The Rumor of My Demise Has Been Exaggerated

No, I didn't drop off the face of the planet. I'm still here. Alive and kickin it old school since 1972. It may seem as if I've abandoned my post. Little Ozy the wonder pup has been occupying a great deal of my time these days. Man, he's a handful. We have dubbed him the Boston Terrorist due to his high energy and obsessive, compulsive disorder when it comes to shoe laces, pant legs, shoes, leaves, magazines, dirty clothes . . . basically anything he can fit in his mouth. On a related note, he's developed a hankering, how shall I say this, a mad frenzied and abnormally focused taste for the cat poop (otherwise known as kitty snickers). GROSS. I know!! He cannot get enough. Apparently, once you try it, your hooked -- well, at least if you are a puppy.

Don't worry. We are on the case. Mr. Oz and I have stepped up our game significantly. Diligently we guard against the fiendish cat poop eating behavior. We've become much more frequent kitty litter box scoopers. Mostly we keep the door to the litter box room closed whenever the puppy is roaming free in the household. We bar him from the space using a cleverly devised system of baby gates, zip lines, counter leevers and pullies. Well, mostly just the baby gates, but I REALLY like the visual of a fully rigged up townhouse.

This whole thing has not been easy for the two cats. They are seriously bummed by the presence of the bitty canine rampager. Spencer, our debilitated, slow, fat cat, cannot get away fast enough. Ozy pounces on him, batting and barking, jumping to and fro in a crazy kind of doggy, devil dance. Spencer mounts a meager resistance, occasionally tapping Ozy on the head with his declawed paw. Sad. The good news is Ozy quickly tires of Spencer due to his general lack of engagement. Sophie, on other hand, holds extreme fascination for Ozy. Sophie is our lithe, vocal, dominant diva cat. She's the boss. Well, Ozy is quite territorial. Whenever Sophie is near, it is on like Donkey Kong. Ozy lunges and barks out amplified aggression. Sophie responds with big hisses and growls. Ozy moves forward. Sophie jumps the baby gate and taunts from the other side. It's enough to make a peace loving animal owner want to run away. Calgon, take me away!

Sigh.

Since bringing home our cute little pup, I've developed my own slight obsession. I wouldn't liken it to be on par with Ozy's desire for cat poo, but it might be pretty close. I am completely into Cesar Milan, otherwise known as The Dog Whisperer. That guy's got mad skills. I want to do what Cesar does. He rehabilitates dogs; he trains people "I am the Dog Whisperer." Love him. What I find, as I watch Cesar perform his miracles, is the overlap between dog psychology and human psychology. In the pack driven world of dogs, someone is always trying to establish dominance. In the absence of dominance, there is chaos and crazy. The goal is calm submissive state. People are like this to. They want to be led. Without clear leadership, everything goes to hell. With leadership, things are relaxed and seemingly effortless. This, of course, assumes the leadership is fair and just and not some insane dictator out for blood. Good luck with that, I say. Like dogs, people are motivated by "treats." We need to feel like we have a purpose and balance work and play. Dogs too need to feel they've worked for something before they are rewarded. Maybe I should write a book about how people are like dogs and tie it to organizational psychology. Hmmmm . . . OR, maybe not. But, it's kinda fun to think about.

We have enrolled in puppy class. I'm hoping I'll learn how to channel my inner pack leader and be more like Cesar. In the meantime, no more kitty snickers for Ozy. Bad doggy. Bad.