It all comes flooding back...

I believe the last time I actually had to deal (directly or indirectly) with a puppy in the house was when my dad brought home Rex, the German Shepherd he had wanted all his life. For a few days, Rex spent his nights in the linoleum-floored kitchen, and to hear his side of the story, they were miserable nights, indeed. The conventional wisdom at the time - to be frank, I haven't had the time to re-research it lately - was that a ticking clock wrapped inside a blanket with a hot water bottle would calm the recently separated puppy from its parent.

I currently own neither a hot water bottle, nor an alarm clock that ticks to any appreciable extent. The point is likely moot, however, as I don't seem to recall the advice was of any help in dealing with Rex's "separation anxiety" oh, so long ago.

Two nights ago, Shiloh slept pretty much through the night, with only a couple of whimpers, a situation that was perfectly tolerable from my perspective. Last night, Shiloh surprised me with both the volume and duration of noise she could generate.

If the combined clock-bottle-blanket tactic didn't work, the conventional wisdom - or at least the way my dad interpreted it - was that puppies needed a dose of "tough love," i.e., they needed to be left alone to work through this trying time.

Phooey!

Shiloh is probably having a tough enough time as it is right now, confined to a little pen I constructed yesterday in the tiled area of the kitchen, with only Lily for company. With that in mind, I eventually lifted the pooch out of his confinement (a crate positioned to allow access to a bathroom) and placed him at my feet on the bed, where she fell asleep almost immediately.

Apropos of Lily, yesterday, I was struck by the difference between the two animals. Lily is acutely aware of Shiloh, who I am virtually certain is barely aware of Lily's existence. The way Lily behaves, however, it's as if she thinks the dog is shamming, and that the pooch is really a bloodthirsty, vicious cur just waiting for Lily to drop her guard.

Back to work.

Cheers...

P.S. In other news, this morning, for the first time since the New Year, my weight dropped below 230 lb!

Roused by the dog...

Natalie called earlier in the day to say her flight plans had been changed - I'm not entire sure I understand how that could happen without her having to pay some kind of steep penalty, unless the airline is at fault, but I digress... So, she says, she's arriving about... well... now, as it turns out.

Fortunately, her old roommate was available to pick her up at IAH, so barring any delays or anything, they ought to be pulling in the driveway in no less than 30 minutes or so.

Yippee!

* * *The scales I use for myself are pretty accurate and display weight in increments of tenths of a pound. I found out this morning, when I went to weigh the dog, that they require some minimum weight on the unit to provide a reading (the dog didn't exceed the minimum). So, I used the oldest trick in the book: I weighed myself with the dog and without the dog, and subtracted.

Shiloh weighs 7.4 pounds.

Today's sim ended a little early, so I was able to get home a bit sooner than I expected. The dog had managed to get out of its pen (a good sign, in a way, but not my desired result) and had been wandering around the house. I put the dog back into the pen after shoring up the walls, ate some dinner (12 oz. of soup and 1.5 oz of cheese), and went to sleep, hoping to catch at least 2-1/2, and maybe even 5 hours of sleep.

I came awake to the sound of someone moving around in the bedroom. "Natalie," I thought to myself, with my eyes still closed and mind not entirely focused.

"Wait! She's not supposed to be here until later," was my next reaction. I sprang out of bed, to find Shiloh rummaging in the laundry basket.

As an architect, I'm a pretty good electrical engineer.

Time to freshen up and do some last-minute cleaning. I've just under two hours to when I have to leave for my next sim.

Cheers...