OK, I will be the first to admit that I am totally, head over heels in love with my sweet little dog. I have always been the kind of pet owner that makes their companion animals family. He isn't just Riley, a dog. He is Riley Rogers, a full fledged family member; Daddys little man, Mommy's baby boy...that sort of thing.
A short time ago, one of my daughters asked me one of those what if questions. What would I do if I had to choose between killing her or killing Riley. Silly, right? But she wanted an answer. I didn't have to give it much thought, and my answer wasn't what she was expecting. I told her I would choose to kill myself, because killing either one of them was not an option.
Anyway, on to the latest drama. A few weeks ago, daughter #3 moved home for the summer, bringing along her kitty, Charlotte.
In my younger days, I was a cat lover. I had my Siamese, Tammy, for 16 1/2 years, from elementary school into young adulthood. She was my baby. Since I have grown older, I have morphed into more of a cat liker. Don't get me wrong though, I have two grandcats, and I love them. I just only like love them. But that is, I think, partly because they are not the kind of kitties that give me the warm fuzzies, unless it is their fur on my clothes. They don't purr-purr all over me and want to be held. They snarl and hiss when I look at them and make me feel the need to wear a protective covering over any vulnerable body areas that might be exposed.
Since taking up residence in the downstairs area, Charlotte has not ingratiated herself into Riley's once happy home. In fact, they have had a couple of close encounters of the not-so-good kind, involving lots of barking, hissing, yelping and mayhem. The end result, Charlotte could basically give a s#*t, because she's a cat. That's just how they are. Riley, on the other hand, has been left a quivering mass of scared to death pooch.
Seriously. He was a shy pup, scared of a lot of things before. Now he is afraid of his own shadow, jumps at the least little movement, fearing a sneak attack of the nasty feline variety and has had to start on puppy Prozac to deal with anxiety issues. How do I know he has anxiety you might ask? Well, he started trying to self-comfort by licking. He settled on the front of his little right paw, and licked it until he nearly had it raw. I started covering it, spoke with the vet, got his prescription and started his meds, all in the hopes of keeping him from hurting himself any more. And that require constant supervision. Because even though his leg is wrapped, he'll sneak around a corner and start in on it, or now he has moved up his leg a bit looking for new blood!!
Even though my girls have grown up, worrying about them never stops. They are all three pretty well self-sufficient and capable of handling what comes their way. Being empty-nesters last fall, the biggest share of my momma coddling started going to Riley. He is my baby, my little boy, my puppy love. His shy demeanor only added to his sweet little personality. Now that he is scared to turn around, it breaks my heart. I am just hoping that I can get him through until later in August, when Kitty-zilla downstairs will move with her Kitty-mamma to a new home, far, far away from Riley's House of Horrors!
I have stocked up on puppy leg wrappings, wound care medications and peanut butter to hide the Prozac capsules in. I'm doing my best to keep Riley's worst nightmare away from him. I just hope and pray that once his nemesis, Charlotte the Attack Cat, is gone, he'll return to the happy-go-lucky puppy we had before. Because by then, I think I am going to need some sort of self-soothing technique like drinking, or my own prescription for happy pills!
Mary
