Over three months ago, when my dog was diagnosed with Canine Cognitive Dysfunction (dog dementia), I would not have imagined that I’d be laughing now at some of his silly antics … uh, I mean symptoms. I could not think then of anything but how serious our situation was—a matter of life and death. But what isn’t?
We’ve lightened up a bit since. I’m still taking his condition seriously, but is he? Maybe not so much. Last night, I was watching TV on my tablet when one of my favorite commercials came on.
It’s the Subaru ad in which an adolescent dog is parking the family car in the garage for the first time under the watchful eye of his proud golden-retriever pop. The car gets to the right spot and the tennis balls hanging from the ceiling to mark that spot bounce crazily against the car’s front window. The pup in the driver’s seat barks and barks with glee, then stops.
Here, in my home, my dog is in his kennel feet from me, the door wide open. I think he’s asleep. But, no. The barking in the ad stops. Across the room, my dog barks back. One bark, loud and sudden, a bark that seems very much on purpose. Good timing, buddy—you really made me laugh. What was that bark about?
I wrote a few weeks ago about the wastebaskets, how he was pawing them over or nosing them over (I can’t be sure: I have no video surveillance equipment in place). I’ve left the wastebaskets empty, on their sides, where he discarded them. He’s evinced no interest. There’s no evidence that he’s touched them and I can’t explain that. (Do you see an eye-roll now? Mine or his?)
I’ve messed up a few times with fastening the baby gates securely since he discovered he could manipulate them to get himself out. Last week, I was just dropping off to sleep when there was a huge slamming bang a few feet away from me. The heavy plexiglass baby gate with the solid plastic frame had crashed flat to the floor in the doorway of the bedroom and … and the dog had fled the scene. I found him downstairs in the kitchen, appearing not particularly concerned. By that time, I’d stopped yelling (not at him).
He did that without thumbs and it never touched him when it fell. Lucky guy.
Photo by Spokesman-Review
He wasn’t comfortable in the room with the air-conditioning during the hottest days last month. He displayed his preference for the bedroom where he can be in his old familiar crate or on the king-sized bed where I sleep. The AC room has a familiar crate, but it is not specifically “his” since he rarely uses it throughout the year. It doesn’t have his bed in it. I refuse to share the futon in that room with him, although that’s probably what he’d prefer. But that day he showed me exactly what his choice was.
The door to the room with the air-conditioning has a missing latch. It doesn’t close completely without help. To secure the door tightly from inside the room, I’ve been using a plastic dustpan I had nearby. I move it with my foot to shove it under the door—remove the dustpan and the door swings open.
One hot afternoon, I was lying on the futon in the cool room, listening to an audiobook. I felt a change in the air and looked around. The dog was gone. The door was wide open, cold air rushing out. I found the dog sleeping comfortably on the king-sized bed next door in “our” bedroom. He had clearly moved the dustpan. With his paw? He had seen me using my foot.
What inspired him to try to open the door?
I cannot punish that behavior. I almost feel I should applaud it!
He’s still learning, he’s still thinking, he’s getting what he wants.
We’ve had a couple of bad nights, especially during the hot weather. He was disconcerted by our move to the AC room, but I really had no choice—we had to have a break from the heat. I put some “dog towels” in the kennel there, straightening them whenever he’s out of it because he “digs” them and balls them up under himself and I’m sure that can’t be comfortable. He’s clearly demonstrated he’d rather be on “our” bed even though “our” room is not nearly chilly, but he’s become more accepting of being calm and relaxed in the AC. (He’s tolerant of fans, too—I’ve got a total of three floor fans, two table fans, and one box fan in an upstairs window, sucking warm air out of the house.)
Mostly, he’s been easier to get along with in general this last month. Much less night barking, more calm sleeping, and more hanging out. He’s eating, taking his meds without objection, and behaving reasonably a majority of the time, with no infractions of the basic “dog rules” of the house. He comes in when I call him—after a roll on the lawn first, to which I don’t object. He runs to the back door (when it’s not too hot), and often he is waiting at or near the outside stairs if I’ve taken too long to ask him in.
He follows verbal suggestions cooperatively, like when a quiet, positive “Lie down,” from me discourages the endless circling and encourages him to settle into a down position quickly. He recognizes words and signals, cues he’s known for a decade, and he even answers “questions” like, “Are you cute? Are you smart?” and, to honor his theater background, “How do you feel about tech?” (Technical rehearsal for stage plays, is very confusing to dog actors and their handlers.)
His answer to that question is the same he’s always given: he barks, then hides his head.
Yes, he still knows how to make me laugh, and that one gets me every time. He really hasn’t changed a lot.
