Season 3 Premiere - "Shiba Inu Panting Like Crazy"

So I realize it's been 15 months, and for that I am sorry, but I'm posting again today with the goal to once again continuously update all fifteen of you who once read this with the daily antics of living with Clarkson. Here's what you missed (read this as if it were September and you're picking up your favorite television show after its summer-long hiatus...don't be ashamed to if you're imagining Gossip Girl):

"Clarkson ate what?"

"Well, clean it up."

"Can you watch Clarkson for us?? For 10 days? Send us text updates. Skittles!"

"Joe, can we buy Clarkson this tiny sombrero?"

"No."

"Joe, can we buy Clarkson this rainbow scarf?"

"No."

"Why do you make him suffer?"

"What's your favorite part about Clarkson?"

"The fact that he can't ask me questions like this."

"Joe, while you were gone, I bought Clarkson a bow tie."

"Joe, will you take a picture of me and Clarkson wearing matching bow ties?"

"Joe, please?"

"Joe?"

That's about it really. As you can see, Season 2 suffered from a bit of a sophomore slump. I blame the writers' strike. Anyway, we're back for Season 3 now, and the writing team (and by "writing team," I mean whoever is in charge of Chicago weather this summer) has really shaken things up.

You see, Clarkson has storm anxiety.

Despite the fact that I grew up with four different dogs, I've never experienced storm anxiety. Human anxiety, yes. I mean, I have that in spades. Shit, did my anxiety rub off on Clarkson? Awesome...ANOTHER thing to have anxiety about.

At any rate, I've never seen an anxiety-ridden dog until about a month ago. While Joe was in China, Chicago suffered a bad couple of storms, the first of which went unnoticed by Clarkson. Once the second storm hit, Clarkson became a much different dog, and with this change, we are a much different family.

Clarkson is now a dog that pants "like crazy" before, during, and after a thunderstorm. He is a dog that refuses to eat. He is a dog that walks around our house as if he has never been there before. He is a dog that hides. He is a dog that whines. He is a dog that shakes. Clarkson is, for all intents and purposes, a dog that acts as if he were a closeted homosexual teenager with an eating disorder.

After the 4th of July (a great day for America, the worst day of Clarkson's life), there was a stretch of a few days without any storms. Despite the fact that there were no storms, Clarkson was still having nightly panic attacks. At this point, we decided it was time to seek medical attention.

The vet listened intently as I read aloud verbatim from the note that Joe had written out for me (like he would ever trust me to handle this one on my own), "Clarkson has gone crazy. Panting, shaking, stopped eating, skittish, nervousness. Also, should we get his teeth professionally cleaned? I feel like there is plaque build-up). After I read my lines (with passion I might add), the vet recommended that we see a behaviorist. Immediately, my mind jumped to some witch in a peasant skirt holding her face up to Clarkson and asking him what memory from his childhood brought on this storm anxiety. She would "listen" to Clarkson as he did nothing but essentially stare at a bug on the ground. After 60 seconds of nothing happening (except for Clarkson eating the bug he was staring at), she would launch into some story about Clarkson nursing from his mother's teat when a lightning bolt struck only 40 feet away from him. Naturally, her recommendation would be for us recreate this experience during the next storm, and even more naturally, I would think this is going to work. Cut to me screaming at Joe to hold Clarkson down as I try to shove a baby bottle full of warm milk down his throat during a thunderstorm.

The vet also recommended that we give him daily anxiety medication and xanex when it gets really bad.

So that's what we did.

I can't say I haven't bought baby bottles.