a.k.a. Lucifur

How do I begin? So, my dad left on Sunday. Since then, I've been trying to express my feelings about his absence. I'm comfortable enough here to choose a wild variety of methods to pour out my sadness. The normal things to chew like wooden clothes pins, pencils, plastic water bottles, and the occasional stuffed animal pilfered from my brother's room just would not suffice. I'm so sad that I'm not even interested in my stuffies.

My first inclination was to chew the China cabinet. That worked... for a little while. My mom was most distressed at my choice. I don't know why. It was quite cathartic, really. First I nibbled the corner. Then, I found its taste and texture quite interesting so I sampled more. I managed to scrape off a few decorations and get a good chunk of edge off. The problem was I left evidence. This means my Kolchak's Kozy Korner (my kennel) has since been renamed Kolchak's Korrectional Facility. hmmm... Someone thinks they're funny, right Madeline? It doesn't make staying there any nicer, but it's where I stay when the family leaves. Thank goodness I have a new ginormous sized kennel.

Once, I chewed the China cabinet when they were home. Now they gate me into the half of the house they are in - just like when I first got here. I'm slowly losing my freedom. I may need to go on strike.

Next, while my family was home, I found a new treat on the kitchen table. I took it to one of my special places - the landing on the stairs - where I protect my chew toys from theft by my sister. Only one of us fits on the landing. Rumor has it that mom heard me crunching plastic and thought nothing of it. I frequently raid the recycle bin for empty water bottles. Then she realized the plastic didn't sound quite right and immediately checked on what I was chewing... as I was smacking my lips. I really enjoyed those children's vitamins. Mom sure freaked out. She checked the amount I'd eaten (not too many, but one was too many in her opinion), called the vet, and got fairly mad at me. I guess just because a bottle is on the kitchen table doesn't mean it is mine. Who knew? The family, minus Dad, went through the whole house double checking that there wasn't a bottle, container, or anything plastic left within nose reach that might harm me. Now that Mom is sick, she's a bit irritated that her pile of medicines has to be stashed away where she forgets it. Is her senility my problem??? My search for sadness outlets continued...

... until I found that when one cannot find a pencil, a pen is just as satisfying. The first pen I located was on the floor. Must be OK to chew if it's on the floor, but NOOOOOO.... Mom gave me stink eye and took it away while mumbling something about how she'd tan my borzoi hide if I got ink on the rug the children got me (or her) for Christmas. When I found my next pen on the kitchen counter, you know... the one left out to take messages.... or snack on... I was wiser this time. I took it to Kolchak's Kozy Korner to chew. No rug in there. She's so OCD that she took that one away too. Sheeesh... what's a guy to do??

My family could tell I had "ants in my borzoi pants" (as they say), so they keep letting me outside to play with my sister. That works. I like all the dirt from when we laid pavers and there are so many toys there while we had the house painted. I found I enjoy paint stir sticks - nice wood - and no metal clip like a clothes pin. Then there's the empty tubes of caulking left by the painters that are nice and squishy. I'm a plastics kind of guy. The door trim and edging on the house are tasty too. Mom was irked that I was chewing trash and making a mess for her to clean up, but when she saw I nibbled the house, she was irate. I think the door jamb looks more personalized this way. And the painters just had to be more careful to collect each tube they used. Once, I almost got their little paint pot for touch up. This led Ralph (my favorite painter) to use his empty water bottles as toys. In the end, I got his attention and toys and I helped personalize the house. A most productive week. Still, no one could really tell that I missed my dad.

Mom has tried all sorts to distract me per Melissa's blog. Isabella and I got new Kongs the other day. They were filled with peanut butter so I'd be busy in my Korrectional Facility. That worked... for a while. We have a new tug-of-war toy that we got today. That worked for today. Mom got out old toys, tried to help me play with the new ones even though she's sick as a cat (you know she can't be sick as a dog because we are good).

I've also tried not eating my meals, instead counter cruising for snacks. I chewed a slipper (you mainlanders call them flip-flops), but Crocs are durable enough that I didn't do any damage. Mom moved it and then I cuddled it. She doesn't even trust me to hug her Croc slippers so now I can't get near any slippers. Rats. Madeline says I've been doing a lot of "sniff it, lick it, chew it" activities. The last straw was when I licked Mom's phone. She mumbled a death threat if I decided to chew that!

Finally, my latest expression is to be very pushy to get attention. No matter how much I am pet, tummy rubbed, given treats for learning something, or just talked to, I still need more love to make up for not having Dad home. I lean on people, block the hall, stick my nose where it doesn't belong (I guess humans don't sniff each other's hinnies), follow people around, and, my favorite, I hop onto Mom's bed and she doesn't even have to ask. I figure I'm doing her a favor because she won't miss Dad if I take up his spot. Apparently, I take up more than his spot and my constant cleaning - gotta get the burrs out of my fur - drives her nuts by jiggling the bed. A bit oversensitive, aren't we? Just because she's sick means I have to sleep on my own bed.

During this time I heard words like "bad" or "rotten" when I was just trying to express how I feel. I can tell my family has unconditional love for me and, knowing that, I feel more comfortable sharing my feelings. I guess I have to find other ways, so I'm going to see if blogging helps. Until I change my behavior, they've renamed me Lucifur. Normally, I'm Angel. Mom hopes this is just a phase and I'll adjust, like my staff will, to Dad's absence.

We'll see. I sure miss him. I miss all my Wolfhounds.

Until then, keep sending up prayers for the Wolfhounds,
Kolchak (a.k.a. Lucifur)