Seven Weeks & A Day

With the arrival of our pit bull Hope, we’ve found ourselves learning things every day which we had not previously learned with other dogs. What’s the deal with that?

Was it really necessary for me to go out and research the bite strength of this particular breed of dog and what it could do to an AT&T U-Verse remote, or a Franklin Covey day planner?  I doubt it, yet still I did so anyway.  For that matter, I could also write an entire soliloquy about what that same bite strength can do to a roll of aluminum foil, a refrigerator magnet, a 12” bread knife, a few Aqua Globes, and possibly even the missing pasta spoon.

Consider this mention the only reference to whatever tangibles have passed through la boca de la pit bull.  At this point, it’s safe to assume that she’s a bit of a chewer as any dog her age.  I’m not prepared to dedicate every byte of TharpSter.Org web space as a monument to our intermittent inability to dog proof headquarters whenever we leave her alone.  For all we know, Faith the TharpSter TreadMill is the one egging her on in hopes of restoring her status as the only dog.

The last 50 days with Hope in tow (and on toe) has read like a MasterCard commercial which itemizes the wad of cash you put out in pursuit of a priceless benefit. The veterinary bills to vaccinate, microchip, and spay her continue to remind us that nothing comes free. We’re buying bigger bags of dog food now. Don’t forget the incidentals which have been rendered useless and had to be replaced. As much as a tight wad like me could gripe about that, I just can’t bring myself to do so. Obviously, the biggest reason is because the pay off of having Hope with us far outweighs the financial commitments we’ve made to keep her. Just to add icing to the cake, I should mention that all of the costs have been paid for with cash only. At the same time, all of the other bills are still getting paid. Hope appears to have shown us in her own little way that the siege mentality we’ve had on our finances over the last several years hasn’t been as necessary as we thought.

The DVR here at TharpSter.Org is now loaded up with episodes of The Dog Whisperer. I’m also reading one of Cesar Milan’s books about dog training. For those of you who haven’t seen the show, Cesar Milan is an immigrant from Mexico who has an amazing ability to read and interpret the behavior of dogs in order to make them behave. Even more remarkable is the fact that quite often, he uses a “TSSHH” sound to keep the dogs in line. Milan mentioned in an episode once that his mother used to make that noise when he was growing up. It’s amazing to know that a woman’s efforts to correct her son some 30 years ago would revolutionize the way in which we keep the behavior of our dogs in check. Regardless, Milan’s methods work. Faith and Hope both have to chill out and take a seat before we let them in or out of the house. Leash training is still coming along, and Hope appears to have a protective streak about her.  She barks at people she doesn’t know, so we’re working on that too. We have it to where neither of the dogs get on the bed or couch unless they’re invited up there. It’s quite refreshing to wake up nowadays without being spooned by the pit bull.

I can only guess what happened to her in the year before she came home with me. She exhibits some behavior that she may have been abused. Even still, I refuse to feel sorry for her for whatever was or was not done to her. Such treatment would be non-conducive to insuring that she’ll be a well adjusted and well behaved dog. Instead, I’ll let her live in the now and appreciate the fact that she drives the TreadMill nuts.

So what’s in store for the TharpSter Pit Bull? I’ll continue to work with her and make the “TSSHH” sound at her until she can fetch a bottle of green tea for me from the grocery store.

At the same time, I’m going to take this opportunity to make a prediction where Hope is concerned. Just in the last few days, TharpSter.Org has procured an above ground pool from the auto parts arm of the organization. Right now, the pool sits in all of it’s less than magnificent glory in my garage where it waits patiently for me to return from a Colorado vacation later this month. Upon my return, I’ll set that thing up and wait for an incident which will inspire me to write something I can title “Hope Floats”.

Stay tuned, ladies and gentlemen. This one will probably write itself.

Randy Tharp

TharpSter is a husband to one woman, a father to two kids, a master to two dogs, an occasional cubical occupant, and unable to make up his mind on an adequate theme for this website.

One thought on “Seven Weeks & A Day

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