nano is learning quickly. He let us sleep in until 10:30 and then, when it was glaringly apparent how badly he had to pee, he showed us by sitting on his wee pad. And although he peed a little when I snapped the leash on, at least it was on the wee pad!

Today he pranced around the apartment at our feet and brought toys for us to throw and really enjoyed every treat he got for every good bold little moment. He happily flopped on the floor of the bedroom while we tidied and snuggled on the couch while we drank coffee. He didn't shirk any corner on his walks, or start at a single leaf. He even jumped through piles of them. When we walked up to the big stone gates of the park, he started running forward and wagging his tail so hard, the whole back end shook.

Today, when we came home from an errands trip into the city, he behaved as though he didn't recognize us, slinking behind the armchair and quivering. But we gave him space and left him a rawhide in his bed and after 15 minutes he was calm enough for us to be-sweater and be-leash him and head out happily for a walk.

Today was a very good day for nano and his humans.

milestones

I realized today that of all the things with which nano is still struggling, walks are not one of them. I can say with some confidence that nano is the valedictorian of walks.

Only marginally related: our dog eats mini-Greenies in under three minutes. Is there some sort of award for this out there?

adventures in ownership

Hark! I have to apologize for something. Sometime in the last few smitten weeks, I may or may not have referred to myself as a dog parent.

I may even - this is in the spirit of total brash honesty, mind, NO JUDGIES - have referred to myself as mommy around the dog. Usually in reference to how you're driving mommy to drink.

But I've made the conscious effort to stop, because I'm not nano's mother. I'm his human. He's my dog, and I'm his human.

Oddly, not actually being his mother doesn't mean I'm not feeling these weird twinges of parental anxiety. I may not be nano's mother, but this is totally a very abbreviated, lower-stakes version of bringing home a helpless shrieking baby. Look, before we brought nano home, it took me forty five minutes of highly obnoxious snooze alarm to open a single eye, and trust me, I opened that one eye begrudgingly. Now, with nano sleeping happily in his little donut bed next to our bed, all it takes is one single toenail to hit the hardwood and I'm up like a shot. I'm talking about a nine pound bundle of fur taking a deep breath, and I'm awake! I'm awake! Don't pee! Does he look like he's going to pee? Nano are you going to pee?

It's also manifesting itself in the mistakes I'm making. I guess I always assumed that if the dog posed challenges, and by challenges I mean peeing on my original hardwood floors when I put on his harness after work, I'd have to control my anger at the dog. This seems normal, right? Dog pees = owner is angry with dog.

But no. I'm not angry with nano. I feel terrible, like I let him down. I feel like it's my fault, and to tell the truth, it is. We're still learning all the ways to trust each other in this house but in the meanwhile, every time I inadvertently scare him or do something that challenges his tenuous bladder control, it's my fault! I'm ruining the dog! He's going to end up flunking his GED and working at Hollywood Video! He'll date wildly appropriate older women and wear two types of plaid! He'll -

- okay, you see what I'm saying about non-parenting this dog. And yes, I am keeping some grip on reality; I'm not ruining the dog. It's just, I don't speak dog! I am his human, and he's a dog, and until a babelfish is introduced into this relationship, I'm trying to make life smooth for a creature who can't explain to me what I'm doing right and what I'm doing wrong. How can I tell nano that Stuart and I are reading everything we can get our hands on about shyness and submissiveness and excitement peeing? How can I translate "We'll get this right, dude, eventually" into Dog?

I told friends, when we came home with nano, that I think getting this shy, skittish little dog is the Universe's way to teach me patience, teach me to look at the world from a slightly less brash point of view. Maybe nano is here to teach me some humility.

So maybe if he teaches me like what life is like from seven inches off the ground, I can teach him to stop peeing on my couch. Hope springs eternal.

with apologies to the catpeople

But no, I am not quite finished posting endless pictures of my dog.

Happy Sunday.

nighttime tango

Okay, I described nano's nighttime warbling as a walrus imitating a canary. Stuart thinks it sounds more like a llama with a seagull trapped inside.

It doesn't really matter how you describe it, what matters is he's been doing it every night for an hour. Well, not every night. That first night where we were loud looming hulking beasts, he fell asleep just fine in the living room all night. Probably less "fell asleep" and more "finally collapsed from sheer terror".

But the downside to him bonding to us has been that since he's only comfortable hanging out in the living room and hasn't really gotten used to the bedroom, he doesn't understand what we do in that other room. So we're torn between allowing him into the bedroom and having him pace and sniff and try to jump in the bed, or leaving him in the living room where he's used to falling asleep.

As you can see, nothing has really worked. nano is sort of still a puppy - he's only about seven or eight months old. Puppies are used to whining and calling out so that the pack can find them. We are, for lack of a hoard of chihuahuas, nano's pack. And we spend all evening on the couch with him only to inexplicably get up and go to that other room with all the tall furniture and socks on the floor, why? Why, humans?

Is what he's saying with all the whining. And the warbling. And the drawn out syllables of high-pitched questioning. All the literature says don't go! Don't go out there while he's whining! And all that literature is coming smack up against my every instinct to go comfort him, and also to go pick him up so that he will STOP! WHINING! OMG! So that I can sleep.

Unfortunately, on Thursday night, we sort of did exactly that. Stuart had stayed up playing video games so when he came to bed at 2, I'd already been asleep for three hours and then the whining and howling started. And after 45 minutes of it, I was crying from exhaustion so we decided to open the blockade in the living room doorway and see what happened. What happened was he came into the room and jumped right on the bed and generally made a nuisance of himself. Of course he did! When we finally put him back into the living room with NPR playing quietly, he whined for another twenty minutes before falling asleep from exhaustion. What a great lesson we taught nano! Whine enough and we'll come get you! GREAT.

Of course, as everyone's been reminding me, it's getting a little better. Last night he only did it every two minutes for an hour until either he passed out from exhaustion or I did. You'll note the scientific precision with which I clocked the frequency of whines. I'm going to be the valedictorian of contractions, lemme tell you. Stuart, unfortunately, can sleep right through it. (Hmph.)

We've bought him a dog bed, and have been acclimatizing him to it so that eventually, we can put it on the floor of our room and he'll fall right asleep in it, and we're introducing him slowly to the room so that he can come in at night without needing to sniff every single damned inch of it.

None of which makes me feel any better when it's two thirty in the morning and I'm thinking of drinking two bottles of nyquil just to get some sleep.

Notes from the trenches of new-doghood would be greatly, greatly appreciated. Because what I need, of course, to really fully obsess about this, is more piles of information. Bring it!

nanodata

I need to tell you some of my favorite things about nano because people, nano put us through the ringer last night, the ringer of whining and pacing and the various non-canine animal sounds of his warbling, and before I tell you about that, I need to tell you about how wonderful life is with nano. Otherwise that's just not fairly representing nano in the media. And we don't yet know if nano is the type of dude to slap a libel suit and a half-dozen lawyers on us like white on rice, know what I mean?

Once upon a time less than a week ago, we brought nano home from the ASPCA where he was known as Popi and scared of everything including boxes, doors, and paper. When we got him home we added to the list as terrifying items were discovered numbering but not limited to: leaves, curbs, doors and the doorways that love them, fans, thresholds, shoes, cabinets, chairs, and umbrellas.

To be fair to the guy, most of these things have ceased to terrify him. His likes now basically include Stuart and me, snuggling on the couch with Stuart and me, and this rawhide chew that's wrapped around a fake sausage. As far as we can surmise, nano's current idea of heaven would be snuggling on the couch with Stuart and me while chewing on the rawhide chew that's wrapped around a fake sausage. He also seems to like the noises penguins make when depicted on PBS.

Something else we've learned from nano this week is how fucking loud the entire world is, oh my god, did you know this? Well let me tell you, when you are walking along the street with a skittish chihuahua who barely knows where he is, and there is a gaggle of teenagers hooting in one corner, a dude with a leafblower in another (as if leaves weren't scary enough now we have machines that make them attack you in great swarms), a livery cab honking incessantly in a third corner, and me with my giant terrifying feet right behind him, well. It starts to look like a video game nightmare that you just have to dash through screaming which is pretty much what nano does. And these are just normal street noises. I haven't even mentioned the people who own businesses with grates, sweet blessed mother of jesus, that they release from their holds and just allow to crash down to the sidewalk like so many dozen Armageddons descending from heaven. Jonathan Safran Foer wrote a book about the World Trade Center attack titled Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. In nano's world, that book is about Eighth avenue in Brooklyn.

Really, the coolest thing we've discovered so far about nano is that he's ours, and he's starting to know us too, and know that we're his. And all the other stuff, the two-steps-forward, three-steps-back week we've had with eating and potty training and leash-walking and the noises he makes in the night that sound like a walrus trying to imitate a canary, those are just the sounds of settling.

I'm pretty impressed that I managed to be this fair on four hours of sleep. It's because, I mean, look how cute he is:

yes, we're in love

And although he's a little shy right now, we're hoping with love and patience and a judicious application of liver treats, Nano will grow to love us, too.