Well, you know I always jump the name gun.

Thing is, the kitten looks like one of these, with the triangle head and big pointy ears so we wanted to name him something related to this fact but the only cool word we could think of this one and that's not a good name so we thought about this but that's soooo corny and obvious but then there's this but we didn't want to use both names, again, corny and obvious, but he didn't seem like a this so we went to this second one which I like because it reminds me of this guy that I love.

So he's no longer Gus.

Oh lookie! An actual post about dogs.

Hey West,
I know you and Robot walk Lola and Ryder often, how do you get them to walk nicely by your side? I have a Beagle, he doesn't walk as nicely as I'd like. But the problem is that I wasn't living in a place where I wanted to walk him so now, he pulls on his leash and won't stay on the side I want him on. Any suggestions?

Well, Lola and Ryder were both trained to be walked since they were pups. That's not to say that Lola doesn't occasionally make like she's never heard the word "heel."

So I wrote this long post, pretty much regurgitating what I remember from Lola's training.Then I erased it. Not knowing your situation, I can't give you specific advice here.

However, if you've successfully trained your dog to do other things, you might use the tips here. Modify your previous drills, then you're set.

But if you have never worked with your dog, I suggest you get a few sessions with a pro trainer. Training your dog is only 50% about the dog. It has a lot to do with training YOU to have the right reaction each time. It help to have someone train you both. Also, city walking isn't just walking. It's teaching your dog to be comfortable in close proximity to other dogs. Lola learned that in the company of other dogs in playgroup, as well as on the streets.

But who knows, maybe you'll click on the tips and find out you're a dog-whisperer, a natural at dog training. Robot taught Ryder many things before he even began basic obedience.

My Lola was dumb as a post and stubborn as a rock. I'd taught her nothing. See Spot Run worked for me!

Well, See Spot Run and a prong collar. But I needed See Spot Run to teach me to use it fairly and effectively.

Either way, good luck!

This site IS about dogs. I swear. Just bear with me.

Just to give you the proper scale of the kitty, here he is the first night:

Tiny.
This morning I slightly disobeyed instructions and brought him up on the back porch where he enjoyed sun, brushing and anti-biotics.


Dog management is simple. Gustav lives in Ryder's crate downstairs where the dogs never go. He sleeps a lot anyway, so I wake him for medicine and love twice a day and just love two more times a day. I wash my hands before petting the dogs after spending time with Contami-Kitty. No direct contact between them yet, but I do sometimes walk around with the cat wrapped in a pilowcase in my arms. The kitty, while nearly grating my entire finger over a Lola sighting yesterday, now doesn't bother to stop kneading his cheese mouse when she lurks below. The cat dog introductions will officially be made when I know I'm not introducing the kitten's fleas.

Funny, when it comes to a battle between our 160 pounds of dog vs. 2 pounds of kitty, my money is on Gus. Because Lola and Ryder won't fight back. They like cats. But Gus will fight for his life, not realizing that he's only fighting to stop a thorough butt-crack sniffing.

Remember that one of the breed selection criteria for both dogs was potential for compatibility with cats. Puppy Lola found it easier to let my 14 year old, feeble cat drink out of the bowl. First. Even if she was trying to get a drink herself.

Jay has given both dogs the what-for. So now they know that he is not to be bothered. Not even the MEMORY of him is to be trifled with, or he'll take the train from his downtown high-rise luxury summer condo and KILL them.

Robot bought the dogs giant bones the first day the kitten was here. Wha? Kitty? Stealing our love? Forget that thing man, WE GOT BONES!You gotta take care of your pets emotionally, especially when there's a new sick pet taking a lot of your attention. The dogs got good walks and fetching these past few days.

And those that are just joining us, I do talk about the Cane Corso and the Bullmastiff. A lot. Robot and I are just nursing a kitty back to health. He might join the cast, or we'll find him a good home. Either way, we thought we'd share his story with you - perhaps it'll help you introduce a kitten to your dogs.

One less homeless animal of any species is the goal.

Introducing...Gus.

Introducing...Gus.
Originally uploaded by west end girl.

Day 2: Strong enough to become two pounds of RAGE when Lola got too

close. Pooping out lotsa worms. That's good. And best of all, not full

of fleas.

His name isn't really Hambone.

So my standing policy on stray animals is that if I can catch them, or if they ask me for help, then I help. Last week I broke the policy by CHASING a cat whose face was so striking I wanted to make it mine. I of course couldn't catch it, and she stationed herself in plain sight, just out of reach. Cats know how to make you feel unworthy.

But a few days ago Robot called.

ME: Hello?
ROBOT: I'm in the alley and I'm looking at three half-dead, tiny kittens and one, Hambone (he'd named them) is standing in rotten coleslaw in a strofoam container and garbage and they're all skinny and one, Patches has a milky, crusty eye and he's probably going to lose that eye. It's silver like a fish with all this pus and they're so tired they can barely run away from me and they're too tired to flick flies off, and it stinks and there are probably maggots over here– it's like a cat UNICEF commercial. Awful. You want me to send you a photo?
ME: (calling to find a vet) NO! CATCH them.
ROBOT: Well, they have just enough energy to stay out of reach. Escape by trotting really.

De-pressing.

So last night I'd had a little too much wine and in the middle of my TIVO'd So You Can Dance? I decided to see if the kitties were out.

Hambone was.

He was on the edge of a dumpster, a tiny, dark thing with green eyes who might have run if he could maneuver on the edge of that open dumpster. Maybe. Because he was looking at me like, "HELP ME! DON'T YOU SEE I'M A KITTEN IN THE GARBAGE?". So he might have been headed towards me.

So I plucked his bony body right off the dumpster. Robot wrapped him in a towel, which is the easiest safest way to subdue an angry cat. He gave a token tired hiss, then went limp. We went to the store and got him milk and food and he was the picture of thankful greed. Two tiny paws all greasy with tuna. We kept him crated, away from the dogs. Not because they'd eat him, because I don't know what this kitty has. He was standing in rotten mayo a few days ago.

And sure enough, he has ear mites, worms, and a severe upper respitory infection. None of which would affect the dogs. But the fleas, THE FLEAS! They would have headed right for Ryder.

Two hundred dollars later, I have a two pound, eight week old, remarkably friendly to humans, brand new RaisingRyder storyline that has been saved from slow starvation in a trash can.

We're going back out for his brothers and sisters.

I hope we aren't jumping the shark here...

I hope we aren't jumping the shark here...
Originally uploaded by west end girl.

But this guy needed help. We got him out of a dumpster last night. This

is his first vet visit, where I just got a load of my first flea.

Robot was playing a lot of San Andreas then, too.

I keep getting hits on "naming your Cane Corso."

This amuses me greatly. Ryder's original name was 'Roman Jr' with an apt nickname of 'Fat Boy.' I wanted to name him 'Murray.' Robot nixed that. Robot wanted to name him 'Palermo.' I kept trying to say, 'Hey Pal' but it never worked.

One day Robot and I were in a great dog store and this guy comes in with his giant antsy Lab, "Craaaa-aaa-sh? Craaa-aaa-sh?" And that definitely nixed that one. We even temporarily tested names this way, "Rowwwwwwwman?" Then we realised that every name sounds kinda dumb when you say it like that. But cutesy theme names sound worse. I just couldn't ask if he was a Dave Matthews Band fan. I might have had to kill him.

Ryder's name partially came from how well he rode all the way from Indiana to Chicago - such a good rider he was. After all the names we tested, it just felt right. It went nicely with his pop's name too. And it seemed a fine thing to call upon the name of the patron canine saint of Companionable Taffy-Pulling and Snuggly TV Watching. We wanted the puppy to continue to be like him in temprament.

Jay is James. Lil' Half-Ton. Mingus.

I've had cats named Midnight, Chjazz and Katrina. Katrina, in particular, was very Katrina. I have rescued cats and named them Big and Frank and Ernest. I've been trying, unsuccessfully to name a pet Billy Ray Valentine. I guess I haven't met him yet.

I thought Lola was a Chloe or Zoe but something about her rejected a lilt at the end of her name. I was at Pick-Me-Up cafe, when I looked at my friends and said, "Lola?" And it was done. It was absolutely right. She has a fancy AKC name too, but not that many people know it. Not even the AKC, as I never sent her papers in.

Side benefit was that people CONSTANTLY sang to her as a puppy. She was a showgirl. They couldn't understand why she looks like a woman and talks like a man. It goes on.

I forgot both times to watch for the moment the words stop being words and become a name. Just when you think you'll have the only dog that NEVER learns its name, then you mention his name on the phone and he's suddenly standing under your arm.

Then they even answer to nicknames. We rename Ryder Roman all the time. The Boy. Barky McBarklestein. Ryde-or-Die (hip-hop thing). Lola is Hula, Stinkus Delecticus, My Girl, Potato, Sweet Pickles, Hullabalola, Lola Mae, and Lola Spinola among others.

Robot just came up with a new winner for him. I am officially rechristening Ryder, 'Billy Deez Nuts.'

Maybe Ryder's a pimp. They limp too.

Ryder has a limp.
Puppy limps are mysterious things.
They come and go and change legs.

Most first puppy large breed people FREAK! because that is a sure sign of BAD HIPS and certain PAINFUL DEATH and WE KNEW WE SAW THE MOM LIMP but we didn't say anything. We thought she was just tired. And we have GODDAMN stairs and the dog won't be able to climb them anymore and he'll have to sleep ALONE downstairs in the kitchen with his broken hips. No, no I'll sleep on a cot next to you sweet boy! At least on like, Wednesdays and Fridays! And I'll have to sell my Jeep to buy a nice low-to-the-ground car for geratrics and bad-hipped dogs! And WTF anyhow?! His grandpops is Enzo, he of the best Cane Corso hips in the country!

That's what most first time owners do. But Robot has me, I'm absolutely nonchalant in the face of limps. Especially when five minutes later the limper is vigorously teabagging Lola and doing donuts in the backyard. We have no reason to think his limp is a sign of anything serious - he does come from amazing stock. We think he jumped out of the truck once and might have stretched/twisted something a little. That usually works itself out. Therefore, yesterday, Robot fussed over the boy for half an hour. Then last night he mocked Ryder for like, five whole minutes, limping around the house.

That's a true puppy veteran.

Still, if the limp isn't all gone, from all legs, by Wednesday he goes to the vet. That's a true puppy veteran too.

I'd like you to do three things this week.

1. Check your smoke alarms.
2. Put up the sticker/sign that alerts firefighters of your pets' presence. Your vet or pet supply store should have them.
3. Imagine losing your pet this way, knowing that you didn't do the first two things. Sometimes you do it all and it happens anyway, but at least you did the things that were in your hands.

I was going to ask you for a fourth thing. I was going to ask that you send warm thoughts to Debbie, Bella Rosa and Little River.

But I know I don't have to ask.

Lola's less stank and Ryder's not dead. Happy Friday.

The de-stank program is working well. This week Lola went to playgroup only twice though. But I have been heaping extra love on her and when I got my new old bike, she was happy to ride alongside.

This morning, my architect and two builders were here and Lola was an outrageous flirt. Sniffing shoes and sprawling out like a Playboy centerfold. I take that also as a sign that she no longer hates me, and that she knows that these are the men that could save her from the Third Circle of Remodeling Hell. Heck I probably should have given them a few sniffs too.

Not to be outdone, we were talking to the gentlemen outside and Robot allowed Ryder to go blundering through the trash and tall weeds on the other side of the guard rail across the alley. No need for you to try real hard to imagine and evaluate that scene in your head. Trash. Tall weeds. Alley. Equals bad place to let a puppy wander. But boys will be Robots and West will be an overprotective gramma-type.

So we are exchanging pleasantries and I'm preparing to put my head in the upstairs toilet and flush because fixing my house is MUCH harder than I ever imagined, when Ryder GALLOPS toward the street and an oncoming car. The kind of car that you hear going VVVVRRRRR because the driver just realised we have no speed bumps.

You shoulda seen Ryder – a dog-shaped piece of the darkest night doing his best graceless gallop with his legs flying up, ears flying out and his eyes rolling up in his head with the joy of it all. And none of us were going to reach him in time.

"Ryder, STOP!" I screamed.

He stopped.

I crooked a finger at him to commere. He did.

People, train your dogs. It could save their lives.

Then I flung myself into oncoming traffic because it was closer than flushing my head upstairs. Home repair sucks.

Well loved.

Well loved.
Originally uploaded by west end girl.

My friend Beckham gave Robot this toy for Ryder. It was a hit.

This is what summer looks like.

Although I have just posted a tirade on easily destroyed dog toys, Robot won't obey the blog and has found some ratty flamingo-leg kids toy that Ryder loves like a play cousin.
If you chew the shit out of your play cousin that is.
Instestinal blockage surgery never tasted so good.

ME: Have you seen these?

Have you seen these?
Originally uploaded by west end girl.

YOU: These what?
ME: DEEEZE NUUUUUUTS!

Sorry, inside joke for hip-hop fans.

Clowning for the man.

Robot is in the back with the dogs, running Ryder through his paces - jump and get the Kong, sit, down, heel, shake. And now Robot taught Ryder to bark when he gives a little hip-hop nod of the chin.

The best part is Lola sitting there watching, confused, wondering if Ryder has a twitch or something. Bulllmastiffs aren't much for tricks.

Steph said...

"hey west! question, how big was ryder at 4 mo? we're fostering a boxer/irish wolfhound/heniz 57 (actually, she is way wolfhound by the look of those giant ass paws) and looking for some comparison. we live in the city and before we commit to adopting, and oh how we would love to sign those final papers, want to make sure frankenpuppy will always have enough room when she grows into her paws. Yesterday she was 4 mo and 28 pounds... today 4 mo, one day and by the looks of her a good 3 inches taller and oh just that much heavier."

Robot says he was like 40 lbs., but that won't help you. Two dogs can look the same but be two totally different weights. Muscle. Hair. Height. They all make a difference. Lola sorta looks the same size as her Golden Retriever buddy Bo, but she outweighs him by thirty pounds. He's all hair and she's all Lola.

I say this to say, an Irish Wolfhound/Boxer puppy is pretty different than a Cane Corso pup. You need an expert.

Call a few professional Irish Wolfhound and/or Boxer breeders. Emphasis on the professional part. Explain that you rescued a mixed breed and you want to learn about her heritage. If you can, take your girl to the breeder and introduce. A good breeder won't mind that she's not purebred, they're partial to helping their favorite kind of dog - as long as you don't want to actually breed her. So you get size and breed temprament estimates AND inside advice on city viability. Thank them profusely and admire their dogs - you just might get the pleasure of access to breeder advice without spending two Gs.

Besides, no matter what kind of dog you have, you want to meet adults. It's important that you get a feel for them. I drove to Wisconsin to fall in love with Bullmastiffs before I got Lola. It was great fun - wonderful dogs, sweet people and excellent advice, all from Valtris Estates. If you go for a Wolfhound breeder, you'll get to see adult Wolfhounds - your girl at her LARGEST. If you go for a Boxer breeder, you'll see her at her most INSANE.

And you might find that size is more than pounds. Lola's mid-size Boxer friend, the debonaire Hank always felt much larger than Lola. Because he was on the couch. On the counter. In the middle of a grudge match with a Mr. T action figure. In my room. Ordering shit on the internet. I was amazed at how he seemed to fill up my condo.

Actual size does matter though.

Understand this: Every puppy is going to ruin something you love at least once. The bigger the dog, the larger the loved item in jeopardy. Ryder is threatening my TV and the back porch.

My apartment size criteria was, I need to be able to yell, "Go away!" And Lola has to have a comfortable place to get out of my sight. You also need a good place to confine your pony/dog during the day where she won't get in trouble. The kitchen was good. And I used to babygate her into my teeny den and a hallway.

I finally have that big yard that EVERYONE was trying to tell me I needed to have in order to make big dogs like Lola and Ryder happy. They could give less than a good goddamn.

Good luck Steph, send photos of Frankenpuppy and let me know how it works out!

Uh oh.

ROBOT: Um, how old is your Boxer?
GUY: Like, uh, seven months...
ROBOT: Is she in heat?
GUY: Uh, why do you ask?
ROBOT: Because of the humpy conga line of dogs trying to sniff her? I'm sure she's got a nice personality and all, but...

And as he related this tale, Robot got a sly smile and said, "Ryder could tell too."

I was in New York seeing the best band ever. So I missed a great opportunity to add to my deft handling of sensitive male issues. But then again, who could top this, this, and of course this?

You probably should have eaten me at birth.

A few weeks ago, my mom called to tell me that it has officially become too hard to buy me presents because I am too particular, thus we would be ending any present-giving holiday's present-giving part.

A few days ago, my mom e-mailed AND called to inform me that she bought Lola TEN daycare days PLUS two sleepover nights. Gleeful, she was.

So MY treats are now being passed to the one who CAN'T politely point out that she hates twinsets? If this is a glimpse of gramma-ness, you can just forget me having actual human babies, Lady. I'm far too greedy for this nonsense.

LOLA: Thanks Lady! West is an ingrate! Keep it comin'! Can I have a cookie?