That first night

Not gonna lie—I’m exhausted. The first night was ruff. (Sorry, I just had to do it.) It feels exactly like having a newborn. All combined, I probably slept for a grand total of two hours. 

We were all so doggone tired (last one for this post, I swear!) from the anticipation and excitement of getting G that we decided to hit the sack early. When we let him out just before bed, he really didn’t pee, and he certainly didn’t poop. Connie had told us that it wasn’t uncommon for dogs not to defecate during the first few days in a new environment, so we just chalked it up to new home jitters.

Once we were in the bedroom, it was effortless to get him to go in his crate. Just by saying the word, “kennel,” he instantly knew what to do, offering no resistance even as I closed the door. Could it really be this easy? Umm…no. It wasn’t until I walked into the bathroom that he started barking. Loudly. I poked my head out of the door so he could see me and gave him a quick “No!” which seemed to momentarily appease him. But as soon as my husband, Eric, and I got into bed and turned off the lights, the barking started again. We were at a loss for what to do as this had never been brought up as something we would need to contend with. 

I’ve mentioned before that I’ve watched quite a bit of Cesar Milan. And if I’ve learned nothing else from his show, it’s that how you respond to a dog’s behavior is what will make or break any bad habits moving forward. I decided we should just ignore G, as hard as that was going to be. The last thing I wanted to do was to let him out and have it seem like we were rewarding the unwanted behavior. So, with fingers crossed, my husband and I laid there in the dark listening to the incredibly loud barks echoing off of our walls, praying that our neighbors weren’t being disturbed. Miraculously, after about five minutes, G let out a deep sigh and settled himself down. Victory was ours!

Unfortunately, that sense of elation would be short-lived. I have the misfortune of being an incredibly light sleeper and someone who needs a good seven hours or more to function as a rational human being. For the next few hours, I laid there and listened to the banging and clanging of the metal crate as G scratched himself or moved around. As soon as I would start to doze off, it wouldn’t be long before some movement would jolt me wide awake again. I wasn’t sure how I would take this for the week or more the dog would need to sleep in the crate.

It was 3 am when the barking began again, along with some deliberate banging against the crate door. This behavior was clearly different from before. Knowing that G hadn’t really gone to the bathroom before we went to bed, we decided to get up to take him out to do his business. Did I mention that it was 3 am? And that it was only 7 degrees outside?

Sure enough, G immediately relieved himself once outside. After giving him some praise and a treat, we took him back to the crate so we could try to get a little more sleep. Just as if we had pressed the replay button, he immediately began barking as soon as we got into bed and turned off the lights. Again, we ignored him, and again, he eventually settled down after a few minutes. Breathing out a sigh of relief, I nestled myself comfortably underneath the covers, expecting to pass out from utter exhaustion. And then it began. 

G started to snore. This was not the bit of heavy breathing you might find cute coming from a dog—this was the loud kind of snoring you’d expect from a portly middle-aged man with severe sleep apnea. All I could think was FML. Thirty seconds later, Eric followed suit. 

I wasn’t sure who I was going to strangle first…