Hank-scapades



Let me preface this by stating that my dog Hank is the joy of my life.  Every day of my life.  Except the other morning.  I'll revisit this later.  I think you need some "background Hank" information first.

I adopted Hank from the Tomball Animal Shelter in December just after I moved to Houston, 1 year ago.  I deemed his birthday December 2nd, my December child.  He is approaching 4.  When I went to adopt this little dog, I was specifically looking for a small scruffy dog with a mustache, terrier type, truly wanted a Scottie, and he needed to be a funny little dog.  I needed some humor in my life.  I wanted a male because males bond better.  When I arrived at the shelter I was immediately escorted back to the kennels and told I was not allowed to take home any other dog except for Hank.  Red Flag?  I don't know.  And as I observed all of the other dogs' kennels, they all looked so neat, tidy, and orderly.  And then there was Hank's kennel.  I wasn't sure there was even a dog in there.  All I could see was that the newspapers had been shredded, food was spilled all over the kennel, bedding had been destroyed, and the water dish was empty.  "This is Hank.  He's our favorite." Huh.  He seemed to possibly be quite a handful.  But as we went to watch Hank play outside, it took me all of 5 minutes to decide he was "the one".  My "Blink" moment.  He chased a ball, took a poo and grunted (like an old man, and I find that hilarious), scruffed the ground when he was finished, madly chased his tail in a circle, and looked up at me like, "Will you be my mommy?"  Acutally, that's my humanization, it was probably more like..."Did you want to pre-board the Titanic?"  I told the lady I just needed to pop out to my car and grab my stethoscope to double check that he didn't have a whopping heart murmur, and as long as he "checked out", I was sold.  The only "physical" abnormality I found was his carpal valgus.  Not a deal breaker.

So I left with Hank to drive home, immediately he assumed his what would be "normal" car-ride behavior (in my lap, 4 paws on the left thigh, head out the window), and we headed home.  It dawned on me that I just got a dog and probably should swing by PetSmart to get some dog food, a dog bed, and most likely indulge in a cute "doggy outfit" or sweater or two and some fancy dog bowls.  First experience with my new dog in a public place...not quite what I'd imagined.  I decided I probably should save the money on the fancy dog bowls for a more appropriate use of the funds focused on "behavior training 101".  Hank is mouthy, bossy, excessively energetic and pernicious, but always entertaining.  He gives me my space.  That little dog has me wrapped around his little paw.  I wanted a dog that would be affectionate but independent.  He's got independence in the bag.  We're working on affectionate.  I never desired a dog that would sleep on my pillow.  I have asthma and allergies.  And it's Houston.  Hank sleeps at the foot of my bed on my bed which is just perfect.  Typically by the morning though he's inched his way, half-way up the bed, back against my thigh, rear first, feigning affection.  Yes, I had to get a "nature sound machine" to turn on at night or else "Mouthy" would bark at EVERY little apartment noise, movement, and creak depriving anyone in immediate vicinity of any sort of sleep.  But we figured each other's personalities out.  And he is DEFINITELY entertaining to the "nth" degree.  Unless it's 4am. 

Entertaining until you suddenly get aroused from your perfect dream to the sound of gagging/heaving.  You abruptly "come-to", incoherently spring for the end of the bed to launch the dog off your silk comforter, slide your hand into a previous pile of wet vomit, but fortunately do prevent the second pile from ruining the comforter further.  Half-win.  4am.  Suboptimal.  All it did was force my normal Saturday morning long run to begin a little sooner, and a little angrier.  Maybe it was the bowl from the remnants of my taco salad the night before that I let him lick that precipitated his gastroenteritis.  Yes, I am a veterinarian.  And I am still a normal dog-owner who feels guilty when Hank's dark eyes stare up at me while I'm selfishly enjoying my dinner, slowly.  He scarfs his dinner down in 3 minutes, typical record time.  Sometimes I can't even remember if I have fed him or not.  So I compromise with a few nibbles.  How much harm can a few licks of fire-roasted salsa do?  Apparently a lot.  The good news is that I can come by antibiotics and antiemetics rather expeditiously.  Blunder solved.  Having my Anthropologie silk comforter dry-cleaned: irksome.  My own pet-owner behavior: abhorrent.  Having Hank in my life:  Utopian (at least for me).