A Nanette by any other name…

Here’s a list of Nanette’s nicknames:

• Nanny Pants (coined by her foster family),
• which became Nanny,
• then Jane granted her a middle name, so now her full name is: Nanette Rose Bergman;
• Nanner Bananner;
• and THEN tonight we gave her an alter-ego, Nanette Pantalons, a bored French poet who just published her first volume of short-form existentialist poetry. Highlights include, “La Caisse de la Morte: Huis Clos (The Stifling Crate: No Exit)”, “Chants de Petit Gateau (Ode to A Biscuit)”, “Le Chat Mon Amour (My Love, the Cat), and excerpted from her forthcoming English volume, “Heavenly Scents Along the Grass”;
• if it’s right before bath time, she’s Stinky;
• Ooooooooooooh! Who lives in a pineapple under the bush? NAN-NY SQUARE-PANTS! Pinkish and white with a beautiful tush! NAN-NY SQUARE-PANTS!
• And last but not least: Superdog!

Separation Anxiety (or, Learning A Valuable Lesson…The Hard Way)

By Jenny

So I thought, What’s the harm? I’m only going to the store and back. She’ll be fine on her own for an hour or so.

I should have known better. Nanny lulled me into a false sense of security today. She was the perfect companion, keeping me company in the office all day while Jane’s up visiting Sophie at camp.

But when I walked in the door, groceries in hand, I immediately realized my mistake. Nanny managed to pull down the window blind nearest the door. It was shredded. Bloodied. And the contents of my messenger bag were strewn everywhere.

Then I walked into the dining room. She chewed a small bit out of the kitchen door, but nothing too bad. And there was an odor, but I couldn’t place it…

I knew not to show her any affection, and didn’t. But I had to see if she was hurt and try to clean some of the blood off her paws and face (it wasn’t much, but still an alarming reminder of a pit bull’s high tolerance for pain). I didn’t speak to her, didn’t pet her.

Then I cleaned up the remnants of the blinds. I nearly cried when I saw the bloodied cord and slats. She must have worked very hard trying to get to me, wherever her little doggie mind thought I was.

After putting the groceries away, I decided to help Nanny calm down by taking her for a long walk. When I realized that she hadn’t pooped or peed along the way, it suddenly dawned on me what that smell in the dinging room was.

Sure enough, when we got home I inspected the dining room and there it was. A puddle and a pile. Cursing myself under my breath, I cleaned up and tried to think of what I’ll tell Jane when she gets home.

One thing’s for sure: I won’t be doing that again.

Update: Just discovered more evidence of Nanny’s tantrum. Wow.

Nanny’s Big Day

By Jenny

We went for a ride in the car.

Explored our local pet store.

And had a bath. Now I’m pretty convinced that Nanny can tolerate anything without complaint.

Then we visited our friends Amy, Jay, Lilja and Theo! But I don’t have pictures to post yet because I *gasp* left my camera at their house! Which I promise you I’ve never ever done before because my camera is practically glued to me at all times. But if I did have the pictures, you would see how awesome Nanny was around the kids. Nine-month-old Theo was especially fascinated by her, reaching his very curious hands out to her without any fear. Nanny was gentle as can be. Lilja worked up the courage to give Nanny a biscuit, which she accepted with her usual caution. And Nanny benefited from an errant falafel which made it’s way to where she was hanging out under the table.

When we got home, Nanner Bananner passed out on the couch. That was most activity she’s seen since she came home with us. I loved seeing her interact with kids and other animals (though I’m sure Izzy the cat would have a few things to say about having a dog in her midst).

Soul Doggie

By Jenny

My friend Jeanne commented recently,

this dog isn’t a dog, I’m coming to realize. it’s a person in a dog’s body. There’s no other explanation for how soulful she is.

It’s true. Nanny’s deep, brown eyes are as soulful as they come. There’s something behind them that draws you to her, and makes you want to protect her from every bad thing in the universe. Something that says, I’m damaged, and I know you’re damaged, too.

Perhaps that’s why Jane knew we had to bring her home. Because Nanny needs healing, she appeals to the part of us within ourselves that needs healing also. Her insecurity and cautious nature with strangers resonates with those feelings within myself. I can’t speak for Jane, but I’m sure she would say the same.

The other night, I turned to Jane and said, “I’m so glad we did this. Together.” Because truth be told, I left the first meeting with Nanny unsure that we should take on a “special needs” dog. I’ve since come to understand that this was the dog we were supposed to have all along. Because Nanny challenges my notion of what “normal” means (as if I hadn’t had enough of those lessons in my life to get that point already), and makes me understand that “not normal” is ok.

Beautiful, in fact.

Teen Rebellion, part 2

By Jane

Teenagers of all species test boundaries. Where do I stand in the the order of things? God knows our teenage kids are professionals at this sport. Every so often I have to snap at them like the den mother I am to remind them I’m the boss. Get back in line!

Nanny is figuring this out, too. Just how far can she take something before I’ll snap her back in line? Last night was an example of the work we’ve been doing on this. I’ve been teaching her that “her spot” on the couch is squarely on the blanket we have down to help contain the shedding. If you ask me, it’s a prime piece of couch real estate! (If you ask me, she’s lucky to be allowed on the couch in the first place, but I conceded due to her traumatic past. I know she needs to be in close contact with us.) She tests this rule from time to time. Maybe she’ll jump on a completely different part of the couch, looking at me to see my reaction. Yeah, guess again. It doesn’t take much for me to convince her that she stays on “her spot”. Last night I got home late. Jenny was stretched out on one section (it’s an L-shaped couch) with Nanny stretched out on the other section to be as close as possible, with the bare minimum of her body on “her spot”. When I walked in the door, she jumped up to be fully on the blanket, checking me out for a reaction. Too funny! Hopefully there will be no long-term impact on my Alpha Dog status because, frankly, I was tired and didn’t really care where she was on the couch. She sensed that and stretched back out with her hind legs and tail on the blanket, the rest of her oriented to Jenny.

So I am The Enforcer, She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed, the Exerciser (our walks tend to be longer and more brisk). Jenny is The Snuggler, She-Who-Must-Be-Near-At-All-Times. Seriously, if Jenny moves from one room to another, Nanny is her shadow. They play and bond, I’m more goal-oriented: now we eat, now we walk, now we pick up the poop, OK now we can snuggle. Of course, this is as it should be. She knows where she stands in the pack (and where I stand and where Jenny does — the kids have yet to be figured out), even if she has to test that hierarchy from time to time.

As a side note on She-Who-Must-Be-Near-At-All-Times: Nanny is lost without Jenny. The Silent One speaks every morning now when Jenny leaves for work. It’s a soft, heart-breaking squeak of a whine. She paces. She stops at the front door and waits. She paces some more. She whimpers. This morning, she went out to the back porch, stood on her hind legs to look out the window: the car was gone, Jenny was gone. It’s hard to see that sadness in her eyes. With time, the pain of separation will fade.

I think a dog like Nanny needs a Jenny, a Heather (her foster mom), someone she can trust completely. But she also needs an Alpha Dog. She needs to know the boundaries. The role suits me as much as Jenny’s role suits her.