I actually made it through the day with no nap yesterday after my night of segmented sleep. I was quite surprised when 9 o'clock rolled around and I was still on my feet. I confess that I did violate my caffeine rule and over indulged, having 4 big mugs of that magic elixir. My heart was all a titter with it, but I stayed awake and able to speak and count money.
I am happy to report that Oscar came around yesterday evening and ate and drank. He was able to navigate the yard long enough to take care of business, then slept all night. Our late night rendezvous did not happen! I was also able to sleep without interruption until 8:30 this morning. That is quite late for me, but I have a feeling I could have slept on through the day until tomorrow morning. Wishing won't make it so.
Oscar seems to be back to his normal self. Demanding and receiving what he thinks to be his right to have. Never mind all the annoyance of himself, I will continue to be smitten with him until his last breath. This annoys my daughter, the one who bought the adorable little scrap of a pup, then abandoned that same puppy to me.
I remember the day she bought him at a pet store and paid an outrageous (I thought so, at the time) price for him. She came into my house, proud as could be, and introduced my new grand-dog to me. "Here, hold him, Mom." I declined, telling her I disdained little "ankle biters". I had "real" dogs. Big dogs.Protective dogs. Low maintenance dogs.
Since she and her husband both worked for her parents, they felt free to bring the pup to work with them, just as I would bring mine when it suited me. I ignored him and lavished my Collie an my Saint Bernard with all my affections. The real dogs. The new puppy had not been in the care of my daughter for very long when she confided that she absolutely hated him. She had a real dog in residence, a big clunky Saint Bernard named Crash. Not because of his size or the fact that he often knocked things over. No, he was Crash because my grandson, Gage, had already named their cat "Burn". Crash and Burn were low maintenance pets. Crash was happy to live outside and Burn was adept at a litter box. Little puppies that grow up to be little dogs can be difficult to train.
Crash and Burn are the reason I ended up with a Saint Bernard (Crash's very own sister-dog) named Louise. I was given the choice of Thelma or Louise. I had not intended to buy myself a dog. I was intent on gifting a Saint Bernard to my then 2 year old grandson, Gage. He chose his puppy and I was smitten with the pretty mask on the 55 lb. female puppy. So, I bought both ..... for the same amount my daughter paid for the tiny dachshund. Pound for pound I definitely got the better deal!
Back to that tiny scrap of a puppy named Oscar. My daughter, Jill, having decided that the puppy's tongue was too long, he was impossible to train, and that he was making her nauseous began her campaign to make me adopt her puppy. She tried to entice a co-worker to take him. After exhausting all possibilities of finding a new home, she declared that she would just "drop him off at the dog pound!"
And now you know the rest of the story ..... my Jill is a smart girl (it is genetic, you know) and she knew her mom would never let that happen. So, I took the dog and all his puppy ways home with me. He had all manner of puppy stuff with him, but mainly a ball that would fit in his mouth. He was already quite adept at fetching, too bad he never picked up on going outside to pee. I chatted with him on the way home. Told him all the rules in my house and the consequences of disobeying those rules. He watched me solemnly with his puppy eyes and I swear to you, he understood every single word!
Too bad that although he understood, he did not care a whit about my rules. I introduced him to his new surroundings and he promptly hiked his short little leg and peed on my dining room table leg. He was indifferent to my scolding. The real dogs were eager to meet this new puppy. Sarge, the Collie, carefully sniffed him and backed away. Louise was excited at the novelty of such a tiny dog and licked his entire body with one swipe of her giant tongue. She wanted to flip his body over and lick the under side, but he growled ferociously and snapped at her.
She backed away, most likely hurt that he did not enjoy her ministrations. She was just trying to be friendly. Later that same day when it was time to eat, Oscar, not a weenie in any sense of the word, took his ball, wet with puppy slobber and placed it in the communal food dish. When the real big dogs tried to eat, he growled and snapped at them until they stood back. He ate his fill, took his ball, thus allowing the big dogs access to food. This is how a tiny puppy became the alpha dog in my house.