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.