De-Crazifying Darwin

Since Darwin joined us on November 21, he's been tons of fun and a total joy. Well, an almost total joy, but the "almost" part isn't entirely his fault. We've always been a golden retriever family, ever since my late (and deeply missed) golden, Ripley, came to us in 1994. In recent years, though, we've branched out into Great Pyrenees. Seemed like a good idea at the time. (Just kidding! We love all our boys!) The presence of Brody (aka Brody-bear, Brodyful one, or Da Brodster) has made assimilating a boisterous, outgoing, cheerful, slightly deranged young golden a bit more challenging.

For the first month or so, Darwin managed to annoy Brody mainly by breathing, and several attention-getting brawls ensued. I work for a holistic veterinary practice, and Step Number One was a custom Bach Flower Essence blend, aimed at calming, soothing, and diffusing jealousy and competition. It has been in their water bowl ever since. That one is clearly in the "win" column.

Darwin seems tiny to us. Our other goldens have been around 80 pounds, except Ruxpin, who was a bit of a mutant (though an incredibly sweet and adorable one) at 120 pounds. Darwin was starved in his first home, and was barely 50 pounds when the local golden rescue group took him in. He's a bit over 60 now, which still makes him the smallest dog in the house by a good 20 pounds. But he's solid, compact, perfectly proportioned... and cute as hell. His tail is always wagging, and he always has a sunny smile on his golden face. He can charm your socks off without even trying. OK, I'm an absolute sucker for goldens, but I think anyone (even... shudder... a cat person) could see Darwin's considerable appeal.

All of this is why it pains me to acknowledge that my cute little dog is clinically insane.

No, that's a bit harsh. Let's just say he has some minor behavior issues (which probably makes him fit right in here, come to think of it).

He's taken to keeping vigil in the front bay window, as evidenced by my blog profile picture. Cute, but entirely normal? My sources say "no."

If you read my earlier blog, you are already aware of Darwin's budding Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. To summarize, the cars passing by about 100 feet away on the county road have become a fixation. He has so much energy, and when the other two "young" dogs (we do not include 14 year old Sprocket in this group) are outside, busy playing and ignoring the Little Brother, he focuses on those cars and runs the fence line, barking his tiny little muzzle into a slimy lather. I'm fairly certain the neighbors, whose yard is between Darwin and the cars, are not huge fans of this new hobby.

I know, I know. The only real solution is for me to go out there with him and distract him, and praise him for not barking at his rubber-footed, metal-bodied playmates. However, this is Minnesota, it's January, it's currently 9 degrees, and I am lazy.

Plus, as you have already heard, I took a head-first toboggan run (minus the toboggan) down a flight of steps inside the house, and still have a headful of stitches. I admit, alcohol was involved. But the steps from the deck are better known as the Killer Steps of Death, and presently boast a three-inch thick coating of ice, which isn't going anywhere till about Memorial Day. I can put on my nifty brown suede, grippy-tready boots and clomp my way down the Minnesota version of the Khumbu Icefall, clutching the wobbly metal railing... which is probably about as safe as trying to descend the indoor steps with a blood alcohol level well above the legal limit. (If there isn't a legal limit for stairway navigation, there should be. Write your congress-person.) (Ow... my head!) I don't imagine the ice-covered cement at the bottom of the KSofD would be any more forgiving to my tender flesh or skeletal structure than the ceramic tile of my entry way. Let's not find out, 'K?

So, in the meantime, what to do? Risking life and limb, I have gone out with him a few times, and distracted him (for about 11 seconds) by throwing a ball and encouraging him in my most cheerful dog-mom voice. He's a retriever, and instincts run deep, but even that was only a temporary solution.

Tom tried grabbing a sauce pan and a big metal spoon and banging away (sorta like Granny Clampett ringing the dinner bell) while calling for Darwin, then shoveling treats into his smiley muzzle when he came in. Further testing of this method is required, but I'm not sure "clang-bang-clang-bang-DAAAARRRRRRWIIIIIIIN!" is going to be much more appealing to the neighbors than "BARKARFBARKARFBARKARF!!!" Though it probably wouldn't go on quite as long.

Originally, I thought Darwin would solve my Brody-Barking Problem. Silly, delusional me. I theorized that I could tell Darwin (who is a retriever) to "go get Brody" when Brody was barking and completely ignoring my increasingly urgent demands that he get the hell in here RIGHT NOW. Ripley used to do that with our old cocker, Porsche, when they were both still around. But Ripley was exceptional (best dog who ever wagged a tail). Anyway, pan-banging... fabulous theory, but likely destined for failure.

However, now that I've been exposed to Darwin's version of turbo-charged barking insanity, Brody's "patrol bark" isn't nearly as annoying. Hmmm. Maybe Brody instigated this himself, in order to move himself further down my Doggie Shit List. Well played, Brody-san.

My next Grand Plan (while not risking great bodily injury on the KSofD) involves Shen Calming Herbs. Dr. Vet-Friend Two is currently studying acupuncture and Traditional Chinese Medicine, and she selected an herbal blend that should help with his anxiety and/or hyperactivity. Darwin's breakfast and supper dishes will contain some of this herbal magic for the next several days, and we'll see if it helps. If he can break the cycle of "cars-cars-cars-gotta-chase-can't-catch-gotta-bark" for long enough, he'll be able to redirect his energy, thus decreasing anxiety levels for everyone within barking range.

If that doesn't work, we'll just have to try a bigger pan.