SHILOH’S EXCELLENT ADVENTURE VIII ~ Breaking Dad
The stare, refined over three and a half years
Over our three and a half years together, Dad and I have built a special bond. I look at him with my “poor me eyes”, and he gives in. No matter what my goal is—food, a walk, play, or waking up dad—I’m always successful. He’s putty in my paws.
A clear sign of how smitten he is with me is the number of photos he's taken of me. For crying out loud, he even brings his camera to bed to snap pictures of us cuddling at five in the morning. I feel so violated.
I stole his iPad and searched for the word “dog” in his photos folder – I found 6,500 images of dogs, and at least 6,200 of them are of me. As you know, I love numbers and statistics.
We usually take about three walks a day. Even if we reduce that number by 20 percent to respect the army of people my mom has hired to walk me when they are away for five hours, or even worse, for days. One time, they were away three weeks when they are in a faraway place called Egypt without taking me, I will not forget this faux pas anytime soon. Even though I got to spend time with my bestie, my cousin, Maizey.
You need to know our routine to fully appreciate the complete and utter dominance I have over this person. Remember, he was a three-and-a-half-year reclamation project. I am stealing mom’s description of dad: “he’s a 72-year-old work in progress.” As an extra bonus, I got him to stop going to work and am now watching him do something different, it’s called retirement. I thought this would be a time for us to go on hours-long walks, visit my list of friends, or play fetch. Not with this guy, though—he's a tough nut to crack. So, he went from being gainfully employed with clients, a good income, and a title to doing everything for free, supposedly because he's passionate about it. Who knew?
Every night, around four AM, give or take a minute, my internal clock signals me to begin a new, wonderful day. I shift from the floor to the new king-sized bed that mom insisted they get when she realized the queen-size wasn't big enough for them to snuggle with me. At four, I just need body contact and cuddle lengthwise—between them. This ensures they move from deep sleep to lighter rest so I can proceed to the next step.
At 5:00 AM, I do the pillow head wrap; if by five thirty, Dad is not awake, I resort to resting my head on his. My favourite escalation method is a three-step process: first, rest my head on dad’s; then, neck to neck; and finally, wrap my legs around his head. If none of that works, I know he needs more prodding, so I start sighing. My ultimate manoeuvre is licking his neck, which wakes him up instantly. What kind of loving father is the one who does not like a lick on the face? I am still working on that.
As I have gotten older, I have occasionally let Mom and Dad sleep in; luckily for me, those are usually the days they need to get up early for something, like a gym workout.
Dad does not go straight from a sound sleep to doing my routine; he keeps insisting on doing his trivial things before tackling my issues. Is he ever slow? His delay tactics are legendary. Of course, I harrumph and collapse onto the floor to make the loudest landing noise possible. Just to make sure he got the message, I then give him the Shiloh stare.
Stage two, onto Dad’s head I go. The first step was to sleep on the pillow around his head
Stage three neck to neck. Stage four is licking his face. PLease note - we are both pretending we’re asleep.
This stare is so powerful that it ranks second on his list of warning signs for him to act immediately. The highest call to action is the look Mom gives him when he does something wrong. No words, just a stare that says he must do something heroic to salvage the moment. I do not know how he manages to stay in trouble so often.
Once Dad wakes up and finishes whatever is on his agenda, we go downstairs to the kitchen level. The very first task upon reaching that level is feeding me. By the time he walks down the thirteen steps, I will have made my way past him on the stairs.
My mission is to reach the middle of the kitchen and lie down to make the 'I am starving' look more convincing. I lie as flat as I can, cross my paws, and rest my head on them. The lower I get, the better, because when I look up—way up—the “I am starving and have been waiting forever” stare has much more impact. His first task – feed me.
I won’t even give him time to make his coffee before I need to head out for my constitutional walk. Dad affectionately calls it his “morning poop and scoop mission,” as well as the dinner one and the end-of-day one. Those three are his chance to exercise, get some fresh air, have time to think, and solve world problems.
Since this has become my forever home, I calculate that we’ve been together 1,277 days. Multiply this by an average of three walks a day, and that’s 3,832 walks. Dad will slow me down and insist on taking his camera, phone, selfie stick, gimbal, underwater camera, or whatever toy he is trying out. Generally, all these toys are photography related.
He is becoming annoying. As of today, he has been “Retired” for 89 days. I know a bit about retirement: that’s when people stop working, put their feet up, and take care of their adorable pets. Doing whatever the pet needs should be their highest priority.
Well, Dad clearly didn’t read the retirement manual and doesn’t know anything about the process or transitioning from one phase to another. He’s busier now than when he was working. He’s writing and interviewing people for two books at the same time. He’s also busy photographing anything that interests him. The other day, we had a mermaid at the house. I saw him editing pictures of guys on horses fighting other guys on horses.
At Algonquin Park, by training dad on Pavlov’s theory - - every time I s sit he gives me a treat. He thinks he is the one training me.
Additionally, I heard that he and Mom announced a yearlong celebration for their 50th wedding anniversary. This year is packed with exciting events for them, and it seems that some moments are spent together while others are apart. I find it ironic that they are celebrating their 50th anniversary together by spending time apart. One of them is going on five quilting retreats this year (guess who). Dad is heading to Scotland to visit my friend Ed Farquharson on a photography trip. What worries me is that not all these trips include me.
Unfortunately, he has also started shooting video – I would be going for a walk, trying to take in all the amazing scents the world has to offer, and suddenly, I see this selfie stick with an action camera mounted on the end, almost six inches from my nose. What a pain in the butt! I would be surprised if he doesn’t have pictures of that end too. You should ask him about his rear-end portfolio.
It is all about the perspective:
I’ve managed to shift his perspective to make everything seem centered on him. I’m confiding in you, dear reader; please don’t share this with him. Reframing the process and encouraging him to think differently have significantly altered his outlook on life. He hated picking up poop, even in the summer, when walks provided lots of time to put things in perspective and had been an exceptional way to start his days. If he hated them in the summer, he detested them in the winter when it was cold. I got him to put things in perspective. By reframing his mindset, I got him to think that this was an excellent way to handle all the things he didn’t like by saying to himself, “After picking up dog poop first thing in the morning, I can deal with anything; nothing is worse than picking up dog poop, bring it on!”
I've devised a series of familiar lessons, just repackaged from the negative to much bigger positive.
The second reframing really centres around me and my comfort. Again, I find it more beneficial to make it a treat for him. My favourite thing is to wait until he gets his coffee and sits in his aptly named La-Z-Boy chair. Once he's seated, the southern window allows the sun’s rays to soak into our bodies, and we both love the warmth radiating through us. Sometimes, we both fall asleep. He becomes so mellow that at times, he will delay getting out of the chair to get some more cuddle time. I overheard him tell Mom that the only thing better than that was when his children slept on his chest. I don’t see how these big humans could fit comfortably on him.
Over time, we have collectively come up with the other great things I do for Dad and Mom
How to calm right down and soak in the sun.
Take me with you, Dad, I am all packed up.
Keep a Routine and Stay on Schedule
Dogs have an internal clock and can tell you that you are due to serve them dinner. If dinner is at 5:00 PM, I start the stare-down that says, “It's dinner time, what are you thinking?”
Nothing prevents you from lobbying for dinner at 4:00 or 4:45. Even occasionally, you can give them the look that says, "Did you forget about me?" I have even played one off against the other—after Dad feeds me, I go to Mom and grovel for dinner.
Love Unconditionally
Greet your family and friends as if there is no one else you would rather be with. This is really challenging on our walks, as I have developed quite a few friendships. I have developed this incredibly powerful little dance and whirling tail.
Other observations around having a canine life mate
We're going for a Walk, not a March! Stop and smell the Roses, the bushes, the trees, the hydrants, the fence posts, and other dogs and benches.
Play hard, but rest and sleep just as hard as you play.
You can just look at their eyes to connect when you speak to someone.
Be fiercely protective of those you love.
Wherever you go, leave your mark (well, I had to have some fun)
Above all, live your life with joie de vivre and have fun!
