Tag Archives: Pets

The Truth about Yappy

Yappy is an adorable little terror, and a lot of that is my fault.

When I sought out the company of a new pet last winter, I searched for a maltipoo mix. The Furry One (RIP) was a shih tzu/maltese mix, and I wanted a similar mixed breed type to cuddle. I was expecting something like this.

Instead I ended up with what seems to be a yorkie-poo, whose great grandpa/ma might’ve, could’ve, should’ve, would’ve been a maltese…#maybe. #probablynot

Him cute though…but a tad scruffy and funny looking.

Don’t get me wrong I adore Yappy, who incidentally doesn’t yap much at all.

I’ve never had a terrier before, so I’m getting used to Yappy’s general temperament. Let’s see, he’s super smart, super affectionate, suffers from separation anxiety triggered by as little as me going to the bathroom, generally always happy, possessive, curious, stubborn, demanding and mischievous.

Oh and he hides stuff everywhere.

Hidden chewys in the couch cushions. smh

I have lost several pairs of shoes to his chewing. This weekend he ate the wrist band on my sports watch. Hope has lost nearly every hair tie that has fallen to the floor since Yappy has lived with us. Recently he got into a box of panty liners, and well, he shredded them to make his lair (under my bed) more comfortable.  Sigh.

I had him in training but the schedule during the week was kind of grueling, so I took the summer off. Yappy, despite full well knowing the commands and what’s expected of him, has reverted back to his pre-training wild ways. #feral

This weekend while being left alone for a spell at my parents’ house, Yappy managed to climb up on their kitchen table. #hangsheadinshame #Yappyhasnohometraining

Gotdern it! I should submit him to that dog shaming tumblr site. SMH!!!

Yappy is incorrigible.

He at least has the good sense to run under the bed when I screech, “Bad Dog!” Of course he pops out moments later with a happy-go-lucky bounce in his step and wagging tail. #sideeye

I wrote a couple of months ago that I seemingly had more patience with Yappy than with Hope, which is the source of much rivalry between the two. My patience is running out with both of these characters!  It’s one thing to have a surly teenager who has some post-trauma, psycho-social issues. It’s another thing to have that and a cute but unwieldly puppy running wild.

But gosh, when those little brown eyes look up at me…#weak.

My terrier is a terror.

Who am I kidding? My life is a bit of a terror!

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The Yappy One

It’s a bit overdue, but I’m pleased to introduce the latest character on AdoptiveBlackMom: The Yappy One.

 

The Yappy One

The Yappy One

The name is a bit of misnomer since he really doesn’t yap; he whines, whimpers and in cases of significant stress, may resort to this weird scream/screech kind of noise. Generally, he hardly makes a noise.

The Yappy One joined our family about three weeks ago as a 9 week old maltipoo weighing only 2.3lbs. He’s absurdly cute and he knows it. He’s since grown a bit; he’s probably close to 3lbs now. He’s expected to top out at about 6-7lbs.

After being traumatized by the “adoption” process associated with rescue organizations, I turned my search to shelters and craigslist.  Yappy is my little “Craiglist special..”  The family veterinarian was delighted to see Hope and I return with our new furry family member, and she gave him a clean bill of health.  He’s perfect!

Yappy is friendly and cuddly when he isn’t experiencing a rash of teething (dang those puppy teeth are like razors!). He’s rather cat-like in his ability to climb furniture. After nearly two weeks of trying unsuccessfully to barricade him in the kitchen with baby gates, boxes and plywood, I finally purchased a 45in doggy playpen (Thank you Amex points).  We’ve successfully crate trained him, and he’s close to being housebroken.

Yappy is my little cuddle bug. I needed a dog; I really did. He still wants to cuddle when Hope and I are barking at each other. He still brings me a toy after I squirt him from the water bottle for being naughty. He still wants to crawl into my lap after he’s intentionally peed on the floor and walked *through* it, thereby spreading piss all across my slacks or skirts. Joy…

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I need this kind of sleep in my life.

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Puppy playtime after-party!

And the bonus? I’m the alpha in the house, and he knows it and respects it. Love that!

The double bonus? He loves me more than he loves Hope. Petty, I know, but I don’t care. I love that he shows out for me. He loves her, but he loves me more. I need that in my life right now.

Yappy is a super addition to our little family. 🙂


Adoption…Pup Style

I am an animal lover. There have been few times in my life when I didn’t have an animal of some sort. I love them, madly. I love the unconditional affection that they give. I’m in desperate need for that kind of connection at the moment, so I recently started the process of looking for a new fur baby.

I’ve made a point to choose a pup from a shelter or rescue organization. I have narrowed down my search in terms of breed, size, personality, history of abuse, housebroken status, and location. I guess it’s like my own little matching tool.

And that’s when the parallel world of child and animal adoption began to collide, and well, make me feel all kinds of icky.

Sigh.

We found two pups that seemed to be good fits, but they were both adopted by others before we could make a real move.

I’m the hang up. Every time I read the requirements for adopting an animal from a local rescue organization I just have to close my web browser. The forms can be as long as 10 pages, ask for references, previous pet ownership and a bunch of other information. Most stunningly, they all expect to conduct at least one home visit.

Yeah, a home visit. 

You read that right.

Hope’s and my last home visit was about 5 months ago. We had a great, great, great social worker. She has been a dream, so supportive, encouraging and a great resource. That said, I was glad when she stopped visiting officially. Prepping for her visits was a bit stressful. Actually really stressful.

So, here I am again, looking at home visits…for a dog.

Can I just give you a copy of my home study? A letter from my social worker? How about my adoption decree? They let me have a kid and I can assure you they crawled right up the crack of my fanny to make sure I was good enough, so will you let me have a dog? Please?

I mean really. REALLY. This has me all in my feels.

sad

Oh and I asked one of the places about it. I did. The answer they gave me let me know that 1) This rescuer is kind hearted but a cuckoo, nutter full of foolishness and 2) they actually find Hope and future pup so equal that perhaps their adoption process wasn’t stringent enough.

Scratch that rescue group from the list. Whackadoos. Harrumph.

Do I really have to mimic a process that allowed me to have a daughter in order to get a pet? It feels really, really extra.

It’s extra for a couple of reasons I guess. First the adoption process, now looking back, was incredibly stressful. Laying your life bare, even when you have nothing to hide, is tough. It’s just hard to subject yourself to judgment and possible rejection. Actually, I am still emotionally drained from it; it’s like a happy ending to a really crazy drama. I didn’t realize how much I still needed to recover from the process until I initiated the “process” of looking for a new fur baby.

Second, the idea of mimicking the human adoption process in order to adopt an animal…Oy. I get it. I do on some weird level. But multiple home visits? That’s just so stunning and so very extra to me.

I need a dog. I will take care of a dog very well. But all of this is just very upsetting and just a little too reminiscent of the process I just completed to get a teenager.


The Furry One

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The House of Melancholy

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There is a sadness over Casa d’ABM this weekend. The Furry One is essentially near the end of life. His recent decline has been rapid and heartbreaking. I have had my beloved fur ball since he was 8 weeks old. He’s been my constant companion and unconditional love for a very long time. It is one of life’s tragedies that our animals do not share our lifespans. These are The Furry One’s last days, and I am a mess. Hope has been incredibly kind to me; I’ve wept many times the last few days.

The impending loss of our four-legged family member has brought about a sad shadow of past losses over this home. Hope has withdrawn into herself. When she engages, she does so with heaviness. After some prodding last night, she openly mourned how much she’s lost in the last few years: Her puppy, her dad, things from her old home with her dad, things from previous foster families. She didn’t cry, but she’s just so sad. She even confided that she asked that her room be painted pink in order to give me the impression that she was a girlie girl; she really wished she had been honest and asked for the room to be painted blue or purple. She’s not really a girlie girl at all.

I think I’ll see about having her room painted by year’s end. I won’t cater to every one of Hope’s whims, but there’s no sense in keeping a room that Hope’s pre-adoptive representative-self asked for when the real her is here now.

I feel like I’ve made a number of parenting mistakes in the midst of my grief this week. I do apologize to Hope when I can’t seem to get myself together. She worked very hard on her chores yesterday, even going for the bonus sweeping/vacuuming/mopping chore of the common areas in the house yesterday (It’s worth an extra $5). She did it on her own, and all I could do was snap about why she didn’t vacuum before she mopped. She was so sad; I didn’t praise her first. As a kid, I remembered being asked why I didn’t dust before vacuuming; I remember that I just didn’t know. It didn’t occur to me that I should do it in a particular order. It didn’t occur to Hope either. And like my mom years ago, I found myself trying to calmly explain the rationale about the order and praising her on her initiative and how great the mopped floor looked.

I wish I could do some lessons learned this week, but I really can’t see past the sadness. This will be our first major loss together. It hurts.

Today we will go have Sunday dinner with some friends; we will enjoy the sunlight and we will love one another and cuddle The Furry One.


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