Shiloh’s Excellent Adventures VI

On life and controlling my people!

August 2024

September 26, 2022, marks my birthday—two years old in dog years and fourteen in human years. That makes me officially a teenager in people's terms, and I feel pretty mature these days. I’ve moved up from "The Beach" to "The Park" at Dogtopia; only the bigger and older dogs go to "The City."

I’m relieved Mom has stopped calling me a “Velociraptor.” She used to call me that because I chewed on everything with my sharp baby teeth. There was this one time when she was heading to a quilt retreat (more on that later) and had to buy a new pair of pants because I had bitten holes in all her others. I thought I was helping by cleaning up the crumbs she left behind after a meal.

Mom also wasn’t thrilled about me chewing her expensive car key fob. I overheard Dad saying it would have cost $500 if I had chewed both parts, and since I only chewed one, he saved $200. If I had eaten the battery, it would have cost another $20 in parts, plus they saved a vet bill, which costs Mom and Dad $500 every time they visit.

Hard to believe that was me twenty-two months ago!

I also did Dad a favour by chewing up his fancy two-toned Peloton shoes. They had both plastic and metal parts—great for chewing. Now, he’s using me as an excuse to avoid the exercise bike, though I suspect it’s because he’s uncomfortable on the seat. He bought many expensive accessories, like a special gel seat, cycling pants, and a patio chair cushion. None of them made sitting on the bike any more comfortable. It seems he’s not quite as well-padded for those bike seats as he thought!

I’m still quite the foodie, like most Labs. I sample everything before deciding if I want more. Mom and Dad recently bought some fancy new plants for their garden. Dad got in trouble for planting them in the wrong spots and had to move some. I think Dad has too many important things on his mind, like explaining yet another early exit by the Toronto Maple Leafs. He keeps talking about a “window of opportunity,” but the players seem past their prime. I guess they’re not teenagers anymore, either.

Who's in charge of the bed now?

Dad doesn’t even watch the Blue Jays anymore. He uses confusing terms, like comparing watching the Blue Jays to going on a roller coaster that’s only going down—no ups, and the descent keeps speeding up! Mom calls that a simile. I don’t quite get what a simile is.

After munching on some fancy new plants, Mom panicked when she looked up their edibility. While they were tasty, they were not safe for dogs. We went off to the veterinary emergency clinic. The wait would be ten hours, but the technician gave us a phone number for a drug poisoning center in the U.S. They required a credit card charge of US$175 before offering advice. Once they processed the fee, all they could say was to keep an eye on me for the next twenty-four hours.

On Natural Gas and Articulating a Structured Routine

I’ve carefully plotted my next moves. I’ve discovered my superpower: “controlling the oxygen levels in a room.” Dad says when I have a bit of gas, it sucks the oxygen out of the room. I’ve found four particularly effective spots, but I have two favourites. One is his office, where I sneak in when he’s working on the computer. When I need to go outside, all I need is a hint of “L’Air de Shiloh” in the room. His reaction is immediate as he opens the window and promptly proceeds to the door with a leash. We head out for a poop-and-scoop mission.

My other favourite spot is in the bedroom, where the competition for pillow space is fierce. Dad often takes over my pillow, and since he goes to bed early to wake up at 5 AM with me, I need to strategize. I stay alert for any chance to snag a late-night snack from the fridge. However, when Dad falls asleep first, claiming the pillow is a real challenge.

I let Mom and Dad sleep in my bedroom. We need a fan to circulate the air, but Dad stopped it from oscillating, so it blows directly on their pillows. I could jump to the foot of the bed, between the fan and the pillows, and accidentally let a little spray of “L’Air de Shiloh” while pretending to settle in. This shocks Dad awake, and while he’s gasping for air, I take over the pillow.

As for my nighttime routine, Dad has it timed to the minute. I start on my pillow, then move to the foot of the bed when Mom and Dad kick me off. To throw them off track, I sleep in parallel formation between them. At midnight, I move to my bed at the foot of the bed or by the fan if I’m hot. By 3 AM, I shift to the space between the bathroom and entrance doors, making a loud thump to announce my presence. This, of course, wakes Dad up to remind him to document my progress on the night. At 4 AM, I return to the bed, stretching across Mom and Dad’s feet and legs. My goal is to cover as much space as possible. At 5 AM, when they are at their soundest asleep stage of the night, I spring into action, leaping onto the head of the bed to reclaim my pillow, regardless of who’s on it.

Resistance is tough some nights. Mom is much better at defending her space, while Dad, a bit softy, covers his face with the sheets. I take this opportunity to lick whatever part of him I can reach—arm, elbow, hands, or the back of his head. I keep him on his toes, ensuring he’s up by 6 AM, though he sometimes sleeps until 7 AM.

The rest of the day has become more of a routine. Breaking Dad into this routine is a constant work in progress. Here’s how the day goes:

6:00 to 7:00 AM: Morning walk past the ambulance bay and baseball diamond. Dad takes this route to avoid the neighbours wanting to say hi. The ambulance bay is next and is unique because I love first responders; they are the best! I get so excited when I see one of them. I wag my entire rear end and tail when I see them, and then, as they come over, I strategically roll over to give them a moment of joy when they rub my soft tummy. Making people happy is a tough job. I consider it a community service.

Dad also says the walk helps put the day in perspective and often remarks, “I picked up dog poop this morning, and nothing anyone is going to say or do could be worse than that.”

7:00 AM Sharp: I get my breakfast. If Mom is still asleep, Dad might give it to me a few minutes early as a treat. If Mom is awake, Dad is too afraid to give me my meal until the exact time.

7:01 AM: Once I finish my two cups of dog food, I help Dad with his breakfast. With a bit of eye contact and a hungry look, I often get a taste of whatever he’s having.

7:15 AM: Dad’s coffee and cuddle time. Once Dad sits down, I can earn some brownie points. I fall asleep on his lap if there's nothing else to eat or chew. He often says this is his favourite thing ever (except when Tara and Chris were babies and slept on his lap or chest). He also says no one can be in a bad mood after I’ve slept on their lap. I agree!

8:00 to 9:00 AM: Mom wakes up, although the exact time varies.

9:00 AM: Depending on Dad’s schedule, we drive to school at Dogtopia, where I have many friends and can stay active all day.

3:30 to 4:00 PM: Either Mom or Dad picks me up. By this time, I’m often so tired that I fall asleep on the way home.

4:45 PM: I start lobbying for dinner, which Mom prefers to serve at 5:00 PM sharp.

5:00 PM: Official dinner time.

5:01 PM: Dinner is over, and the official grovelling time starts to taste and test Mom and Dad’s dinners.

6:30 PM: Neighborhood inspection. I still have my favourite spots, and if Dad goes by a house where the neighbours aren’t there, I get sad. Don’t they know it’s inspection and cuddle time?

9:00 PM: Last pee break before bedtime. And then the routine starts all over again tomorrow.

How I love the sunsets on Oxtongue lake

I have favourite neighbours on our walking route. However, for anyone else who stops and pets me, I must let on that I enjoy it. The neighbours, Dave and Mike, are my best buddies. I also asked Dad to take me to the baseball diamond so I could maximize the people exposure.

I do the same with all the dogs and cats and have discovered squirrels and birds. The funny thing is that Dad keeps trying to ensure I’m not around the black cats with white stripes on their backs. He has sniffed them before and isn’t a fan. He is also convinced that I will eventually meet up with one and get to play.

Dad takes forever to do anything - for instance, even a simple thing like going for a walk. OMG, he has to get plastic bags to stuff his pockets, paper towels, and little white things he sticks in his ears so he can’t hear Mom’s instructions. After that, he has to wear a hoody, a cap, and a coat. He finally remembers me and finds a unique collar and leash. Periodically, he has to go back in and change shoes. Once in a while, after we go out, he turns me around to return for his phone or treats for me. The training (breaking in) of Mom and Dad is coming along quite well. I’ve finally started to get them into a routine that works for us. They now do what I want when I want.

Patiently waiting for Dad to go to the fridge