|In 2010, things were... different.|
In the last while, especially the past few weeks, I've received a lot of messages about it:
"Why did you stop blogging?"
"How come you don't post on Twitter anymore?",
"I don't see you on Facebook much."
"Did you eat my chocolate?! You silly bitch."
"Are you ok?"
Yep, I'm ok. It was never a conscious decision to stop posting so much - truthfully, I will sometimes sit at my desk with the intent to throw some updates at the internets... and then nothing comes to me. I'm boring. "Wow, my daily steel cut oats are still a great breakfast choice!" is not the most exciting of updates. (Even if they are a stellar breakfast choice. Really.)
These days my main concerns are my business, my health, my Piggie Smalls, and my people. I'm always posting constant streams of content for my clients, and I guess my own stuff just had to take a backseat. And I'm ok with that. I'm quite happy to have no life crises to air online, no boy drama, and no pissed-off rants about whatever is currently on my shit list.
However, for those of you that are looking for some shamblin' ramblin' problems to solve, just this once, for old time's sake I'll give you one - her name is Daisy, and she is a jerk.
If you recall years ago, when I moved back to Toronto and started living alone, Daisy's separation anxiety made her freak out and destroy my place every time I left. So I crate-trained her, and all was (kinda) well on that front. Fast forward a few years, and we're living in another new place. She hasn't been as great in her crate here, but it was manageable - until suddenly it wasn't.
|Last year's Daisy-shaming for past offences|
Now she's decided that chewing up the plastic bottom of the crate and beating it until it breaks is fun, and so is barking and thrashing herself against it. I got a text from my downstairs neighbour at 2:30am on Saturday night while I was out at a bar, letting me know that Daisy was suddenly frantic and barking like she was distressed while banging into her crate. On Sunday I tried twice to crate her and leave, but as I waited downstairs for my ride, she made the craziest noises I've ever heard from her. So I took her out and, for the first time in 4 years, left her alone in my apartment uncrated. It seemed like the less upsetting option.
Well... I suppose it could've gone worse. It has gone worse. But history repeats itself, and my loving little pigdog went into my fridge yet again and left food around my place, along with other minor damage. Oh, the flashbacks. The stress. The ruined food.
So for those of you dog owners that are knowledgeable about four-legged separation anxiety (and insanely smart, wily dogs), what do you suggest? I have a few ideas in mind, but at this point I'll try anything to ease the situation for both me and the pig. So all suggestions are welcome.
(And to make up for my odd absenteeism and boring dog-post, I'll have two - count 'em, two - giveaways for you in the next week or so. Cuz when I apologize, I do it with FREE STUFF. So there.)