THE DOG MAMA

We had this dog toy called the Invincible, which apparently it is to everyone but Betsy.  It’s a plush toy that is supposedly “invincible” (duh)- it comes in various shapes like snake, lizard, etc. and the hook is that the squeaker keeps squeaking even after it’s been punctured (tooth, knife, whatever).  It took her less than 10 minutes to rip out and chew one of the squeakers in half; ironically, an hour later I received an email advertising the Invincible’s effectiveness against big dogs and their big teeth.  To the Invincible Gecko‘s credit, he managed to hang on to his other squeaker when Biscuit had a go at him. Even mangled and soaked in drool, Invincible Gecko is a pretty handsome guy- made of nice, thick plush that doesn’t pull apart unless it has the misfortune of meeting Betsy’s teeth, and even after that he was mostly intact save a couple fingers and toes and a half eaten leg. And the ripped out squeaker. To his credit, Mr. Invincible and ALL his squeakers have survived my sister’s dog Lulu, who has been systematically working her way through an army of squeaky toys for the past year.

I come from a background of disbelief that any dog toy is indestructible, as the proud mama of two pocket pitties, neither hardly the size of a second grader, who have destroyed a number of Kongs, Nylabones, and even a toy made out of a Goodyear tire.  Not to mention the times they chewed through a metal dog kennel, 3 carabiners (used to reinforce the kennel), a wooden windowsill, 3 window screens, the wall in our rental apartment, the door in our rental apartment, and the side of a wardrobe.  Shoes, rugs, underwear, jeans, blankets, towels, and pillows were just the appetizers for the heavy duty industrial strength meals that followed.

The moral of the story? As far as plush and squeaky toys go, this thing is top of the line. But don’t think that doesn’t mean your pittie can’t destroy it- nothing is truly invincible.

See more about Invincibles here.

When I run, I feel like I can do anything. Like I can go anywhere, like, even if I’m in a musty gym in Queens I can hop off that treadmill and see the world. So I know why my girls need to run, they need that space. And it doesn’t seem so silly that one of the reasons we’re planning to leave New York is so the dogs can have a bit of yard to call their own. I mean, it sounds dumb to most people that we’d change our entire lifestyle for the benefit of our animals, but then again we aren’t most people. We’re dog people.  And of course it’s not only the dogs that are expediting the inevitable (pounding house music next door, trash, expensive and spatially challenged living situations, the promise of homeownership elsewhere, trash, unreliable transportation, the desire to raise a family in a more relaxing environemnt, and trash) but a good chunk of the things that drive us nuts on a daily basis are canine related and mostly escapable outside of the city. Things like neighbors who don’t obey leash laws and the subsequent nervous breakdowns of our mentally challenged dogs when confronted with a maniacal one, the aforementioned lack of yard aka place for large, high energy dogs to run, the constant onslaught of chicken bones and other tasty yet deadly items people carelessly toss around the neighborhood, the hours and hours of barking that happens when your neighbors contain a 100 pound dog in a concrete square the size of a bathroom, more canine breakdowns due to being excessively barked at day in and day out, and let’s not forget the toll all of this is taking on my blood pressure.

We’ve spent hundreds of dollars on behavior medication for our most anxious pup, the one that claws her way through windows and screams when she sees or hears other dogs barking, and after months of trying different medical solutions, we’ve come to the conclusion that most of all, she needs exercise, she needs a release, she needs a place to run without stress or pain due to scraping her lame leg on the rough pavement. Our other dog whimpers every time we pass the corner where the scary dog jumps onto the fence, which is often inevitable since thats where our trashcans live. She is fearful of loud noises, strange animals, and sudden movements. Months of training later, our girls are two of the most obedient animals I’ve ever met- when not distracted by or terrified of their environment. In summary, neither or our dogs is meant for New York City. So instead of re-homing them, we’re re-homing ourselves.

Eventually, when we leave our home of 7, 5, 3, and 2 years (me, Doug, the dogs, respectively), I’ll be sad about a lot of things. But I know that’s when I need to run, to feel real air, to see land rather than a tv screen, and I’ll know we made the right decision. Because at that point it won’t just be about me and my workout. It will be about freedom, for all of us.