I don't intend to write about every day with Drake but he has brought much excitement in my household in a very short time.
I really want to weigh him. He is so heavy and strong! Aaron said he is 60 lbs but I hardly think that is accurate. My whole body aches from the pulling and pushing I do to him and he to me. In the one day we had him I lost a pound. Go ahead and laugh that off and call it "water weight." Aaron did. But I know it's not. I weigh myself multiple times during the day (I know it's unhealthy, yadda yadda) and I know when my weight fluctuates. When I gain "water weight" it shows in the evening and it's never a loss always a gain. Also, my weight had been stuck at this certain number for a couple of months so...don't knock my small victory.
Drake is constantly making efforts to get in the house. I'm working hard to keep him out. Until he gets more training he can't come in, especially after what happened today.
Usually Sinclaire goes in and out but since Drake has come along she has not ventured out. She has hardly even gone down stairs which is a bit of an issue since her food, water, and litter box are down there. Not to mention, Smee. Smee has not left our room. She's been under my bed for days. Last night I brought them out and carried them downstairs to see that the dog was not there and all was safe. They looked around and dashed back up the stairs.
This morning Sinclaire was feeling more comfortable and she even made a request to be let out. Drake was not out yet and I thought it would be good for her and so I obliged. An hour or so later I needed to let Drake out to feed him and just because I don't want him cooped up in his room too long. I figured with the big yard they could avoid each other fine. I figured wrong.
While having breakfast I look out the window and see Sinclaire hanging on for dear life to the log poles that hold up our deck roof. Drake was at the base of it barking like mad. Sinclaire was so scared she peed down the pole! Poor baby! I ran out and grabbed a hold of Drake's collar. (I keep trying this. I know.) Some how I bought a little time for Sinclaire to scramble down the pole and then Drake was off after her. I had the sense to not try to hang on, otherwise I would have been dragged down the stairs. Drake chased Sinclaire out into the yard and she turns around and slashes at him. Her claws hooked into a jowl. Drake stood up and the cat was hanging from his jowl by her claw!
I was alarmed but pleased because I thought that would teach Drake not to mess with her. But instead it goaded him on! He went at her again and I thought he was going to bite her. So I ran down and actually got into the mix myself. I pulled on that collar and grabbed a stick in case he turned his aggression to me. To his credit, he never did. He wanted the cat. Sinclaire did not run away but stood her ground and after much wrestling I finally convinced Drake to head up the hill to the house. I pulled, pulled, pulled him up and got him back into the mud room. I had another tussle with him there because the kids left the mud room door open to the house and he tried to run in again. I managed to hold him back and reach the pincher collar. Once I got that around his neck I had more control and got him to stay put in the mud room. Whew!
I made sure the kids knew NOT to open that door and went down to check on poor Miss Sinclaire. She had not moved from where we had left her. She was still arch backed and puffy tailed. I was not fool enough to try to touch her or pick her up but she did let me get close enough to get a look at her. I noticed one of her paws was bleeding.
Crap. Did that dog maul her foot?
Sinclaire started to spit because she was salivating so much. Trauma.
I used to have a beautiful, white, long-haired Angorian named Gidget. She was strictly an inside cat but my mom left the back door open one time and Gidge got out. She was attached by another cat. She only suffered from one scratch but the event was so traumatic she as shaking and salivating just like Sinclaire was. The next day she died. She just couldn't take the shock of it all.
So now I see Sinclaire shaking, frozen in fear and salivating and I'm thinking this is just like Gidge and she's going to be dead by tomorrow. I called the vets emergency line. They warned me against trying to pick up an upset cat. Really? They said it could be a flesh wound or he could have crushed it. (More obvious statements.) They suggested I wait to see if she would calm down and then bring her in. I went and got her crate and set it in front of her. She was mildly intrigued and sort of peered into it but she did not move in.
"You will be safe in there," I coaxed. "He's not going to get you again. Promise." But cats don't really listen.
I had to get the kids to the bus stop so I left the crate in front of Sinclaire hoping that she would consider my idea to hide in the crate. I had planned on walking Drake to the bus stop but I did not want him to scare Sinclaire and keep her from going in the crate. Plus I was a little mad with him. Gabe was crying as we went down to the stop.
"This is just another bad thing that has happened to us in Colorado! Terrible things keep happening to us here!"
"Son, Theodore died and that was sad but he was going to die soon anyway. Even if we were still in Texas. And this is not terrible. Dogs and cats don't get along. Sinclaire is probably fine. Drake is a little bloodied but he's fine. He needs more training but he's a good dog."
"I know he is. I love him but I love Sinclaire too!"
After the boys got on the bus I went back to the yard to see if Sinclaire had got in the crate. Right away, I noticed she was not where I had left her.
Yea! She moved! I thought and hoped it meant she had moved into the crate. She hadn't though. I could not find her anywhere. I searched our fenced yard and then moved out to the rest of our property. She has always been a slave to her belly, so I got her treats out and searched around while shaking them around. I couldn't find her anywhere there. I was not gone long enough for her to fall prey to another animal. Plus I think I would've heard something had that happened. I decided that she was either hiding, she ran away or she went away to die.
I am the worst pet owner ever. And the worst mother. Gabriel is going to be devastated.
The whole point of getting the dog was to have a happy memory in Colorado instead of a sad one. (Gary is dead too BTW. Gabriel also blames this on Colorado. Who brings a snail to a dry climate?) I finally gave up on my hunt for Sinclaire. I had a big day planned at Baking Day. Tamales. It's no small thing and I had 5 lbs of chicken already boiled, a tub of lard and a bag of masa. This needed to be done. I left the back and front sliding glass doors open in case she came home and went into the mud room to leash Drake. He was coming with me to play with Caren's dogs while we worked.
When I entered the mud room there was a very repentant Drake. He still had the pincher collar on. I took it off him and pet him and kissed his head. I sat on the bench in there and he plopped his top half onto my lap and began pressing his head into my belly. He rolled it around and around against my belly and then licked my chin.
Sorry, sorry, sorry.
"Drake. You were very naughty. You can't do that to the cats. They were here first. This is their home too. You have to learn to get along. I'm very mad with you. You may have hurt Sinclaire very badly."
The whole time I'm lecturing him he is rubbing his head around on my belly and then he tries to slip his head back into the pincher collar.
Never take it off of me. I'm a bad dog. I deserve to wear it!
"Oh you are being silly! Well...we have some time before Baking Day. I'll take you for your walk."
Thankfully our walk was uneventful. He had one pause in the road with perked ears and tensed body. I really hate when the dogs do that. They know something is there but I can't see it. Probably just a deer but...gives me the willies. After the walk I took him to Caren's to play. Only one of her three dogs was there though. Rascal and Rosemary have a habit of breaking out for a little adventure. Caren got a call though from someone who had them. She went to get her dogs and I went home to get the rest of my things and to see if the cat had returned.
The dogs had so much fun together. I kept worrying though about the way Drake and Rascal would wrestle.
"Caren are they playing or...? How can you tell if this is just fun?"
"You will know the difference. They're playing. You need to leave Drake here sometime when you are not here to fret about it."
Well Rosemary did not like it either she kept barking at them.
Stop! Just stop! Someone is going to get hurt!
Or she was placing bets. I don't know.
The baking ladies and I set to work and eventually I noticed that Rosemary had stopped barking. I figured they must've finally wore themselves out. I looked out the back windows and could not see the dogs anywhere. I opened the back door and called for them but no one came.
"Crap. Caren, I think your dogs have busted out again and I think Drake went with them!"
So Caren and I head out in her car driving around with our heads out the windows calling for them and waving Puperroni treats. Before long we saw some guys working on the road.
"Oh, this is going to be embarrassing," Caren said. "I've had to ask these guys if they've seen our dogs before.
Sure enough: "Your dogs got out again?! No, we haven't seen 'em."
We drove back home and I prayed allowed.
"Lord, please bring those dogs back. I can not lose two pets in one day!"
Caren and I came home and announced that we had not found the dogs but were sure they'd return. Rosemary always gets Rascal back home. I just prayed Drake stayed with them. It was not long though that I heard Laurel make a little whimper. I figured she messed up her bread or something but then...
"There's Drake!" Caren said. The whimper had been his!
Sure enough there he was at her back door. Then Rascal and then Rosemary came to the door. Caren and I looked at each other and laughed.
"I don't think they ever got out, " she said. "I think they were just far up the hill." She gave them each a treat.
Seven or eight dozen tamales later, I went home and lo and behold Sinclaire greeted me when I walked in. She walks fine and seems unfazed except for a little blood in her fur on her paw. Come to think of it that could be Drake's blood from when she clawed him. Brat.
I just let Drake out to go potty before bed. When we came back in the mud room he stood at the door to the house wanting me to let him in.
"Nope. It's bed time."
He laid down in his bed. I turned out the lights and went into the house with out having to fight him. He is learning.