Caregiving Nightmares

When your husband is in hospital and you end up caring for his giant dog

Owning a giant dog is always a challenge, especially if you are the secondary parent in the household. Viggo weighs over 120 pounds and he’s pure muscle. I cannot walk him; it is an impossible task.

Even Scott has difficulty getting Viggo to heel. Ask the neighbors at the cottage we frequent. Everything was fine until Pete and Nora got a poodle and we tried to introduce Rosie to Viggo. It was not a pleasant experience. Scott tried to keep him on a leash and Viggo upended Scott and spilled beer everywhere. At least three times. Eventually, Scott gave up and took Viggo back to our cottage.

I have tried getting a dog trainer, and discovered that once the person leaves, Viggo reverts to his old self, and loses his shit, chasing and killing baby rabbits, menacing every neighbour who walks by, etc. etc.

Now that Scott’s in the hospital for an extended period, Viggo presents many challenges for me, although he does seem much calmer in the house. He hates his crate, and has severe separation anxiety. Even with a Kong filled with peanut butter and treats, he is usually soaking wet from drool and often chews the cage leaving blood on the floor.

The other day, I was rushing to the hospital and forgot that I had left my brand new Cuisinart Griddler on top of the crate. When I returned he had chewed off the plug and left a mess of wire all over his cage.

He also sheds horribly, as you will see from the above photo.

Scott assures me that the Griddler can be fixed, but let me tell you I was pissed, mostly at myself for being an terrible dog owner.

Yesterday, I booked a groomer to come to cut his nails, and it did not go well. She was terrified! Not matter what we did, he began with what I call the Whale Eye. I finally agreed to take him to her house, and he happily jumped in the car, entered her abode with a happy smile and got his nails clipped. Which made me wonder why I didn’t try this in the first place.

I am truly wondering what would happen if Scott didn’t come out of the hospital (which is totally ridiculous and I should stopped the catastrophic self-talk). Viggo is a wonderful guy, but I simply can’t imagine me in my dotage trying to get him to the vet without him tearing off in search of a squirrel. What if we are homeless and have to live on the street and beg for kibble?

It’s truly terrifying.

I did see a service on my neighborhood Facebook that I might try if I should find myself in need. It’s called Elderdog Canada and it’s meant to help people keep their pets at home. Volunteers help out seniors who need help with pet transportation, among other things.

I wonder if they would accept Viggo.

Jeez, can you imagine the screening questionnaire?

Has your dog ever bit anyone?

Just me when I took a roll of toilet paper out of his mouth. Oh yes, and Sophie the pug when they fought over a piece of dropped bacon.

Is your pet reactive?

Not in the house, as long as you don’t bring in another dog or cat. Also, not when he’s asleep.

Does he respond to simple commands?

You’re kidding, right?

Let’s face it, I just have to pray that I go first. I’ll even pre-pay my funeral if they give me the senior’s discount.