Life With Max Update: The Dog Bed Part 2

Late last year I babysat my friend's dog Max for three weeks. You can read about his adventures at my house here.

A couple weeks ago I posted this photo of Max, a medium-sized dog we believe is a boxer/pitt pull mix, trying to fit in his little sister's comically undersized bed. 

Rosie, by the way, is a tiny dachshund. This bed is the perfect size for her. Not so much for Max, who insists on trying to squeeze into it anyway.

Here are a couple of other shots of Max insisting on sleeping in this tiny bed. It's hard to get any sense of scale from these photos, but for reference, Rosie's bed is probably about fifteen inches across. Maybe the size of a large pizza.

I don't know what's up with Max's face here. His wide-eyed expression makes it look like he's thinking, "I've made a huge mistake."

Here's a final shot of Max not fitting in the bed. He's pretty good at the sad eye thing.

Before anyone calls PETA on my friend, no one's forcing Max to sleep in a bed that's five sizes too small for him. He has a comfortable and spacious bed of his own downstairs. I guess he doesn't realize just how big he is, and thinks he can fit into Rosie's bed.

Dogs!

Life With Max Update: The Dog Bed

Late last year I babysat my friend's dog Max for three weeks. You can read about his adventures at my house here.

Max is back at his own house now. Here's a shot of him sitting in his little sister Rosie's tiny bed.

There's not much around him for scale in that photo, so you really can't tell just how big he is. Rosie's bed is probably fifteen inches or so across. About the size of a medium pizza. Max is probably two and a half feet long. Somehow he squeezed and contorted himself until he fit into that bed.

I guess cats aren't the only ones who think, "If I fits, I sits."

For the record, here's Max's sister Rosie. Yes, that's a dachshund wearing pajamas. She's not the least bit spoiled.

And here's Rosie draping herself across Max. Fortunately they get along pretty well.

Life With Max: So Long And Thanks For All The Fleas!

As you no doubt know by now, I recently babysat my friend's dog Max for three weeks (you can read all about it in the first entry here).

Sadly, Max's time with me is over. His parents came to pick him up a few days ago. 

Needless to say, Max was happy to see them. Did I say happy? Maybe ecstatic is a better word. He practically leaped into their arms and knocked them down trying to lick their faces. They brought his little dachshund sister Rosie with them, and he was happy to see her too.

I often speculated on what Max thought about being at my house. Did he wonder what happened to his parents and little sister? Did he think he'd done something wrong, and had been banished to my house? Did he think about them at all?

Who knows? He didn't seem too awfully upset about it. He didn't visibly pine for them, and seemed like he had a good time at my house. In fact he fell into my routine very quickly. Maybe it helped that I took him for nightly walks and gave him plenty of attention.

He seemed to readily accept me as his new human caretaker too. Whenever I'd sit on the floor, he'd come over, lay down next to me and put his foot on my leg. I guess he didn't want me to get away, like his previous humans. Awwwwww!

One thing I won't miss about watching Max— taking him out to poop and pee. On paper it's not that big a deal— take him outside, he does his business, we come back in. It was never that simple though. I'd take him out and he'd spend a good ten minutes finding the perfect spot to pee, because he was constantly distracted by falling leaves, the dogs next door, distant car horns and who knows what else. Getting him to poop was even worse. He'd wander around my back yard (on his leash, of course) for up to half an hour. Finally he'd sniff at the ground, start walking in tiny circles, work himself into "the position" and then— he'd abort the process. Jesus Christ, Max! You're taking a sh*t, not splitting atoms! Squat and get it over with already!

During the three weeks he was at my house, I bet I spent a combined total of at least twenty four hours standing in the backyard while he performed complicated equations designed to align his ass with true north so he could relieve himself. That is not an exaggeration.

Max was a surprisingly good boy the whole time he was at my house. He only got in trouble one time, when I found a handkerchief lying on the floor with a large hole chewed in the middle of it. I guess he just couldn't resist the siren call of my delicious snot rag, and dragged it out of the dirty clothes hamper so he could chew it up. Yechhh!

Despite that minor transgression, I enjoyed Max's time with me, and would gladly watch him again. I suppose I ought to think about getting a dog of my own one of these days.

Life With Max Update: Max Vs The Rawhide Bone

I'm currently babysitting my friend's dog Max for three weeks while he's out of town (you can read all about it in the first entry here). We're in the home stretch now, as his time with me is coming to an end.

So how's Life With Max working out? So far so good! He hasn't had any accidents yet or torn up anything valuable (knock wood), and he's been reasonably well behaved, considering his orderly little world's been turned upside down.

Max is a very active dog, and as such is easily bored. This can lead to trouble if he doesn't have something to constantly occupy him. It's impossible to keep an eye on him every second of the day, so you have to provide him with some kind of safe, non-destructive distraction.

That's where his rawhide bones come in, and thank Thor for them. Every second he's chewing on that bone is a second he's not tearing up the house. As long as I could hear him chomping on his bone, I knew he wasn't destroying any appliances, furniture or high-priced collectibles.

Max can go through an entire bone in a day if he's determined. My friend's wife sent six of them over with him, and by the beginning of Week 3 Max was on the last one. That sent me into a panic as I searched all over town trying to find the same brand, lest he run out. 

It was important to get the exact same kind too, because off-label bones cause him to have diarrhea, which is something I definitely wanted to avoid if possible. Dogs!

Max knows what his bones are called. If I'd say, "Go get your bone!" he'd disappear into the other room and return with it in his mouth. Pretty smart!

Watching him crush those bones with his sharp teeth and powerful jaws made me realize just how strong he is for his size. He could really mess up a person if he decided to turn on them. I couldn't help but think how odd it was that I chose to let a potentially deadly animal live in my house with me.

Fortunately Max is a very friendly and affectionate dog. I'm not sure you could even make him bite you. 

He loves kids too. On one of our nightly walks, I saw a group of kids, probably all around eight or nine years old, playing in front of their house. I knew if Max spotted them, I'd never be able to hold him back. 

Sure enough, he saw 'em and started after them. The kids saw him and were terrified, thinking he was trying to attack them. I don't blame them, as it really did look like he was trying to kill them. I assured them he wouldn't bite and was just wanted to see them. Finally one of the kids tentatively held out his hand and Max immediately started licking him and wagging his tail. The kids all then started petting him and cooing at him, pleasing Max no end.

In fact, Max was friendly and affectionate with everyone he encountered the entire three weeks I had him, except for one person— my next door neighbor. I could write fifty thousand words about these people, but suffice it to say they're idiots and I don't like them. 

I was sitting on the porch with Max enjoying our ridiculously warm November weather, when my neighbor stuck her head out her door to grab her mail. Max immediately started barking and growling, and it was all I could do to hold onto his leash. I've never seen him react like that to anyone. Good boy! Scare those idiots back into their house!

See? It's not just me. Even dogs know my neighbors are jerks!

Life With Max Update: Max Vs The Leash

I'm currently babysitting my friend's dog Max for three weeks while he's out of town (you can read all about it in the first entry here). We're in the home stretch now, as his time with me is coming to an end.

So how's Life With Max working out? So far so good! He hasn't had any accidents yet or torn up anything valuable (knock wood), and he's been reasonably well behaved, considering his orderly little world's been turned upside down.

When I first brought Max home, he was really wired and energetic, running back and forth through the house as his little dog mind struggled to figure out where the hell he was. I decided to take him for a walk to try and wear him out a bit. It worked— we walked to the end of my street and back, which is about a six block round trip. Once we got back he flopped down and rested, and was much calmer the rest of the night.

After about a week we started venturing farther, walking a little over a mile. I wasn't sure Max could make it that far, and figured I'd end up carrying him back. But he made it and still had energy to spare. 

I've been taking Max for his mile walk every night now, and he absolutely loves it. In fact he can't wait to go. As soon as we're done eating dinner, he starts getting all antsy and sticks his nose in my face and whines, letting me know he knows it's walkin' time. When I start putting my shoes on, he really goes crazy, as he no doubt thinks, "Hooray, the new human's putting the things on its feet! That means it's taking me walking!"

He heels fairly well when we're walking. I have to remember he's only two, so he's still learning. He does OK unless he sees a rabbit or a squirrel or a cat or another dog or a person or a deadly paper bag blowing down the sidewalk or a suspicious oil spot in the road or a leaf on the ground. Then you'd better brace your arm socket, because he will take you for a low altitude flight.

An active dog like Max really needs regular exercise. I have a feeling my friend probably doesn't walk him a mile every night like I do. He's going to kill me when he takes Max back home, and he starts jumping and whining every night at precisely 7pm, expecting to be taken for a walk. Insert evil laugh here.

Life With Max Update: Max Vs The Bathroom

I'm currently babysitting my friend's dog Max for three weeks while he's out of town (you can read all about it in the first entry here).

So how's Life With Max working out? So far so good! He hasn't had any accidents yet or torn up anything valuable (knock wood), and he's been reasonably well behaved, considering his orderly little world's been turned upside down and he has no idea what's happened or where he is.

So far Max refuses to let me out of his sight. Any time I leave the room, he trots along right beside me, watching my every step. My theory is since his owner and everyone he knows suddenly disappeared from his life, he's going to make sure I don't unexpectedly vanish as well.

This attention includes the bathroom too. So far, every time I need to... um... sit in there for a while, this is what I see. A little visitor who's intently interested in what I'm doing in there. He won't come all the way in though— he just stands in the doorway and stares at me the whole time I'm going about my business. 

I can't close the door, because then he starts whining and scratching at it. So... I now have an audience watching me perform in the bathroom. Ta-DAAAA!!!!

I guess it's only fair. When I take Max out to pee, I stand on the back deck and watch him do his business, so I guess he figures he's entitled to watch me do mine. 

Life With Max Update: Max Vs Hugo, Man Of A Thousand Faces

I'm currently babysitting my friend's dog Max for three weeks while he's out of town (you can read all about it in the first entry here).

So how's Life With Max working out? So far so good! He hasn't had any accidents yet or torn up anything valuable (knock wood), and he's been reasonably well behaved, considering his orderly little world's been turned upside down and he has no idea what's happened or where he is.

Last night I was typing away at the computer and noticed Max kept staring intently at something behind me. He was so mesmerized by whatever was back there that I couldn't even break the spell by shouting his name. He started acting all wary and stiffy-legged, like he'd spotted a potential threat.

The only thing behind me was a bookcase full of books. What the heck would a dog find so interesting in that?

Ah, but on closer inspection I noticed this next to the bookcase. The stealthy figure of Hugo was hiding behind me, his little half body pressed flat against the case.

Yes, it's Hugo, Man Of A Thousand Faces! Hugo was a doll sold by the Kenner Toy Company back in 1975, and came with a variety of disguises, such as wigs, glasses, facial hair and scars. Kids could have minutes of fun altering Hugo's creepy, nondescript face with the various disguises.

By the way, that kid on the box deserves a good smack. Look at the smug look on that little bastard's face!

Apparently Max saw Hugo hiding next to the bookcase behind me and thought he was a real person!

So I did what anyone would do. I took Hugo down off the shelf and sat him on the floor to see what Max would do. He didn't disappoint.

Here's Max warily investigating the terrifying menace of a plastic doll.

I made a high pitched little squeal, and of course Max thought it came from Hugo, and reacted accordingly.

I think this is my favorite photo fo the encounter. Max is comically jerking backward in utter horror here, startled by the shocking actions of the completely immobile doll.

After the initial shock wears off, Max becomes curious.

He warily begins slinking into the room…

Occasionally shocked and startled by absolutely nothing…

And finally this is as close as he was willing to get to the scary intruder.

I'm happy to report that Hugo survived the encounter unscathed, and is back home up on the shelf. Max is still wary though, and continues to stare at him. Thank you, Max, for protecting me from the scary doll!

Life With Max Update: Max VS The Dentist

I'm currently babysitting my friend's dog Max for three weeks (you can read all about it in the first entry here). Here's a photo of Max sitting patiently with his hands folded, as if he has something important to tell me.

So how's Life With Max working out? So far so good! He hasn't had any accidents yet or torn up anything valuable (knock wood), and he's been very well behaved. 

There was a slight problem the first few days he was here, as Max makes a damned good alarm clock. For some reason he'd come into my bedroom at ever earlier hours each morning and lay his head on my bed and stare patiently at me until I woke up. First it was 6:30 AM, then the next few days it was 4AM! I have no idea why he did this, or what he wanted. He didn't have to go outside, and he had plenty of food and water. I don't know what was so special about the hour, but he'd do it every morning at precisely 4 AM. Maybe there was some sound in the house that occurred at that time each day and woke him. Or maybe he was bored, or decided he'd slept enough, I dunno. 

I do know that I hadn't slept enough at that hour, so I'd tell him to knock it off and go back to bed. Happily he seems to have stopped his nocturnal romps.

I mentioned before that Max's genetic makeup is somewhat vague and in question. As near as we can tell he's a boxer mixed with… something else. As a result, Max has a few… well, let's call them quirks.

One of those oddities is his fang. It doesn't happen all the time, but occasionally when he shuts his mouth, this weird snaggletooth gets hung up on his rubbery upper lip gasket and protrudes from his jaw. Much like a cartoon bulldog! Hey, maybe that's what his mystery half is— bulldog!

It's actually kind of cool, like he's trying to look like a tough guy. A tough guy who's afraid of plastic skeletons and barks at scary leafs. Maybe he's making his tough guy face to try and scare away the ghosts inhabiting my house?

Life With Max Update: Max VS The Screensaver

I'm currently babysitting my friend's dog Max for three weeks (read all about it here). 

Tonight I was watching a DVD, and Max was dozing on the floor beside the couch. When the movie was over I left the DVD player on, and after a few minutes the screensaver started up. It's a little floating blue cube that bounces back and forth across the TV screen.

Max immediately leapt up and stood in front of the screen, following the cube's every movement. Apparently it was the most fascinating thing he's ever seen.

I turned the player off a second after I snapped this photo, because he looked like he was just about ready to lunge at the screen and try to catch the cube.

Dogs!

Life With Max

Welp, looks like I have a house guest here at Bob Canada's BlogWorld Headquaters. This knucklehead will be staying with me for the next three weeks. A friend of mine is going out of town for a while, so I agreed to babysit his dog Max while he's away.

I used to watch his dachshund Lucy for him now and then (before she sadly passed on), but she was an older dog who was very calm and no trouble whatsoever.

Max is a different story. He was an absolute nightmare the first year or so of his life. He was completely out of control, and every time I'd go to my friend's house I'd spend the entire time trying to fend off Max, who was constantly biting and scratching.

Then my friend got a second dog— coincidentally another dachshund— and Max immediately calmed down and became much more well-behaved. Maybe it was his new "little sister's" influence. Or maybe when he saw my friend bring home a new dog, he realized he could easily be replaced and decided he'd better shape up.

Whatever the reason, Max is finally tolerable, and I actually like being around him now.

Max is a shelter dog, and the workers there told my friend that he's "part Boston Terrier, part Shih Tzu." He most certainly is not! He doesn't look the least bit like either of those breeds, and is twice as big as they are. Maybe three times. I don't think a child can be three times bigger than its parents. Unless maybe your name's Yao Ming (GASP! Did you hear? Bob just compared Yao Ming to a dog!)

It's a well known fact that shelter workers lie about their dogs' parentage all the time. They do this because they know if dog has even a single drop of pit bull blood in it, the majority of the public won't want anything to do with it, and the poor mutt will spend the rest of its life in the shelter. 

As near as we can tell, Max is a boxer mixed with... something else. Most likely pit bull, but who knows?

Even though Max has improved quite a bit, I was hesitant to babysit him when my friend asked. Three weeks is a lonnnnnnng time. A long time. I suggested that before I made such a lengthy commitment, that I do a "trial run" with Max and watch him for just a weekend. So that's what I did. A few weeks before my friend's trip, I brought Max to my house for a couple of days. He did pretty well! He didn't knock over the TV or soil the carpet, so I agreed to watch him during the big trip.

So that's what's going on right now. I picked up Max on Friday evening (right after I voted early) and he's been staying in my house since. So far so good. 

I discovered that Max makes an excellent alarm clock. Saturday morning I woke up around 6:30 AM and saw him sitting patiently next to my bed, staring at me. I figured he needed to go out, so I dragged myself out of my nice warm bed and took him outside. There I was, standing bleary-eyed on the back deck at 6:30 in the morning, watching a dog take twenty minutes to find just the right spot to pee.

When he was finally done I flopped into bed and tried to go back to sleep for another few hours. Max had different ideas though. He farted in my bedroom, and the stench was so horrifying and persistent that I finally threw in the towel and just got up. At 6:45 on my day off. Touche, Max.

One thing Max has brought to my attention: apparently there must be a ton of ghosts in my house. He spent the entire first day standing in the doorways of various rooms, staring intently into them. He'd stand there for hours, his head snapping back and forth like he was watching something moving or listening to a conversation. It was a little unnerving.

Here he is guarding me from the ghosts in the kitchen. Note how alert he looks, as if he's really watching something out there. The kitchen's completely empty! There's no one in there! At least no one I can see!

I don't really believe Max is seeing ghosts in my house of course. There are 4, count 'em four noisy clocks in my kitchen, and I suspect he's hearing them ticking and trying to figure out what all the noise is. 

On the other hand, I know for absolute fact that someone has died inside the houses on either side of mine. It's entirely possible that someone died in this house as well, and I just don't know about it. Maybe Max can see 'em and I can't. If he starts suddenly performing tricks, as if being directed by an unseen trainer, then I'm getting outta here!