Oliver Comes Home

What a weekend! Brad and I went out to Caronport on Sunday to see a westiepoo I had found on an on-line classified ad. He was 6 months old and had been returned to the breeder from his first family because they found he was a bit much for them. This would normally sound a warning for me, except the reason they found him to be a bit much was because they already had SIX children under the age of nine. Clearly they were feeling a little...um...ambitious...when they adopted the little guy. Either that or they were right out of their minds. Anyway, we went out to see him and (surprise, surprise) I fell madly in love with his waggy tail and loving eyes. So we went into Moose Jaw to grab some supplies and came back to take our little guy home.

He was a little antsy for the first 20 minutes of the drive, but after that he laid down on my lap and fell asleep for the rest of the way.

On the drive home we decided his name was definitely Oliver (not Rambo as the previous 6-child-family had called him).

The first night we put him in his kennel in the bedroom and he cried a couple of times and let two little whimpers out, but then fell right asleep without another peep. He was less content to be put in his kennel yesterday when we went out to do some errands, but we were strong and ignored the yips and whining. And apparently absense does make the heart grow fonder because when I came home he was about as happy as could be to see me. Funny little guy.

Ben and Brenda came by to meet him and brought a bag full of goodies for the "newest member of the family". He was so well behaved, sniffing them, giving a few kisses, and then laying down to watch what was going on around him.

Last night Brad and I watched a movie and he fell asleep at our feel, and then on the couch, and finally in his dog bed, so I thought it would be a piece of cake to put him in his kennel and go to bed. Wrong. He cried, he whined, he yipped, and paced, he scratched. Finally we determined that perhaps he had to pee, so I took him out where he did his business and then came in pleased as punch with himself. Then he made a huge stink about going back into the kennel, pulling back, going to Brad, looking at both of us like we had suddenly betrayed him, like we were sending him into the abyss. Finally we got him to go back in and sit with the door open, looking at us with those heartbreaking eyes. He came out after a few minutes and we sent him back in with a treat this time. I closed the door and covered the kennel with a towel so he wouldn't be able to see out (the breeder had done that too so he should have been used to it). Then he made a big song and dance about the tragedy that is his little life. But Brad and I laid stoicly in the dark, in total silence for fear that making a noise would only encourage his whining and barking. Just when we were sure the neighbours would call the police on us for a noise disturbance (though I think that's a bit of the pot calling the kettle black) he settled down with a big sigh and a thump and was silent. I reached out and squeezed Brad's hand in silent victory.

I'm not going to lie, I'm pretty tired today. It was about midnight before I fell asleep and I woke about every hour (all three of them) until my alarms went off. I'm not looking my most shining today either. In my efforts to not wake up Oliver this morning when getting ready for work, I grabbed all of my clothes in the dark, hoping for the best. I think a nap is in order this afternoon. Luckily, he's usually ok with that plan too.