He came to us with the name Bear Bear. Weighing a diminutive 9 ½ pounds, Mom didn’t think he needed 2 names, plus having a BB and a Bear Bear in the house was just dumb. So we shortened his name to simply: Bear.
He is adorable, smart, funny and housebroken, perfect in every way- just like me!
Bear was instantly nicknamed “Snuggle bunny”, which I thought was super corny and so did he. Fortunately it never really stuck; we mostly just call him Bear.
He did poop on the new carpet that first day (needless to say, Tommy was less than thrilled), but it was suggested he be forgiven as Mom explained to us: “give him a break-he is still in transition.” She must have been right, he never did it again.
Note to self: look up the word “transition.”
Bear and I hit it off immediately. It was like he always lived here. We play together (as much as I can play, that is- with my luxating patella* and all), we eat together and we sleep together. I wasn’t thrilled about the sleeping part – but one night he crawled into my bed after having a bad dream, and I didn’t want to be rude so I let him stay. You’re nothing if you don’t have manners.
We are like brothers. “ Ebony and Ivory”.
He is such a good boy that Mom puts the crate back in the basement-and we all hang out together like one big happy family.
We did have one small issue, when he tried to claim Mom’s lap. But Mom, sensing my displeasure, quietly removed the tiny intruder and gently deposited him onto a surprised (and less than thrilled) Tommy’s lap. Bear snuggled in and tragedy was adverted!
After that, Tommy just fell in love with the kid (I call him kid because he is 5 years my junior). He softly strokes his head, kissing him all over and (in a baby voice believe it or not) whispers, “ Who’s my little Bear Bear?” into his neck- it’s endearing yet disturbing at the same time.
I personally think Bear is responsible for sealing the deal with Tom when it comes to Mom’s future involvement in fostering.
Friends start dropping in to see the “new foster” and everyone agrees he is cute as a button.
If buttons were furry little maniacs, that is.
Houston, we have a problem.
I’m serious; the kid has a serious problem! Mom calls it: leash aggression. I call it: being a first class asshole. Either way, it’s not good!!
This, my friends, is what “going for a walk” should entail:
1. Mom grabs the leash.
2. I wiggle about and wag my tail with enthusiasm (she loves that)
3. We proceed to walk down the street, greeting the neighbors with friendly hellos (her) and sniffing butts (me).
4. We wander down to the trail, smelling every blade of grass, and leave little urine messages for the next dog that might pass by.
One might read: “BB was here”.
Another: This is MY fire hydrant”
It’s our favorite time of the day, and a great time is usually had by all.
This is what going for a walk with Bear is like:
1. Mom grabs the leash
2. We wiggle about wagging our tails with enthusiasm (it’s even cuter in stereo)
3. We tumble outside to walk down the street where Bear proceeds to LOSE HIS FRIGGIN MIND. He barks, growls and snarls all the while pulling at the leash like he wants to rip someone’s throat out.
I scream at him: “Hey kid, cool it!- that guy walking by with his golden retriever is a friend of Moms,” my reprimand doesn’t phase him. People start crossing to the other side of the street when they see us coming. Mom and I are completely embarrassed.
Going for walk is no longer our favorite time of the day. We’ve started to dread it. Mom asks Tommy to get her a water pistol so she can “correct” Bear’s behavior. I’m not sure if he thought it was funny, but he came home with a life sized water “machine gun” and the sight of poor old Mom packing heat in our quiet little neighborhood frightened the small children- so that didn’t last.
Then the strangest thing happened. One day the force that was driving Bear to act this way grew so big it took on a life of it’s own, this new life form (let’s call it….I don’t know…. Satan?) began to hover over my entire body and slowly take possession. Next thing I know I’m right beside him barking, growling, snarling and pulling on the leash. I couldn’t control myself…and it was GREAT.
A very shocked and confused Mom tries to drag us both home.
“ Hey you, Blondie, you want a piece of me!?” I scream to the golden retriever across the street.
“You tell him BB!” Bear is right beside me egging me on- I can tell the kid has my back.
“ BB, what wrong with you, its me, Chip, from down the street. We sniffed butts and decided to be friends, like, 3 years ago, remember?” the golden is clearly insulted.
“Bite Me!” I scream with a new found joy.
It gets so bad; Mom makes us do our business in the back yard now.
*Luxating patella (or trick knee) is a condition in which the patella, or kneecap, dislocates or moves out of its normal location. In some dogs the ridges forming the patellar groove are not prominent, and a too-shallow groove is created. In a dog with shallow grooves, the patella will luxate (jump out of the groove) sideways, especially toward the inside. This causes the leg to ‘lock up’ with the foot held off the ground. Smaller breeds of dogs, especially Miniature and Toy Poodles, have the highest incidence of patella luxation. Genetics can play a role.