We’ve had Havoc the puppy for a little over two weeks now. He has almost doubled in size. He continues to look like a Build-a-Bear Workshop fake dog. Just larger.
And a couple of days ago, he had a burst of maturity. Without warning, he went from being the puppy who needed to keep everyone in sight, to being the puppy who wanted personal space.
What the hell? Dogs are pack animals. They don’t need alone time.
I became convinced that he was probably crawling off to die in privacy, after swallowing a dead mouse, in one gulp.
Me: Here puppy! C’mon puppy! Atta boy! Out of the kitchen. Come on. Living room! Living room rug.
Puppy: Thanks. I’m good.
Me: Oooooooo. Who’s a good doggy? Who wants to lay on his rug? Play with his wubba? Wubba, wubba, wubba.
Puppy (tipping head to the side): Baby talk degrades us both. Maybe you’re overstimulated. I’ll just stay in the kitchen, and you can watch some TV. Calm down a bit. Chill.
Me: You’re sleeping behind your playpen. You hate that thing. You used to cry all night.
Puppy: That was then. This is now. You can put me in it, if you want. Here. If it makes you happy, I can move. (getting up, circling and going to lie next to the tipped over card table that is blocking the back stairs out of the kitchen).
Me: You don’t want to sleep there. There’s no rug.
Puppy: It’s a nice spot. Could do with a dog crate, though.
Me: You might not know this. But there’s been a dog crate there for 11 years. It’s gone now. I want my kitchen back. And I want to open those back stairs and use them. No more crate.
Puppy: Over my prone body.
Although he has periods of puppy goofiness, similar to the ones that Kaiju had for most of the 10 years we owned him, Havoc seems to a little aloof for his age. I blame the poodle. He may look like a stuffed toy, but he’s as stubborn as a French waiter.