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.

The Curious Case of Sergeant Clarkson

Hello strangers! I realize it has been a while since I have posted anything about the little guy, but things have definitely picked up at work, and I haven't really had much time to write. Also, I fear my posts will be even more limited in the coming weeks as I'll be writing recaps for Season 9 of American Idol for the pool that I run at work (if any of you would like to be a part of the pool, shoot me an email at seanthiggins@gmail.com).

I will say that Clarkson has completely recovered from his surgery. It really only took a day of some rest and he was back to his crazy self. Everyone said we would notice a clear change in his temperament after the surgery. They said Clarkson would calm down...

Unfortunately, nothing could be further from the truth. If anything, Clarkson has more energy than he has ever had before. Every walk that we take him on, every time that we play with him, every moment that he is not napping - he is acting like a dog on speed. His behaviour is sort of a throwback to when we first got him and all he would do was bite and bark at me. Yes, the biting has returned and so has his inability to sleep through the night. I'd say that he wakes up at least two or three times during the middle of the night and just paces around our room. It's a nonchalant pace from one side of our bed to the other, but it wakes me up and drives me freaking insane. He's also waking up super early in the morning and barking/nudging us until we get out of bed.

Basically, Clarkson is regressing Benjamin Button-style into the puppy/terror that we first owned in November/December. Tricks are being unlearned. Commands - forgotten. If the potty training goes, I think we will have a serious problem...

I think it's fairly obvious what is happening here: he's punishing us for taking away his manhood.

I can't say I don't understand.

So long little guys...

Our trip to Europe was amazing! Clarkson did so well with Aunt Angie, Aunt Lindsay, Grampa and Grandma. All of his dogsitters sent us lots of pics and texts that kept us missing him during the whole trip. A favorite picture is attached below. Apparently he was losing teeth like crazy while we were gone! Not kidding, we arrived to a dog with a whole new set of chompers.



Speaking of Clarkson losing body parts, tomorrow he will lose two more appendages that are somewhat important... After tomorrow, Sergeant Clarkson, Department of Homeland Security, will be shooting blanks. Because we got him from a breeder, we are contractually obligated to get him neutered.

Our little guy is going to go through with the surgery tomorrow, and as you can imagine, I'm a nervous wreck. We drop him off at the vet at around 7:30 a.m. tomorrow morning and then we pick up our eunuch sometime in the late afternoon. And then that'll be it. From then on out, he will be frank and no beans. He will be twig without berries. He will be cash but no prizes.

So long to my dreams of grandClarksons to spoil like crazy because that's what grandparents do. I guess I'll have to continue to devote that unused energy to spoiling Clarkson, it won't be easy...

Big thanks to Angie, Lindsay and my parents for watching him while we were gone!!

Bilingual, sneezing muppet baby cat-dog

Sadly, the twitter campaign ended last week. With no acknowledgment from Kelly, it was, for all intents and purposes, a failure. It was fun while it lasted though, and I want to thank everyone who tweeted for me (many of you even joined twitter, which is even more awesome). I decided to end the campaign because the crazy place that I had entered when I started the campaign was rapidly expanding and there was nothing I could do about it. Visions of me and Clarkson hiding in the bushes outside of a mansion in Texas started creeping into my head and I then knew was time to give it a rest. Who knows though, maybe she saw the blog and was unimpressed with Clarkson's cuteness and my ramblings on his life? No, I don't think so either.

Aside from the twitter campaign, life is relatively calm at the Jiggins household. Clarkson still sneezes every day. It's nowhere near as bad as it was back in December, but every morning when he wakes up, he sneezes about 4 or 5 times and then I'd say throughout the day there are about 5 or 6 more intermittent sneezes. It doesn't seem to bother him, so we're not too alarmed. At least it has added another description to his already over descriptive moniker. Sergeant Clarkson: the sneezing muppet baby cat-dog.

We leave for Spain on Friday, so naturally we have taken to practicing our spanish at home. Clarkson now responds to his name in Spanish (pronounced "Claaark-son"), sientate (sit), and da-me cinco (give me five). Another addition to the moniker! The bilingual sneezing muppet baby cat-dog. God, he's so cool...check him out:

Clarkson, meet Clarkson.

I have a twitter account that I rarely use. In early 2009, I joined upon hearing that it was going to be the next big thing in social media. I, like many other people who feared that facebook would just become the next Friendster or MySpace, thought to myself "why not try to be ahead of the curve on this one." Unfortunately, twitter never really took off for me. I think that is mainly due to the fact that I could not understand what I was supposed to use it for? None of my friends were on twitter, so I couldn't use it to communicate with them or keep up with what they were doing. What was the point? Soon my existentialist tweets of "what are we doing on here?" became less frequent, until finally I was once again a strict facebook user.

Everything changed yesterday. Yesterday, I found twitter's purpose. Yesterday, I nearly twit my pants.

I had signed back onto twitter on a whim and began scrolling through various celebrity twitter accounts. It seems that Kelly Clarkson has recently joined twitter. Kelly Clarkson has recently joined twitter and she sometimes, although infrequently, will send tweets back to her fans. Here it was! Twitter's purpose!

Finally, I have an opportunity to (virtually) introduce Sergeant Clarkson to his namesake, Kelly Clarkson. I have an opportunity to introduce the little muppet baby to the pop star that I admire so much that I chose to name my dog after her. Yes, I have an opportunity, but I need your help.

So I have sent a couple of tweets already to Kelly trying to get her to click on the link to this blog, however, she literally receives HUNDREDS of tweets a day, so I don't think that I have had any luck. That's where you come in. I need you to tweet her. I need you to join twitter and tweet her. We're going to start a twitter campaign. We're going to start a twitter campaign that will help me reach the ultimate goal: a virtual Clarkson/Sergeant Clarkson introduction. A tweet from @kelly_clarkson herself that says "that puppy in Chicago that is named after me is totally cute." That's our goal! Can we make it happen? YES. WE. CAN.

http://www.twitter.com/

Join. All you need is an email address. Then search for Kelly Clarkson by clicking on "Find People" and typing in "Kelly Clarkson." Make sure that you get the real Kelly Clarkson, her twitter account can be found at www.twitter.com/kelly_clarkson. Once you get to her page, click on the little button that says "follow."

Ok, you're all set to help make the virtual introduction possible.

Click the "home" button. Now where it says "What's Happening?" I need you to type the following message verbatim:

@kelly_clarkson have you heard about the adorable puppy who is named after you? http://sergeantclarkson.blogspot.com/

Also, send this to anyone you know who would be interested in seeing the Sarge (virtually) meet Kelly Clarkson. Please. Thanks.

Finally, Kelly, if you end up finding this link, here is Sergeant Clarkson, the puppy we named after you. Our intention was originally to get a female dog, but the breeder only had one male left in her litter. We decided to butch him up with "Sergeant." Sergeant Clarkson was born. He's an awesome dog and he's very excited to meet you. And so is his owner.

Thanks,

@seanthiggins

The cat-dog that stares out the window loves me!

I realize I haven't blogged in a while, but quite frankly, there has not been much to report on what's new with the muppet baby. Puppy classes are going swimmingly, not only because Clarkson is learning some basic obedience, but also because he has made it through every single class without peeing all over himself and his classmates. Sadly, I am unable to report the same news with respect to every other puppy in the class. It's like a water park every Sunday at 6:15 p.m.

Joe and I recently took a couple of (separate) weekend trips - Joe went to Mexico first while I stayed home with Clarkson, and then I took a quick trip to Florida to visit Christa and Josh while Joe stayed behind. It was pretty cool to come home to such an excited puppy! I don't know if it's his personality or what, but Clarkson does not care when we get home from work. Not at all. I'm used to dogs that bark and jump and feverishly wag their tails at the sight of their owner returning home, but when we let him out of his crate, Clarkson essentially yawns in our faces. He yawns, stretches, and then promptly finds a toy that is exponentially more interesting than us.

The yawn, stretch, toy routine was not what we got when each of us returned from our respective weekend trips. As you can imagine, I was SUPER excited to see him so when I got out of my cab I looked up at our unit and he was staring out the window and I SWEAR he saw me. I realize he was three stories above me. And he is only 4 months old. And color blind. And not really capable of complex thought. But he totally saw me. Anyway, I came charging up the stairs and when I got in the door, he was finally excited to see me. Like really, really, pee your pants excited to see me! Of course he didn't actually pee his pants as he's the jedi knight of potty training, but it was still great to see him go crazy like that! Joe got the same reaction when he returned from Mexico a week earlier. In a few weeks, we are both going to be leaving him for a whole week when we head to Europe to celebrate Andrew and Iain's birthdays! I can't wait to see what happens when we get back. Many people have warned that he may be pissed off at us and act disinterested. I assure you if that happens, I will most likely just fall to pieces.

"WHEN WILL HE LOVE US AGAIN???"

That'll be a fun 20 minutes for Joe.

Here's a picture of him perched on our couch, staring out the window. This is what I saw from three stories below when I got home from Florida. He's so awesome. He's a cat. A muppet baby cat-dog and I looooove him.

Puppy 101 - Clarkson is Straight?!?

Clarkson started puppy training classes last week. Basically, we shelled out some dough to take the nugget to a class once a week where we learn some basic commands and obedience skills. Last Sunday was the first class, and I think it's safe to say the class will provide plenty material for the blog.

To start with, when we showed up on the first day, we were greeted with a room full with five other puppies, all of which were roughly twice Clarkson's size and all of which were female. Clarkson = fresh meat.

Each class, the puppies and their respective yuppy owners assemble in a circle around the room where we all listen to the instructor lecture on how we get our puppy to listen to us. The whole situation is comical because we owners listen intently, trying desperately to gain insight into what the F is going on in the brain of the puppies, and all the while the puppies do not even pretend to listen at all. Nope. They spend the class barking at each other, peeing (literally) with excitement. So far there have been four accidents (none from Clarkson, two from a particularly restless dog named Girdie). All the puppies want to do is PLAAAAY, and every ten minutes or so, the puppies are allowed to do so. We take them off leash and let them run wild.

Enter Sophie.

Sophie is a long-haired German Shepherd who has the hots for Clarkson. Well, she either has the hots for Clarkson or she wants to beat the sh*t out of him, I can't really tell, but I prefer to think it's the former. Everytime the dogs are let loose, Sophie is after Clarkson like white on rice. Sophie is the main aggressor, but really all the female dogs are after him. During the last class, Clarkson ended up on his back and pinned to the ground four times! Four times! Two times by Sophie, one time by Ellie, and one time by a tag-team Sophie/Girdie combination.

Needless to say, this is all very foreign to me. I came out of the closet when I was nineteen and never had girls chasing me. Shocking, I know. Even though I may not understand it, I kinda think he's asking for it. In fact, I think he may even like it...

More updates on Clarkson's progress with "sit," "down," and "Clarkson get Sophie OFF of you" later, but for now I will leave you with these immortal words of Ms. Britney Spears:

"Womanizer, woman-womanizer, you're a womanizer, oh womanizer, oh you're a womanizer, baby, you you you are, you you you are, womanizer, womanizer, womanizer (womanizer)"

The Christmas '09 Bite

Clarkson had stopped sneezing and all was well in the Jiggins' house as we geared up for the holidays. My brother Kevin was hosting my entire family at his home in Naperville for Christmas and he gave us the go-ahead to bring the muppet baby. Boy did we not know what we were getting into that day...

Clarkson immediately peed in Kevin's house as soon as we walked in the door. Awesome. The dog hasn't had an accident in our house in over a month and this is what happens within minutes of our arrival. I think that he was excited to meet Kevin's 110 lbs. golden retriever, Domer.

Domer is an awesome dog who has a penchant for eating napkins but other than that he's completely harmless. Here is a video of Clarkson and Domer at play (if you can't tell, Caitlin thought this was funny):

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ry5m3ujZjVg

As you can see, the dogs were getting along great! I would say that this playing went on for nearly an hour or so until it happened: the Christmas '09 Bite.

There was a bit of a size advantage for Domer so in order for Clarkson to get in his licks, he was forced to jump up to Domer's mouth. Apparently at one point, he jumped straight into Domer's mouth as Domer was nipping back, and well, Domer connected. All of the sudden Clarkson let out a crazy, bloodcurdling series of screams that literally sounded like an alarm. An alarm with no snooze. An alarm which would NOT shut off. I have never in my life heard a dog scream like that. I don't think anyone in the room had heard anything like it either because everyone kind of stood there, downright confused from the screams. Everyone except my dad...

My dad came CHARGING into the kitchen (where the bite happened) with the grace of a herd of elephants. "ALL RIGHT....CALM DOWN....EVERYONE CALM DOWN....ALL RIGHT." My dad, bless him, does not have a soothing voice. All the while, Clarkson's alarm screams are getting progressively louder and faster. Imagine a tornado siren interspersed with the screams of "ALL RIGHT....ALL RIGHT...CALM DOWN!" This was Christmas 2009.

Unsurprisingly, the rival screams of my dad did not calm the dog down. Once he was able to pass the dog over to me, Clarkson eventually stopped screaming and I rushed him out of the room to the (white-carpeted) dining room. It was there where we found out that the muppet baby was bleeding! Up until I saw the actual blood, I was convinced that Clarkson was in fact a stuffed animal. A little teddy bear stuffed with rainbows and sunshine.

Nope. He's a real dog and he had real pain and I almost collapsed. The bleeding stopped after a few minutes, but Clarkson was definitely spooked. So was Domer! One minute they were playing and the next he was dealing with absolute Chaos! We made sure that Clarkson was ok and gave him lots of treats and attention for the remainder of the night.

So at this point Clarkson has peed and bled on the carpet. Super awesome. Anyway, by the time we left, Clarkson was running around again, acting totally normal. Clarkson and Domer were even playing again, which was such a relief. Just before we were about to leave, Clarkson started running frantically around the couch letting out a stream of urine in his wake. No squatting. No raising of the leg. Just running and peeing. Are you kidding me? It was time to go.

It just so happened that we had a vet appointment the next day for the last of his immunizations so they were able to take a look at the wounds. They shaved off a little piece of his hair to take a closer look and everything checked out ok. Now he just looks like a badass. A badass who lost his two front baby teeth (simply because they fell out, nothing to do with the bite). Hilarious!!

Tonight we are taking the toothless and scarred muppet baby to his first puppy training class.

It's the first day of school! I must sign off now as I have to pack his lunch and take his picture on the stairwell after we measure him and mark off how tall he has gotten in the garage.

Kidding.

Kind of.

Sneezing Diagnosis: Only Child Syndrome

Sean has been hounding asking me to step in and blog about Clarkson’s recent vet visit. The story isn’t as interesting as when he was attacked by that racist bitch as the Higgins Christmas drama – more on that later. But I’ll start here. So you are all caught up to where we are in the story: Sean has googled “dog” and “sneeze,” read about a dog that sneezed itself to death, and is balling like a little girl thinking about a tiny casket.

So I go to the vet. Clarkson sneezed with every breath all the way to the vet. It sounded like brain stem projectiles were about to fly out he couldn’t breath. As an aside: this is my first trip to the vet – or any vet ever. Sean talked about how the entire staff creamed themselves got very excited when Clarkson was there. And it’s no wonder. He’s small, cute and personable:

Other people are at the vet because they have disgusting morbidly obese diabetic club-footed belabored-breathing bugged-out red-eyed family members beasts. Ok, so Clarkson is sneezing in the waiting area uncontrollably. They call us and he sneezes all the way down the hall to the examining room.

The doctor comes in and suddenly the sneezing stopped. I’m not kidding. He did not sneeze once the entire time in front of the vet, the little attention grabbing bastard. Not. Once. So the vet is asking me what the problem is and, without sounding like an over protective nervous yuppie dog owner I tell her about his imaginary sneezing. Of course I feel a little foolish, but I’m sure she’s seen this all before. I expect the conversation to go one of two ways: (a) surely the vet will know the story of the urban legend dangers and risks of a dog potentially sneezing itself to death or (b) I will get a pointed pause, slight eye squint, condescending head tilt and a load of bullshit diagnosis. Let’s just say that fatal sneezing was not mentioned, and the vet proceeded to examine Clarkson.

Clarkson sneezed squirmed and yelped when she shined a light in his ear. Light – oh so painful light. He was a little brat with everything she tried do anything to him – except when she needed a temperature reading. She shoved inserted the thermometer up his ass and he purred was completely quiet and calm. Apparently, big tough Clarkson who takes on dogs ten times his size, has a secret soft side. The vet them blabbed some garbage about nasal mites gave us placebo antibiotics, and we were on our way to mom’s for an early Christmas dinner during which Sean brings up the unknown father of my sister’s bi-racial baby, accuses my mom of orchestrating the demise of my brother’s wedding (which was called off five days before) and shows my mom a picture of me on Halloween dressed as a bearded Hooter’s chick. But those are all better discussed in therapy other blogs.

You Were My Strength When I Was Weak...

On Thursday night Clarkson started sneezing. A lot. He was eventually able to sleep after a few good sneezing fits, but as soon as he woke up on Friday, the sneezing came back. I'd say throughout the day on Friday and most of the day on Saturday, he was probably sneezing once every ten to twenty seconds, which if you think about it, is pretty horrible.

He would take his little paw, scratch at his nose, and growl to himself after each sneeze - a growl that seemed desperate, a growl that said "this totally sucks, Sean, when is it going to stop?"

As you can imagine, I basically fell apart. I immediately googled "puppy" + "constant" + "sneezing" and what came up? A quaint little story about a puppy who sneezed for a couple of days and then DIED.

"Hi, I need to see the vet right away, Sergeant Clarkson will not stop sneezing!"

"Um, let me talk to the Doctor and see if I can get him on the phone..."

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

Images of a puppy burial flashed through my head complete with black puppy casket, red roses falling in slow motion on black puppy casket, and Celine Dion's "Because You Loved Me" played as black puppy casket is lowered into the ground.

"Um, hi, the vet said to just watch him and come in tomorrow if he's still sneezing, there's really no reason to race in just yet."

And there it was. In my head, the casket was lowered, and Celine sang those last sweet words: "I'm everything I am, because you loved me......."

Apparently, the vet tech at Blum Animal hospital did not share my concern. Somehow, I was able to take her advice and just watch the little guy sneeze and sneeze and sneeze...

Clarkson's sneezing did not subside by Saturday, so we (Joe) had to take him to the vet to see what the hell was going on. This is where I will leave off with this story, as Joe initially promised to guest blog, but suddenly he has "lost inspiration."

If he doesn't pick up the story in a few days (which includes some pretty damn funny moments at the vet, maybe not on the level of the racist remarks we heard the last time, but still funny nonetheless), I'll try to summarize based on what was relayed to me. Oh and FYI, it's Tuesday and Clarkson is still sneezing, though MUCH less.

Poor little muppet baby!!!

Happy Holidays from the Sarge

We took Clarkson to Petco on Saturday where this creepy guy who seemingly did not like dogs was dressed up as Santa Claus. Naturally, we shelled out $20 bucks (absurd) to get this picture:




Clarkson: "Who the hell is this old guy and why does he smell like gin?"
Santa: "You can't spell gingerbread without gin!"

Although Clarkson looks like he was calm, I assure you he was not. In fact, he was a bit of a terror - which has been the norm lately. He barks, he growls, and he generally acts as if he were top dog...except around dumpsters and our car. The dog is PETRIFIED of all dumpsters and our car.

The car thing is understandable because nearly every time we take him for a ride, he pukes within about 30 minutes. It's almost pavlovian ;)

The dumpsters though? No idea. Guess he's not that tough...

Oh and yes, Clarkson did see the Season Finale of GLEE, which was brought to an exuberant conclusion with "My Life Would Suck Without You." Interestingly enough, this was his first exposure to his namesake and he loved it!!

At any rate, I think we may have some guest bloggers coming soon, so stay tuned! And Happy Holidays!

Aloha Dogwalker

A peek into Clarkson's head yesterday when the dogwalker came in to let him out:

"Awesome. Dogwalker is here...I'm gonna bite her and then make her clean up my poop. This is the best."

"Weird that dogwalker is undressing."

"It's not bikini weather."

"Dogwalker has a pretty banging body I guess"

"Alright dogwalker, I gotta poop, let's go."

Let me explain...

So as you know, we hired a dogwalking service to take Clarkson on daily walks when we are away at work. When we first hired the service, we didn't actually meet the person who would be walking him, but Joe stayed home from work one day to meet who I shall now refer to as "Maria"

Maria is Hawaiian. The day that Joe met her, she decided to walk Clarkson in a tanktop despite the fact that it was not exactly warm outside. Apparently in her mind, acclimating to the Chicago winter would best happen if she were to walk around without appropriate clothing. She, unlike the dog, was unlikely to grow a winter coat, but we thought that it was really up to her how she wanted to do her job, just as long as she take the dog for walks and clean up his poops .

Earlier today we got an email from Maria and all it said was "Hi, I am [Maria's real name] and I was wondering if you found a key in your apartment yesterday." Unfortunately, neither Joe nor I had found a key, but with Maria's email came a very important bit of information - her last name.

Two clicks on facebook later and we had this staring us in the face:





OH. MY. GOD.


So, in my head, here's what went down: Maria popped in to Two Tommies one afternoon, she let Clarkson out of his little play area, she stripped down to her best bikini, and she nonchalantly walked him around lakeview in 20 degree weather.

Not four hours after we found this little gem on facebook, we received the following email from our dogwalking service:

"Sean,
I am sorry to inform you that [Maria's real name] was let go earlier today. I will be walking Clarkson until we can find a suitable replacement."

I immediately confirmed that Maria no longer had our key and that there was no foul play present (beyond losing someone else's key and being caught walking dogs in her bathing suit). All is good. Looks like no more peep show for the muppet baby.

He's getting neutered in February anyway.

Boozy Cuddles

So Joe does not allow Clarkson on our bed, mainly because "one day Clarkson is going to be old, fat, and smelly and I'm not sleeping with that..."

I hope I age gracefully.

At any rate, even though Clarkson is not allowed on our bed, he is allowed on the bed in the guest bedroom, which is starting to pose a bit of a problem. Nearly every weekend night over the course of the last month, Joe, Clarkson and I all end up (drunk) in the guest bedroom. Basically, it's two in the morning, we get home drunk, take one look at the muppet baby and then instantly decide we want to cuddle with him. Upon reflection, this is not very healthy for the dog. Here's how it goes down...

We stumble in around 2/2:30 and immediately rip Clarkson from his bed. Joe usually picks him up, at which point we poke and prod him, all the while thinking we are gently petting him. We're not. Next, we stumble, stumble, stumble our way to guest bedroom; Clarkson is tired, scared, and most likely confused as all hell, but nonetheless, we all pile in. It's essentially a large game of King of the Bed, a game which Clarkson will likely never win.

The poor dog is then subjected to hours and hours of boozy cuddles that reek of beer, nicotine, and poor decisions. Saturday morning I woke up to Clarkson puking over the side of the bed and I'm not even kidding. Clarkson had been immersed in our drunkeness to the point of nausea.

It's time to leave the dog in the crate, but honestly, how do you not want to cuddle with this???

First Snow and First Sting of a Racist Society

A week of firsts...

So it snowed on Thursday and Joe happened to be working from home that day. Here is a youtube clip of Clarkson at his first sight of the snow, for the most part, he pretty much ignored it, but he does try to bite it (surprise, surprise, the dog would try to bite a great white shark):

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8xvDDHsz2R4

Today, I took Clarkson to the vet, and there he experienced his first cruel sting of a middle-aged racist woman ;)

Patty (I don't know her name, but I'm sure it was Patty, you just know a Patty when you see a Patty) asked what kind of dog Clarkson was. I replied with my stock "Shiba Inu, he's Japanese, kinda like a smaller Akita." Patty sang his praises and gave him some attention and then she came out with it...

"Am I crazy or is he slant-eyed like a Jap?"

Um, yes. Yes, you are crazy. Now just go away. I giggled awkwardly and hoped she wouldn't asked again. "He's totally slant-eyed, how did that happen?" God make it stop, make it stop, make it stop.

I muttered "haha, I don't know...ha ha."

Clarkson and I had a little talk afterwards about race, society, and generally just life. It was a good talk. His feelings were hurt, but he knows we love him. Ya know, it's tough raising a dog of a different race. Not only do we have to deal with the usual stuff (potty training, chewing, behaviour, etc.), but we must also be decidedly mindful of racial sensitivities. We're white. He's Asian. Someday other dogs are going to notice...

Ah well, we'll cross that bridge when come to it. Until then, we'll continue to shower our Oriental baby with love. Oh shit, Oriental is derogatory...um, until then, we'll continue to shower our Asian-American baby with love.

Finally, click here for the trailer to a movie that I will NEVER be able to see:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FaS37E3gKOU

Happy Thanksgiving From the Sarge

Happy Thanksgiving everyone! It is Sergeant Clarkson Jiggins's first turkey day and we have made a new video blog to honor the occasion. And when I say "we," I mean I got out the camera and Joe said he wanted no part of it before I could even say the word "youtube." As it turns out, I need to stick to old fashioned blogging as I have NO idea who sucked the life out of me during this little clip. Why am I even there?

As you can see from the vlog, we have put up our Christmas tree! And when I say "we," I mean Joe put up the Christmas tree as I ran to get us Subway and an extra few sets of lights. We really work better together when I am not in the way. The tree is up and we (again, Joe) strung the lights. The rest of the decorations will come over the weekend. You will also see from the vlog that Clarkson got a new collar. He outgrew his old one and he's getting bigger every day. I hate it. I want him to stay a muppet baby forever! He's still the cutest puppy in the world however, and he's becoming even more famous in Lakeview. Many people have seen him on walks and recognized him from past encounters!

Here's how that usually plays out...

Scenario A
Stranger: "Is this Sergeant Clarkson?"

Sean: "Yes, isn't he the cutest thing you have ever seen? Do you want to pet him? He's a little bitey because he still has puppy teeth, but he's pretty good once he calms down."

Stranger: "What kind of dog is he again? A shina ibu?

Sean: "Shiba Inu, he's kind of like an Akita."

Stranger: "So will he get big?"

Sean: "No, only 30 pounds, which I think is a pretty good size for a city dog. We just love him. Anyway, we should be on our way, have a great day!"

Stranger: "Have a great day!"

Scenario B
Stranger: "Is this Sergeant Clarkson?"
Joe: "Yes."

Joe keeps on walking.

Clarkson was also recognized by a total stranger and blog reader. Apparently a friend's friend was reading this blog when her roommate messaged her about a fluffy white puppy that was sooo cute. The friend's friend promptly asked "was his name Clarkson?" and it was! Our little guy is a celebrity.

Anyway, must go now. Sorry about the depressing video blog, that's never going to happen again. Oh and if you're reading, would it kill you to comment? We would really appreciate it. And when I say we, I mean I would really appreciate it.

Clarkson speaks

So Joe and I hired a dog walker to take the muppet baby out on walks when we are both away at work. It gives us piece of mind that he is getting some additional regular exercise, which will hopefully translate into a calmer dog who does not eat the paneling on our kitchen wall (more on that later). When the dog walker initially started, she would leave tiny notes that would basically say: we went for a walk and he "eliminated" twice.

Yesterday, however, we came home to a note from Clarkson. Clarkson wrote us a note! He scares easily at dumpsters. He barks at his own reflection. He chases his own tail. And now, he writes notes!

Today we came home to this:

"I wouldn't stop making noise when [dog walker's name] came home. I was so happy to see her that I gave her plenty of kisses! I didn't pee when we went to the roof, but I pooped and peed twice outside. We walked down to the end of the of the street, back up the other side, and then back home. I got to play with a cocker spaniel and sniff everything I wanted! We played fetch with some of my toys when we got home."

Oh Clarkson, where is your sentence structure? "I did this." "I did that." Come on, buddy! Where are your transitions? Do I see you ending sentences with prepositions? Quite honestly Clarkson, what was the point of your little story? No dramatic build, no climax. And why are you SO excited about this dog walker? Are you trying to make us jealous?

It's working.

I am taking off tomorrow...we're going for a walk...and we're going to a writing class.

In an unrelated note - I would like to recommend Kong chew toys to ANYONE who has a puppy. You tuck a treat in the middle of the toy and Clarkson is transported to a different universe. A universe that is on the brink of implosion and which can only be saved if he gets...that...treat! I swear God, it can keep him occupied for HOURS!

Alpha, Beta............Gamma.

"Alpha." Joe points to himself.



"Beta." Joe points at Clarkson.



"Gamma." Joe points at me. Clarkson bites my leg, barks in my face, and sprints down the hallway.



It's true. Roles have been established at the Jiggins Household. Joe = Alpha Male, with Clarkson listening and obeying to *most* of his every word (he's still a puppy, and let's face it, not entirely capable of complex thought). Clarkson = Second-in-command, such a cute dog that I cannot seem to discipline. Sean = Bottom of the totem pole, a living chew toy that feeds Clarkson and takes him to to the bathroom. A living chew toy that picks up his poop.


FYI, I would expect it to be a very long time before I get through an entire blog without talking about the dog's bathroom habits...yesterday he "eliminated" eleven times...ELEVEN. "Eliminate" is the word most dog training websites use, which I find to be completely ridiculous.


"Take your your puppy to the area of your yard where you would like him/her to eliminate, look your puppy directly in the eyes, and give him/her the command to eliminate. Try using the word 'eliminate'"


"Clarkson...ELIMINATE."


Clarkson barked at me and I'm pretty sure he said "Eliminate this, dumbass."


Anyway, the difference in Clarkson's temperament around Joe and me is pretty unbelievable. The other day I came home from work and the dog would just not stop: barking, running around like a maniac, not letting me eat dinner, jumping on the couch, etc. Joe gets home from work and Clarkson all but went outside to fetch him the Sunday paper. The dog was pleasant, peaceful, and loving. Later that night after I got home from Flipper's house, and Joe told me that they even got to have some cuddles. CUDDLES! Naturally, he chose to tell me this as Clarkson was crawling on top of me, looking for some fresh ear to nibble.


If I tried to cuddle with the dog, I'm pretty sure he would bite my leg, bark in my face, and sprint down the hallway. Rinse, lather, repeat.


He's just so effing cute though. I can't get mad at this face!!


In fact, I miss that face. I'm outta here. I'm going to go play with my dog....


Days since Clarkson: 12

Days since roles were established: 11.5

Insomnia and the Pup-a-razzi

So we have had our muppet baby for over a week now. He's still pretty awesome. He's biting the crap out of me, but for some reason he's pretty deferential of Joe. I think he may be able to tell that I'm a pushover. He's also an earlier riser than I could have ever imagined - the latest he has slept in has been 6:30, and today it was 4:45. NIGHTMARE. It's weird too because he is SOO full of energy when he wakes up: running in circles around our furniture, trying to bite my legs, barking like a banshee. I, on the other hand, am essentially a zombie. A zombie with enormous hair and bad breath.

Here is our morning routine:

4:45: Clarkson starts pawing at the door of his crate, I whisper a silent prayer that if I ignore him, he will just go back to bed, Joe sleeps.
5:00: Clarkson starts yapping to be let out of the crate, I get out of bed and try to find clothes to put on, Joe sleeps.
5:01: Clarkson starts yapping like CRAZY because he realizes that I'm getting dressed, I try (unsuccessfully) to quiet him down before letting him out of the crate, Joe sleeps.
5:01:30: Clarkson gets out of his crate and runs in circles, manages somehow to find a sock that I have left somewhere, I chase him down and pull the sock out of his mouth, Joe sleeps.
5:02: Clarkson and I go out for a quick pee break, Joe sleeps.
5:05: Clarkson eats, I sleep, Joe sleeps.
6:00: Clarkson, who up until this point has been in the kitchen set off by a large doggy-door, starts barking again to go outside/play, I wake up, Joe sleeps.
6:05: Clarkson rocks a deuce and also pees, I pick it up and throw it away, Joe sleeps.
6:06: Clarkson and I go on a walk, Joe sleeps.
6:30: Clarkson and I play in the family room (read: Clarkson bites me for roughly 80 consecutive minutes as I try to discipline him, he mistakes this for a game. A game that I have lost for the past 6 days). Joe wakes up and slams the bedroom door closed in a huff. Joe sleeps.

Then we play/sleep/play/shower until I leave for work at 8:30. Amazingly he may have to pee again one of those times, which is just mind-boggling to me. But enough about his bathroom habits. That's our morning. And FYI - the deal always was that if we were going to get a dog, I'd have to take it out. I only mention that Joe gets to sleep not out of anger, but rather, out of pure, unadulterated jealousy.

The weather in Chicago was amazing this weekend, so we had plenty of opportunities to take Clarkson on long walks and show him off. Brigitte and I took the Sarge for a walk to the Gap on Saturday, which was a success in some senses and a disaster in others.

Success: Clarkson handled the attention very well. Disaster: a walk that should have taken roughly 10 minutes ended up taking 45. Success: Clarkson is the envy of lakeview. Disaster: Clarkson is the envy of lakeview (one woman threatened to steal him, a threat that for some reason was not taken lightly). Success: Clarkson was good with other dogs. Disaster: a man with leather pants that zippered from the behind walked past us.

I guess that last one is a disaster that is wholly unrelated to Clarkson, but for the love of god, these pants were RIDICULOUS.

Anyway, the weekend was finished with a visit from my nieces Caitlin and Lauren. Clarkson was awesome with the girls and they were equally as great with him. The whole afternoon can best be described as an explosion of cuteness. An explosion of cuteness with dynamite made of puppies and toddlers.

Here are a couple of youtube videos:




http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IqVpUqjui4Y

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JYGBqJX35cY

Bathroom is outside, not on my hands.

Clarkson is everything I dreamed he would be and more. He is, as far as I can tell, a muppet baby. A snow white, muppet baby that is hilarious, curious, adorable, and incapable of going to the bathroom outside. He's been with us for a little over 48 hours so far...we've had three poops and numerous pees, all within the confines of our tiny carpeted stairwell leading up to the Two Tommies roofdeck. Not one time has he gone outside. Not one time has he gone on this weird dog toilet contraption that we bought for him and put on the roof. All inside. All while we were not looking at him (for those 3.5 seconds each hour). All on the stairwell. At least, he is smart enough to not go in front of us, and he also doesn't go on any of our furniture/rugs. Only on the stairwell.

Today, after catching him right in the middle of trying to go number 2, I panicked, picked him up and immediately ran up the stairs and out the door. Clarkson, like most of us, was unable to...um...cork it. So basically I was running and screaming with a pooing dog on my hands. Yep. He was pooing, I was screaming. It was chaos.

An important part of this story: Joe can't handle the poo. Like, at all. Joe frantically followed up the stairs, the whole time shouting "I'm going to be sick, I'm going to be sick!" I turned around (with the pooing dog in my hands) to tell him he wasn't helping, and well, Clarkson was done. I tried, unsuccessfully to catch my 2-month-old puppy's falling poop.

He's still pretty awesome though, observe:

- At night, he goes to sleep immediately with little to no whining, which is awesome.
- He follows us everywhere we go; we can never leave a room without him trotting right behind us.
- He chased his tail for about 20 minutes tonight.
- He was good around Amanda's two-year-old today.
- He was excited when I got home from work today, and he's known me for like 20 minutes.
- He's super effing cute.

See? Totally awesome.




Days with Clarkson: 2
Days woken up at 5:30 a.m because Clarkson wanted to play: 2

Who will play Joe?

So Joe caved and he's allowing the Jiggins family to get a dog. Sergeant Clarkson, Dept. of Homeland Security will arrive tomorrow night, and I simply cannot be more excited. I have decided to start blogging again so that the world can enjoy the inevitable chaos that is about to permeate my life. I'm assuming the blog will become a phenomenon, with someone eventually wanting to make a movie about my life. That's what happened with that dowdy woman in Queens who decided to cook a lot.

God I hope they don't cast one of the hobbits to play me.

So stay tuned dear readers (readers meaning facebook friends). If I know anything, I know that this dog is going to bring some crazy effing stories to tell...

Days until dog: 1
Days until Joe yells at me for not properly taking care of the dog: 1