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TravellogueJune 24, 2008 Puppy Traveller has grown plenty since the photos I just posted were taken; the most recent are from early this month. Not only is he bigger, his appearance is changing as his outer coat comes in. At the beginning of June he was a fluffy off-white puppy with a black-flecked tawny cap on his head, black-lined ears, a wide band of black down the length of his back, and a black ring around the middle of his tail. (All this black is actually very dark gray, but it looks black.) First dark markings began to emerge on his face; we called him "Smudge." Then dark hairs started appearing on his body, like a dusting of pepper on a bed of salt; we called him "Sooty." Now the pepper mostly covers the salt, especially down the back and in one band across the shoulders and another in front of his ribs. His pale undercoat was fleecy to the touch; his dark overcoat -- "guard hairs," they're called -- is sleek. Slowly he's turning from a cute puppy into a very handsome dog. Rhodry wasn't a morning dog. Travvy most definitely is, maybe because mornings start early this time of year. We've got a morning routine going now. I wake up and look over the edge of the bed. There's a puppy face gazing back at me. I look at the clock: it's generally around 5:15. I get out of bed and lift him onto it. (When he was at least 15 pounds lighter than he is now, I tried to lift him up while I was lying down. Couldn't do it. Now? Forget it.) Then he snuggles for about two seconds and we have a short lesson in "No, you can't chew the covers; no, you can't bite my toes." I get out of bed for good; he jumps down and goes into his crate and sits down in front of his little feed bowl. I put two heaping cups of puppy formula into the bowl; he lies down, puts his paws around the bowl, and gets down to serious eating. Since he fairly snarfs his food, I've put an old bone and a cow toe in the dish to slow him down. This it does, but he often gets hiccups after eating, and a couple of times I've thought I was going to have to improvise a canine Heimlich maneuver. A week ago I gave him a well-gnawed baby back rib bone that I'd brought back from Smoke'N Bones, just to see what he'd do with it. What he did was swallow it whole. I didn't believe it. I looked in several boots that were standing close by, thinking maybe he'd dropped the bone . . . ? Nope. The approximately three-inch-long bone was nowhere in sight. Jesus H. Christ. Should I call the after-hours on-call vet? It dawned on me that Travvy wasn't choking. He didn't seem in the least distressed. I remembered that dogs eat carrion and all sorts of weird stuff, but at the same time -- would that bone break down in my puppy's stomach? Could it pass through his intestines and out the other end? I sat down and Googled "dog swallow bone." All sorts of anecdotes turned up, and some informed commentary. The consensus seemed to be that this was not a big deal. When we went out later that night, Travvy peed and pooped normally. He's shown no sign of ill effects since. Whew. By the time Trav finishes his breakfast, I'm dressed. We go for a walk. In the morning I work, mostly at the computer. Travvy plays with his toys, inside or out on the deck, or sleeps. Now that he's mastered the well-varnished inside stairs, the square of linoleum at the bottom is a favorite place to sleep. When he starts getting rambunctious, we play, or go for another walk. A tired puppy really is a good puppy, and the work breaks do me good too. In late morning he goes into his crate, sits, and looks at me expectantly. This means it's lunchtime for the puppy: another two heaping cups of puppy food. Sometimes in early afternoon he'll go into his crate and give me the look. Then I give him a snack, maybe half a cup of food. It seems he only wants food when he's hungry, and he's nowhere close to fat. Eat, puppy, eat! Sometime after three we head off to the barn, often with errands to do on the way. Travvy has already figured out that biscuits come out of the bank's drive-up window. He's riding more and more in the passenger's seat these days, rather than in the back of the cab, where he shredded a roll of paper towels and a couple of paper shopping bags before I realized that a quiet puppy is not necessarily a sleeping puppy. Now he's more interested in riding shotgun and looking out the window. Maybe he's figured out that when he's out of sight, the bank tellers don't see him and so don't include a cookie with my cash or deposit slip. Since he misadventure with Pernod a month ago, Travvy has become a pretty good barn dog in training. He's very wary of Pernod, somewhat wary of Dolci and the new summer boarders, but not remotely wary of Allie. Allie he flops down next to and walks under; he'll even play with her tail if she flicks it while he's watching. Sometimes Tilly from over the hill comes to visit. He likes that. He still can't get Dis Kitty and Dat Kitty to play with him, but he doesn't hassle them unduly either, and he doesn't swipe brushes and gloves from the tackroom floor. He does like carrots but -- unlike Rhodry -- hasn't stolen one yet. He's got the hang of trail rides; I don't have to coax him anymore, though if there's action in the boat barn or the construction site I might have to call him away from it. He's become every stronger and more coordinated, and trots along merrily when I do "the triangle," a loop through the woods that we use for warming up. When he's not busy, he hangs out under the trailer. When I go on long trail rides, I leave him in a stall with a couple of toys and Pernod's Jolly Ball. According to my barnmates, he's perfectly OK, though when someone comes into the barn he'll make a little yip, to make sure they know he's there. "Where's Travvy?" still brings him running. "Travvy, come" works pretty well, he'll sit and lie down reliably, and we're starting to work on stay. He still thinks the leash is a toy to play tug-of-war with, but not as often as before. Often he'll trot along on the leash looking for all the world like a mature, well-trained dog out for a walk. Appearances can be deceiving . . . Sometimes he gets cranky, or obstreperous; once in a while he'll still throw a tantrum if he doesn't get his way. The tantrums are fewer and shorter than they were a month ago, which is good because sometimes puppy throwing a tantrum is so fully that I'm laughing out loud while I drag him to his feet and I'm not sure he's totally convinced that tantrums are "unwanted behavior," as the puppy book says. Sometimes I'm not sure either; then I imagine an 85-pound dog throwing himself down on the ground and screeching, and I am not amused.
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