Life in "The Gulag"

We have begun to affectionately term our existence "The Gulag". A prison or detention camp. Not to mock anything or disrespect anyone, we just have this dog whose inability to be left alone forces us to bring him everywhere. Which I thought would be fun. Initially. It's actually sort of crippling. Try going out to eat and to a movie...when you have a dog in the car. It seems sort of cruel to me, so we haven't done it. Which I miss. Now I know what you're thinking: "How dare you complain! You're with your husband, you complained about that before, what is wrong with you??!?!? Why can't you just be satisfied?" And I would agree with you, that yes, maybe I am complaining a little when I should just let it be.

I also know that you're probably thinking my dog is crazy. I mean, what kind of a dog refuses to be crated but would then scratch the varnish off of a hotel door? (The door is coming along, by the way.) What kinds of poor fools would resort to taking this ridiculous dog everywhere they go in order to be together? Guilty as charged.

We actually made a second attempt at leaving him alone on Saturday night. We wanted to go out to eat, so knew it wouldn't be more than 2 hours. We had taken him to the dog park just prior to leaving, so knew he would be tired. I was really pushing to leave the dog at home, because I know that sooner or later, we're going to have to figure something out, otherwise we'll go crazy. When we got home, everything was as we left it. It was a small victory in The Gulag.

My dog is not as bad as I'm making him sound, honest, but I do believe he has separation anxiety. I assure you, the rest of the day he's a peach. He's sleeping on the couch next to me right now as I'm typing these awful, somewhat true things about him. Problems arise when he's left alone. I've got a vet appointment next week and so I'm going to inquire about medicine we can give him to calm him when we're gone.

Mike has wanted to medicate him for a while, but I have resisted, thinking that to medicate my dog (child) makes me a poor dog owner. I feel that I have failed in some way because of his behavior. I am slowly coming to terms with the fact that we haven't had Crockett his whole life, therefore we do not know anything about the people who owned him when he was a pup. We don't know if he was abused, or forced into a crate, and that's what makes him hate it. We don't know if these people left him for long hours alone and he doesn't like it.

Spring is upon us in New Mexico. It's beginning to get warmer, and it's just the type of weather that makes you want to get out and enjoy life. I'm all about hiking with the dog and eating at restaurants outside where Crockett is included too. I just want the choice to have "family time" or "date time." Hopefully we can come to some sort of solution that is workable for both man and beast. But for now, life in The Gulag under Master Crockett will continue.