New Digs and a Fear Conquered

Three months? Has it really been three months? Boy, is my hair red ;)

But rather than brainstorming a list of excuses as to why you haven't had your Shadow fix since spring, why don't I just get to divvying some out?

The Shadow-meister took quite a big step this month, crossing state lines with the rest of his family and moving into a brand new home that (once fenced) will provide him with the outdoor space he's always deserved.

In typical kid fashion, the moving days were filled with sulking eyes and pulled back ears... but they didn't endure. Not only is Shadow now at peace with his new digs, he's got a new favorite spot... far away from where his "parents" are the majority of the time. (All he needs are some punk rock CDs and opposable thumbs so he can lock the door, we'll have a typical pre-teenager on our hands.)

Scaling these stairs was a tall order when Shadow first arrived.

But it wasn't all fun and new discoveries. Hands down, the hardest part of the transition was something I never expected would be even a blip on the radar: Stairs.

Our old house had them, and Shadow was fine. He's always been iffy at our in-laws, but those are open stairs. These new guys are completely enclosed. But did this make Shadow feel better? In the words I think he'd say if he could speak human, "Not a chance in hell, man."

We tried everything - physically helping him up one paw at a time, bribing him with toys and treats (even peanut butter!), giving him a running start, putting his food bowl at the top of the stairs - but nothing worked. For weeks, when bedtime rolled around, Shadow would tense up like a brick of ice with his back legs on the first floor and his front paws on the steps, and proceed to bark and whine until my husband ultimately carried him up like a toddler.

We read tons of forum posts and articles about this fear - not extremely rare in dogs. Some writers advised leaving him alone, suggesting he'd eventually just get lonely and come up. Others said to keep helping him past the fear. (The knee-jerk "just give him treats!" theory was dead in the water.)

When we finally decided to give the first theory a try, Shadow spent the entire night curled up at the base of the stairs while his bed waited a short climb away. That morning, I assumed he'd never conquer his fear. Still, we continued to help him - one paw at a time - once or twice a day.

THEN one fateful day while I was unpacking on the second floor, a furry grey figure came strolling in beside me as if he hadn't a care in the world. Used to having Shadow be my constant shadow in our old house, I didn't even realize what he'd done right away.

A couple weeks later, he races up and down the stairs like they're nothing but wrinkles in the floor.

Shadow discovers the view is sometimes worth the climb.

What's more... remember that new favorite spot I mentioned earlier? Second floor window. It's his lookout tower.

Back to the Vet

When you have to shout the date of your next appointment at the woman behind the counter as your suddenly 58-pound dog yanks you, flailing, out the front door of the vet's office... he may no longer be a puppy.

Shadow returned to the vet today after a nearly two-month hiatus. His first call of action was to attempt climbing a woman in the waiting area. Then he moved on to the secretary, all the while skating along the tile floor like a berserk spider wearing roller skates.

My favorite part of the checkup, however, was when Shadow embarked upon his first (to my knowledge) feline encounter. It was a quartet of newborn kittens, to be exact, and both species were captivated by each other.

One particularly gutsy black kitten engaged in a sort of staring contest with the six-month-old silver Lab until (I hate to admit it) Shadow let out a whine. (I apologize for the picture quality, but I was armed only with my iPhone, and dogs move super fast.)

Finally past the waiting area, Shadow was so strong and rambunctious that the attendant had to call in backup to get him on the scale. And when I say scale, I mean a steel trough with no sides that rises a good three feet off the ground with the flick of a switch.

But what else can I expect from a new-to-this-world puppy in the body of a 58-pound adolescent dog? He sleeps through the night, he doesn't launch into a barking frenzy the moment I walk in or out of the door, he can be left outside his crate while I'm not paying him any attention, he's about 90 percent housebroken, and he can actually walk tolerably on a lead.

The jumping on people is the biggest issue left, but just like all the others, it will one day be history. And one day I'll miss his rambunctious, I-want-to-play-with-

everything-and-sniff-everything-and-jump-on-everything crazy phase.

Video: Shadow Masters the Stairs

In the beginning of June, Shadow finally conquered his fear (the only one we've met so far) and made his way down the front stairs. Here is the long lost video detailing that treacherous journey. (Double-click to see it larger on YouTube)

First 'parenting' scare

Here's a scary moment for you, about which I was going to write in my journal... then realized that's pretty much what the blog is for...

I just took Shadow out for his post-breakfast walk, hoping to get in a decent distance because weather.com was predicting a storm at 10 a.m. It was a little before 9 when we stepped outside to a calm, mild morning with grey clouds. I figured we had some time.

But by the time we walked about 200 feet, those clouds had grown much darker and the wind had picked up. By the time we turned around and reached the side of the house, trees were swinging, the sky was charcoal grey, the rain had begun, and the noise that sounded like planes and lawn tools a minute earlier was undoubtedly thunder. It was clear a large storm was about to hit, and I had a metal key in my pocket and Shadow's leash, which was attached by a metal clip

We needed to get inside, asap. But Shadow had other plans, namely going absolutely mad on the leash, thrashing and jumping and pulling me this way and that. And while this is not an altogether rare occurrence, with thunder thrashing from all around us and trees as tall as buildings pitching in the wind, I was afraid he knew something I didn't... like a tornado was at the other end of the street and making its way over.

Then, amidst all the thrashing and me yelling over the wooshing leaves for him to come towards the front door, the unthinkable happened. He writhed his collar off and started sprinting. He was booking it through the yard, feet from the street. My heart stopped as the multitude of horrible things that could happen flashed through my mind in a fraction of a second. He's going to run away. He's going to be hit by a car. I'll never catch him. He'll be lost in the storm. 

The adrenaline was pumping as I raced after him. He sped toward me and away, thinking it was a game, as the clouds broke and the rain began to pour. By the time I ended up physically straddled on top of him in the front lawn, the storm was fully overhead and I wasn't sure how to get him, sans collar, to the front door. There was no way to hold onto him, and getting his collar on would require me loosening my grip and probably allow him to slip away again. My entire body was fluttering, the bones in my arms shaking.

So I did the only thing I could think of. I picked up the 45-pound thrashing little bugger, carried him across the lawn in a probably very uncomfortable position, straddled him again while I unlocked the door (any neighbor who might have been looking out a window at this time got quite a performance) and tossed him safely into the foyer.

I locked the door behind us and collapsed on the stair -- wanting to both hug and strangle him at the same time -- and let the weak, trembling feeling wash through me.

Judging from his bowed muzzle and melancholy disposition, he knows he did something wrong. If only I could know what's going on in that adorable but little head of his.