Bella, I need to know that you want to live. You are smiling at me today, and you are learning a few things, so perhaps you do want to begin a new life with me. We've been working on little get acquainted lessons, and I think you are responding. When I give you a treat, I bring it to my face first and say look at me. This way I am really sure that you will make eye contact with me and associate me with your treat. When we walk, I sometimes stop and say wait! When we resume, I say ok. I do this at the door, too, where you stand, off leash-having trotted, hurriedly, on your own, the last several yards of our outing. You have begun to pull less, so I think the exercise has been having an effect.
You are also doing a bit better with your easter egg hunt. Last week, it seemed as if you had lost interest. Treats lay scattered on my bedroom floor, ignored. But just now, when I showed you how I laid the dried salmon bites around our room, they were gone when I came back in 15 minutes. Good job, Bella!
You are a bit difficult with all the pills I give you. Your clever tongue detects them in a swirl of creamy cheese and ejects them almost cheese free. I understand it may be a bit much, all these pills. There are 21 of the Ativan and 3 of the Paxil! So we have a bit of a contest, you and I-I bury the pills in soft, gooey treats, and you search them out, avoiding them with your big but sensitive tongue. Once, with a remaining pill, I even opened your mouth and pushed the pill firmly to the back, tilted your head up and stroked the underside of your throat. You cooperated like a normal dog, and I didn't loose any fingers. As you can see, I usually win after a few goes. Keep that in mind as we tussle for your future.
So Bella, I want you to meet me, if not half way, at least come an 1/8th of the way. I promise you a good life. We will walk gorges and you will get massages from my hand. We'll be friends, two middle aged (or better) ladies enjoying the parks of Ithaca, and evenings reading or watching a show. Speaking of shows, you need to show up for me. Let me know you like all this-move that tail, even just the tip of it, so I will know that you're in there, trying to come out.
Love, Mommy
You are also doing a bit better with your easter egg hunt. Last week, it seemed as if you had lost interest. Treats lay scattered on my bedroom floor, ignored. But just now, when I showed you how I laid the dried salmon bites around our room, they were gone when I came back in 15 minutes. Good job, Bella!
You are a bit difficult with all the pills I give you. Your clever tongue detects them in a swirl of creamy cheese and ejects them almost cheese free. I understand it may be a bit much, all these pills. There are 21 of the Ativan and 3 of the Paxil! So we have a bit of a contest, you and I-I bury the pills in soft, gooey treats, and you search them out, avoiding them with your big but sensitive tongue. Once, with a remaining pill, I even opened your mouth and pushed the pill firmly to the back, tilted your head up and stroked the underside of your throat. You cooperated like a normal dog, and I didn't loose any fingers. As you can see, I usually win after a few goes. Keep that in mind as we tussle for your future.
So Bella, I want you to meet me, if not half way, at least come an 1/8th of the way. I promise you a good life. We will walk gorges and you will get massages from my hand. We'll be friends, two middle aged (or better) ladies enjoying the parks of Ithaca, and evenings reading or watching a show. Speaking of shows, you need to show up for me. Let me know you like all this-move that tail, even just the tip of it, so I will know that you're in there, trying to come out.
Love, Mommy
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