Susie Q

If today had a theme, it most certainly would have been 'rodents.'

Right from the get-go, my day focused around the furry little bastards.  A few days ago, Kris had shrieked out in terror as she witnessed a small mouse scurry across our basement floor.  After buying a handful of mousetraps, I set them up overnight at strategic locations where I assumed mice would traverse, and awoke to find that two of the five traps had indeed caught mice: one in the back storage room, one underneath the stairs leading up from the basement.

While I was definitely happy to nab two of these frickin' crimes-against-nature, I was horrified to see that one of the two was still alive: the trap had closed on his leg, and he was clinging for dear life onto a strap that was hanging out of one of my guitar cases.  Now, I was planning on heading in to my school in the morning in order to continue setting up my classroom for the upcoming school year (more on that later), so I was already pressed for time as it was.  Kris was already at work, and the girls had been dropped off at my Mom's, so I had to come up with a humane way of ending this mouse's miserable existence.

In the end, I filled up a bucket with water, used one of those extendo-grippy things, and dropped the mouse in.  He started swimming around, but I expected he'd tire soon and drown, so I left for my classroom.

Here you go, Internet.

Fast forward about, oh, five or six hours later.

Before picking up the girls, I swung back by the house to dump out the bucket, only to find that the mouse was STILL alive.

In desperation, I grabbed the extendo-grippy thingy, grabbed onto the mouse, and straight-up DROWNED it.

Having fulfilled my daily quota for rodent homicide, I picked up the girls and drove them over to the Midland Humane Society (ironically, a place where they save animals) for a special surprise:  Kris and I had decided to rescue a two-year-old, female guinea pig named 'Paddy,' who came with a cage, bags of bedding, hay, and food, along with several cage accessories, toys, etc. - all for $20.

Hard to pass that one up.

The girls were more confused than excited when we pulled into the shelter's parking lot and I broke them news to them, but, once it set in, they were obviously pretty stoked about the new addition to our family.

Here's how the rest of the day went. . .

Following payment and the filling out of various paperwork, we loaded Paddy up for the ride back.  On our way out the door, we crossed paths with our next-door neighbor, Sally, and her daughter, Katie, who's good friends with the girls.  They had found a stray cat with a collar roaming around our neighborhood, and decided to bring him in to the shelter.  Alas, as they were coming in and we were coming out, the cat got loose and darted off under a nearby house's porch. . .

While Sally and several shelter employees sprang to the rescue in order to retrieve the cat, I watched over the girls, who were all enthralled with the recent developments. . .

Trying to be subtle, here: you can just make out the people trying to reach the cat under the porch, there.

Within 24 hours of bringing the guinea pig home, the girls all decided that 'Susie' was a much more fitting name.  And so that's what we're going with.

It's not the best set-up location, but for right now that's about the best we've got for it. . . right atop Kris' massive command center or a desk.  We wanted the critter away from the main room, but also upstairs where it wasn't cold, with access to sunlight and away from the dog.

To say Watson was intrigued by this recent development would be indeed one hell of an understatement.

Chubbs here likes herself some lettuce. . .

We didn't end up handling Susie for a couple days, as the shelter folks - and various online articles - recommended:  we let her get used to her new surroundings and with new faces before taking her out of the cage and handling her.  The lettuce didn't hurt with this, either.

And, because we're Houghs, we had to go out and buy several new cage features and accessories for her.  I'm sure a new, bigger cage and another frickin' guinea pig are in the distant future. 

Welcome to Hell, Susie. . .

- Brian

Watson

The loudest impulse buy in the history of mankind.

You guys might not be aware of this, but prior to having a couple of miniature humans as pets, we had ourselves a Quaker Parrot for a few years.  His name was Fezzig, he was a fiesty, little pain in the ass, and we were forced to get rid of him because, well, he became a jealous berserker once we started bringing babies home.

To the victor goes the crabs.

Ever since we banished that one from the Realm of Hough, we've been pet-free. . . relatively.  I mean, we had two hermit crabs for about eight months, but about a month after we first picked them up in Treasure Island one of them died, and the other we ended up giving to my brother, Chris, to raise in Michigan.

. . . because if anything says 'sandy beaches and crabs' more than Florida, it's Michigan.

No.

Anyway, I'd been attempting (unsuccesfully) to get Kris back into Pet Mode, but we could never agree on any specific species.  Fish were too high maintenance (cleaning the tank, filtering the water, etc.), hamsters and gerbils bite and pee all over the place, rabbits and guinea pigs stink like barn animals, etc.

We went back and forth with this for years, and ultimately we decided that, in the end, having kids was a lot like having pets anyway. . . pets that you can't get rid of until they're 18.  And that are much more expensive.  And talk back.

BAM.

So fast forward to, oh, about three weeks ago.  I was drinking craft beers with the Seloskes in Livonia the night before flying back to Florida, texting back and forth with Kris, when the pet conversation popped back up.  She was gung-ho about getting a Guinea Pig, but I was far from being sold on the Ecuadorian delicacies.

Seeing Seloske's thirty-some-odd cats scampering about the living room, I countered with 'Well, what about a cat?'. . . despite the fact that I am deathly allergic to the pieces of garbage.  I mean, besides being the Ohio of Animals, cats are fairly independent, which would suit lazy, time-constrained would-be-pet-owners like us just fine.

My cat proposal was met with equal parts bewilderment and chastising, as Kris knew I hated cats almost as much as my nose did.  I guess in the end she could sense my desperation for any kind of a pet with some small degree of longevity and personality, and was moved by my willingness to suggest adopting the one animal I despise above all others.  By the end of the conversation, we were discussing dogs.

. . . and that's how we ended up with Watson.

Once I got back to Florida, Kris and I set about scoping out adoption agencies, rescue centers, and humane societies for possible dogs.  We had initially figured the dog could be the girls' main Christmas present, but nixed that as we became aware of the fact that many agencies down here close their adoptions for the month of December in order to prevent this from happening (their rationale being that it's traumatic for all parties involved - the kids as well as the dog - if the adoption doesn't pan out according to plan, but even worse when the dog itself is a Christmas present.)

I wanted to have the dog ready to roll by the beginning of Thanksgiving Break, which would enable me to use my seven days at home to house-train the puppy, have him on some sort of a schedule, and get him used to the kids and his new surrounding before I had to head back to work.  As the weeks ticked by, and Thanksgiving approached, we honed our sights on small/medium dogs that were under 8 months old, and finally ended up with a Dachshund mix by the name of Jigsaw.

Jigsaw was a day or two old when he was found lying next to his mother on the side of the road - the whole litter had been left there, abandoned, and so Skyway Dachshund Rescue (out of Palm Beach) took the dogs in and nursed them all back to health.  What was cool about this rescue agency was that they give you the dog with all his shots current, spayed/neutered, and fully treated for ticks, fleas, etc. - all crap that would've ended up costing a ton of money later on down the road.  With all the preliminary stuff out of the way, all we really have to do is take him in for yearly vet check-ups, which is awesome.

Another thing we liked about Skway was that they 'lease' you the dog on a trial basis - two weeks - before filing the paperwork and depositing your money.  This trial period is a nice insurance policy just in case the dog doesn't work out with the kids.

Now, Jigsaw was the last of his litter still available, so we pounced on the stacks of paperwork needed to adopt him and, two days ago, one of the ladies that works for Skyway dropped him off at our house.

The dog bonded to Yours Truly, as I was the only one home Sunday morning when he was dropped off (Kris and the girls were at church.)  Following me around the house like a shadow, I couldn't bring myself to calling him something like 'Jigsaw.'  While I guess there's technically nothing wrong with the name 'Jigsaw' (it is fitting in regards to his genetic make-up, which I'll get to shortly), the name didn't fit our family very well.  Seeing how he refused to leave my side, we opted for a classier 'sidekick' name, and honestly I can't think of a classier sidekick than Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Dr. Watson.

Watson and I hid on the front porch and waited for Kris and the girls to get home in order to surprise them.  This wasn't the greatest of ideas, as the kids running up spooked the dog and caused him to bark and growl. . . which, obviously, scared the crap out of the kids.  Hooray for pets.

Watson's really an old dog in a puppy's body - all this guy wants to do is sleep on people. . . which we're 100% cool with.

Being the idiots that we are, Kris and I decided to buy him one of these plush animal-thingies that you can put an empty water bottle in.  For $5, I figured it was a decent buy. . . but he tore it to shreds in about an hour, going ape-shit over the crackling sound of the hidden plastic bottle.  So really, in the end, all we really accomplished with that $5 was training our dog to eat our children's stuffed animals.

(This used to be a fox.)

Having a fenced-in yard is awesome - I don't know what dog-owners without them do.  I had to line the perimeter of the fence with paver stones, as dachshund mixes like Watson have a tendency of digging. . . and with a pitbull living two houses down, I don't want to run the risk of him digging his way out of our backyard and into the jaws of Hell.

Watching TV with Watson. . .

The girls were pretty excited about having their very own dog - they still are - and Watson's really good with both of them.  While looking for dogs on various rescue sites online, we tried to keep breed, age and demeanor in mind more than anything else.  Vicky, one of Kris' homegirls, has a dachshund named Melo that she brings over frequently, and he does very well with the girls.  As our searches throughout Central Florida's databases returned nothing much besides pit bulls and chihuahuas (what can I say, this is Central Florida.)

As it turns out, though, Watson - while looking very much like a dachshund, doesn't have all that much dachshund in him.  His DNA readout came along with his medical records and everything else, and here's how the mutt truly breaks down (I apologize for the photo of a computer screen - I was in a hurry):

It turns out Watson has a crap-load of English Cocker Spaniel and Mini Pinscher in him.  And Dalmation. . . which is random.

Our lemons came back this year. . . nothing else did, though.

Anyway, we had to scramble like crazy to buy all the crap needed in order to house, feed, and entertain a dog - for about three weeks, every cent of disposable income was put towards purchasing a crate, toys, bedding, training resources, a retractable leash, dog food/treats, bowls, collars, you name it.  All in all, the accessories were much more than we paid for the dog (which in my opinion was still too steep, seeing how it's supposedly a rescue joint after all.)

'Look, Daddy - WEEDS!'

Having a week off to begin training him is awesome - we were fortunate that things fell into place as it did.  It's taken a few days, but now the Dog Formerly Known as Jigsaw is starting to make the connection between himself and 'Watson.'  From there - hopefully -  I can start training him with those accursed Poochiebells (though he's practically house-trained already) and get him to come, fetch, sit, etc.

You know.  Dog stuff.


So yeah, the Houghs have a dog now.  I'll keep you posted with updates, America.

- Brian