There are some times when I wish I could just have a conversation with Teddy. I’d ask him the questions that I already ask him, but he’d actually respond. This way, I would easily know if Margaret walked or fed him before I got up. He’d be able to tell me what he ate that he wasn’t supposed to, so I could hide it from him. And I’d be able to let him know that I’m leaving for a little while, and “Don’t worry puppy—I’ll be back soon!” would suffice. But mainly, I would really like to have a conversation about his first year here in this world.
Teddy is deathly afraid of guys. I’ll walk him around the neighborhood and if there’s a lady walking he’ll go say hi to the lady. But if we walk by a guy, he’ll either a.) hide behind me or b.) bark at said guy. If the guy is soft spoken, in our apartment, and Margaret and I both seem to like him, then things are for the most part, okay. When we adopted him they weren’t able to tell us his history other that he came from a high-kill shelter in Hillsborough County. They didn’t know for how long or what he was up to before-hand.
A little less concerning issue is his separation anxiety. When we leave, he bobs his head out the window just staring with a look of despair and abandonment. This makes it very hard to leave. But when we come home from class or work, he greets us at the door in a big way. He wags his tail, he yelps a little, he jumps on the table, he’ll leap and cling to my leg. The first time I got home from work after he was alone by himself, I was worried that he was going to be that hyper-active all the time. But then he calms himself down after no more than five minutes.
|It's moment like these when I wish I was the dog whisperer.|