Because the kitchen is blocked off, this means the back door (and the back yard) are accessible to the dog only when we decide he needs to go out. He’s got scheduled bathroom breaks in addition to regular walks because we really don’t want him getting into the cat food (and really not the cat poo).

Occasionally there will be a potty emergency, and the dog usually lets us know that he has to go out by running between the front door and the dining room gate. It used to be that sometimes he would just run to the gate and whimper. This would trick us into thinking that he had to go out right now and once inside the kitchen he would go for the cat food (or litter box) instead. Once we would get him outside he would just stand there in the middle of the yard and looks defeated. We don’t fall for that one quite as often any more.

We don’t fall for that quite as often, so the dog has stepped up his game.

Last night, neither cat ate very much. Cardiff had spent the day at doggie daycare so he was hungrier than usual (playing for 8 hours does that to a guy). He really wanted to get to the cat food. The old “I have to pee” trick failed.

So my dog — my wonderful, smart, evil dog — scooted^* across the living room rug and then went to the gate and whimpered. “Oh shit,” I thought. “This time he really does have to go outside.”

No. No he didn’t. He tried desperately to get cat food on the way through the kitchen to the yard. He stood in the yard for ten minutes (in the rain, with me shouting “poop already!” at him) looking pissed off that it didn’t work. He tried again for the cat food when I brought him back in.

Part of me is looking forward to what trick he tries next time.

—

^* It really was a trick, and he wasn’t actually scooting for legitimate reasons, because as soon as I brought him back in he didn’t do it again. If there were actually something wrong with him, he’d still be doing it.

It looks like he’s been setting up a base under the black eyed susans (with occasional stops under the fig tree). He’s very friendly, good with dogs, and actually belongs to a neighbor who believes that cats should be outside most of the time. I’m sure he has a real name, but I’ve just started calling him Yardcat.

There’s also a Mrs Yardcat.

She also belongs to the same neighbor, and she’s much shyer.

I still don’t want the dog eating what he finds in the yard, but I’m considerably less creeped out now. And Cardiff has a new friend.

I live in the city and there are rats. There are pigeons and seagulls. There are stray cats. Any one of these things could be digging food out of trashcans and dropping it in my yard. It could be some well-meaning person in the neighborhood feeding the stray cats. It could be some well-meaning person thinking s/he’s leaving a treat for my dog and cats.

It could be someone leaving poisoned meat out to kill rats and stray cats. It could be some evil-minded person leaving it specifically in my yard to kill my dog or cats.

I don’t care. I don’t care if it’s someone with the best intentions. It’s scary and it’s disgusting.

Today it was fish sticks and that was my breaking point. I got home from work and let the dog out for a pee. The dog grabbed something up from the grass. I tried to pry his mouth open to get it out. The dog is a terrier. He has incredibly strong jaws and if he doesn’t want to open them it’s very hard to force him. I finally got the food out and was really not pleased to see what it was. It explains the dog’s extreme desire to not let it go, though. He’s never had fish. I’m violently allergic to all things seafood so standing there with dog spit and chewed up fish on my hands was not pleasant. I’ve washed my hands twice already and feel like I need to do it about twelve more times (possibly with bleach) before I’ll be okay with the idea of putting my hands anywhere near my face.

Most importantly, I don’t know if it’s poisoned. My dog can’t tell me if it tastes funny or if he feels sick. All I can do is try to get it out of his mouth as fast as possible and hope he doesn’t swallow any of it. It’s not so bad if it’s daylight — I can usually see before he grabs something or almost immediately after he’s picked something up. But if it’s dark? Or if I’m distracted by something else? There’s no guarantee I’ll see it.

Seriously. How many people go out in the yard with their dog and watch it like a hawk? Almost no one. You go out there with a book or a drink, or you talk to a neighbor, or you deal with laundry or the plants, or you just woolgather and look at the clouds. Most people don’t even go out with their dogs at all — it’s just “turn it loose and let it pee”. I can’t. For about a month now I have to be out there, hovering over him, watching every single thing he sniffs or looks at and he still manages to pick up food. And then I get scared, which makes me angry, so I yell at the dog to get him to drop it because I’m scared, and then I spend the rest of the night just staring at him and wondering if he’s been poisoned.

Going outside with my dog shouldn’t make me want to cry.

Today is also Cardiff’s third anniversary. Three years ago today we brought him home. He was good for the entire car ride from Stafford, Virginia to Baltimore, Maryland. Seconds after I parked the car, he barfed. Good times. Good times. Thankfully, car trips no longer make him puke. He’s not the kind of dog to get hyper-excited about going in the car, but he’s okay with it. He just likes to sit in the back seat and stare out the window.

Cardiff, in honor of your “gotcha day”, you get to spend the day in doggie daycare with all your friends!

But then I was walking the dog and watching him stop to pee on places — the same places every time. The partner-in-crime said to the dog “You’re probably smelling your own pee, you know.” And I said “But that’s the point. To make sure he still owns it.”

Fortunately it’s been years since the dog peed in the house to announce his check-in, and I have never once peed on my desk.

Cardiff whined!

It wasn’t excessive or anything. Just a disappointed little “oh” that his daycare human-girlfriend wasn’t there. He had to sit on the ramp that leads to the dog area until she came down and then he was so thrilled to see her I thought he was going to take off because his tail was wagging so hard.

I wonder if he ever misses me that much?

As I was leaving, I heard her telling Cardiff how good he looks and what dogs were already there and how he was going to have fun. How awesome is that?

We bought a bunch of things at Petsmart last night to see if we could treat whatever’s causing it. One of the things is an anti-fungal/antibacterial goo. The other is a really oily spray that’s for treating hot spots. The hot-spot spray went on the parts that are just itchy. The goo went on the places where he’s actually pulled out fur and might have broken the skin.

Last night he was pacing the living room because he smelled (thanks to the assorted sprays and goos) and he couldn’t chew on himself. The stuff probably stung, too. He kept giving me these really heartbreaking looks like “I’m unhappy and you should fix this!”

It’s also time to start working on retraining him. He’s been a brat about obeying the basics like “sit” and “come”. When he was younger (and dumber), telling him to sit would distract him from chewing. Not so much any more.

One of the things I’m worried about is that his chewing is actually the result of boredom. Since he spends so much of his time during the day alone and crated, we’ve got to find ways to keep him entertained. Unfortunately he’s not motivated by treats at all, so all the “solve the puzzle and get the treat” toys are useless. He’s too strong of a chewer for most toys, so it’s difficult to know what is okay to leave him alone with.

I kinda wish we could afford to put him in daycare five days a week. At least I’d know he wasn’t bored.

People in my neighborhood have trouble with this name. They think his name is Curtis. Or Carver. Or Carter. I don’t think it’s a matter of pronunciation. I know I tend to mumble, but when it’s important I do know how to speak clearly. Kitti is also very clear. There are enough people who do get it right away that it can’t just be how we say it. Also, I’ve spelled it for people and they still haven’t understood.

So Cardiff now officially has his own codename. Muffin. We’re going to introduce the dog as Muffin.

I know we really shouldn’t feed into the stupidization of the world, but sometimes it’s just easier.