Entries from December 2005 ↓

As part of Tootie’s training I must ignore her when we reunite. This is the cornerstone to amichien bonding. If her song and dance of trying to reestablish dominance becomes aggressive, for instance scratching or jumping in the face and biting, she must be removed from the room and placed in time out. After she has ceased barking and whining for ten seconds she may be allowed back into the room with you. You must then ignore her once again. If her ritual of trying to establish dominance by jumping on you escalates to biting or aggressiveness once more, you escort her gently by the collar to the time out room (which you have cleared for any thrashing that may occur.) Each time she is led to the time out room for unacceptable behavior she must wait longer and longer after ceasing barking to be let back into the training room.

This is Tootie’s fourth time in time out. It is sort of like Super Nanny for dogs.

I just let her out of the bathroom, her designated time out room, and she came in and jumped up on me. It didn’t hurt, so I let her. I ignored her while I looked at a few photographs lying on the boyfriend’s desk.  She calmed down for a minute, until I sat down at the computer. She then bit me on the knee. (Her bites are hardly painful–she is barely gripping me at all–she is just trying to remain the Alpha dog.)

So now this is fifth time to time out. She’s hardly putting up a fuss anymore. Just whimpering sporadically. I need to wait a minute and half now for silence before I let her out, since she’s had to go back to many times. I suppose this could go on all morning, though I suspect she’s pretty close to getting it now.

This requires a lot of patience. Something I am short on, so this is training for me, too. I was going to go to a yoga class at the Y at 8:30, but it looks like I’ll miss that now. I’ll just hit the treadmill instead.

If she’s quiet 30 seconds longer I can let her out. Hang on…

I let her out. It went well for a while. She even laid down and gave the sigh that they are supposed to give when they give up the Alpha role. But the second I sat down she starting the fake biting again. So Tootie is now serving her sixth time out sentence. She must wait two minutes after being quiet before getting out.

At this rate I won’t make it to the Y before it closes. This is only Day Two. Let’s hope my perseverance pays off.

The boyfriend bought me this book called The Dog Listener by Jan Fennell after I complained about my dog not knowing I’m the boss. She listens to the boyfriend, but runs all over me. This has to end or every article of clothing I will forever be muddy, and the bruises from her nips and bites will never heal.

I began reading it Friday and finished it yesterday. There is a second book included in the extended paperback that is a 30-day training manual based on the principles of the book I just finished. I haven’t yet delved into the 30-day plan, but I plan to this evening, because tomorrow starts Day One of Tootie’s training.

I’m starting immediately because I can already see good results. The concept is based on wolf pack mentality. Packs have Alpha pairs, male and female, but only the strongest, most intelligent and agile dogs become Alphas. When a dog is introduced to a family it assumes the role of pack leader, because the humans do not. We try shouting at them, scolding them, but that is not how dogs communicate. By understanding how dogs assume the role of Alpha is the key to letting your dog know who is boss.

It is important that your dog not be the Alpha because it is not fair to it. Dogs don’t know how to cope in a human world, so their leadership role isn’t befitting them and it stresses them out. Separation anxiety in dogs is actually the animal’s fear that it’s baby, its subordinate–the dog it must look out for–will never return. Dogs have no concept of time. By becoming the Alpha you can let your dog relax and enjoy his role. Dogs who aren’t the Alpha don’t jump or become aggressive or bite for no reason. They don’t constantly run underneath your feet, because they are no longer trying to protect you from falling off that cliff that isn’t there.

Ignoring your dog is one of the biggest ways to let it know you are the Alpha. One of the first steps mentioned is the Five Minute Rule. Every single time you separate from your dog, whether it be for eight hours or eight minutes, you must reestablish that you are the Alpha. You do this by ignoring your dog completely until it stops jumping up on you and barking and licking–that is how he is trying to show dominance. Eventually the dog will give up this song and dance. At that point you wait five full minutes before addressing the dog in any way. From the time you come in the door you may not make eye contact, speak to it or acknowledge it in any manner. You may only push it away if it is jumping and scratching. This must happen every time you reenter a room where the dog is. (This is a lifestyle and not a quick fix. This rule must be adhered to for the rest of the dog’s life, but she says it becomes second nature.)

Alpha dogs in the wild are naturally the strong and silent type, hence the ignoring. And man, is it hard. You want to ruffle her fur and pet her sweet head, but you mustn’t. It isn’t fair to your dog in the long run, it stresses them out. But I’ve been following this rule pretty strictly (guests too!) and she’s been much calmer. She doesn’t follow me from room to room! It’s amazing.

I can’t wait to dive in head first. I think I can create a good bond between Tootie and I so long as I follow the principles in the book and respect my dog, never force my will on it but through clear, non-threatening signals show it I am boss, and that she can just chill the fuck out and chew on a leg bone or something. Mommy’s got it covered.

My job can be emotionally taxing at times. I’m held to a higher standard than other bloggers because I am paid to do it, because I work for corporate media and because the site is affiliated with shareholders and CEOs and the like. While everyone else is doing it for fun–and playing dirty politics and calling me names all the while–I have to act like a fucking professional and not go off on people. Which is hard. Because I have a feeling some of the people who antagonize me do so knowing that it can’t be a fair fight. I can’t ban them from commenting or delete comments without a very good reason. You see, it isn’t my blog, although I am the sole editor and writer. It is News 2’s blog. And while I have full editorial control of the website, I am obligated to take the punches without the ability to punch back. I feel obligated to let discussions run on unedited, even when they are filled with statements about how much I suck. I also have to allow people to comment that my company would be better served if someone else was writing the site. How many other people have to enable people to criticize their careers like that?

I am trying to balance stating my opinions regardless of the backlash with trying not to get fired. It is a daily battle. They picked a person who is prone to cussing, highly stubborn and unaplogetic about her beliefs, no matter how radical they may seem to some. While these attributes make for interesting writing, it is difficult to fit that into this media mold. Because it is a media blog, a blog run by a tv station. But I am asked to be subjective. I am more than happy to oblige, but when people disagree with what I’ve written, rather than debate what I’ve said they cry bias. "She’s biased!," they scream, "She can’t say that, she works for the MSM!" As part of the "MSM" I am often just as maligned.

Can I just stop right here and tell you how much I hate the term "MSM"? I mean, what the fuck, people? I’ve even seen folks write The Main Stream Media. What the hell is that dumb shit? Don’t be criticizing the monolithic MSM if you don’t even know how to spell what it stands for. I mean, Christ.

Okay, where were we? So, anyway, it’s tough playing the game when everyone else is on a different field. They do their blogs for fun, and they answer to no one. Not so for me. And I feel like lately that has been exploited by people. I go out of my way to be fair all the while voicing my opinion, so it is a real sock to the jaw when people say I’m not.

This job is an adventure, I must say. But it is emotionally exhausting. I still love it and consider myself very lucky, but I can’t wait for the vacation I will take after I finish today’s shift. I won’t go back until January. I’m going to spend some time with real people with actual faces who are nice to me. It will be a refreshing change.

6:00 am: Awake to the sounds of the boyfriend and Tootie getting ready for their day.

6:30 am: Awake fully after the boyfriend leaves, at which time my dog attacks my face and forces me out of bed. (Which is good, best alarm clock ever.)

6:45 am: Check email and placate dog with treats while mentally preparing to walk her in 17 degree weather.

7:00 am: Walk the dog. Terrorize squirrels.

7:20 am: Browse newly updated local blogs and email news director with an assortment of headlines gleaned from them.

7:40 am: Skim both daily newspapers.

8:00 am: Shower. Play endless game of In and Out with the dog. Dress.

8:20 am: Make-up and teeth brushing and lunch making. Feed and water the mutt.

8:40 am: Leave for work. If I’m lucky.

9:02 am: Arrive at work having heard tail end of NPR. Buy Diet Coke from break room machine.

9:05 am: Check email and blog posts made since early morning. Listen in on morning editorial meeting. Make notes on possible posts for later, especially if the story is intriguing to me but isn’t covered by a videojournalist. Check Dooce.com, Electrolicious.com and DefectiveYeti.com. Then Gawker and Defamer and Egotastic and Go Fug Yourself and The Superficial. (Don’t tell the boss.)

9:45 am: Update scrolling banner ad for WKRN.com and other sites. Check the wires for new and blogworthy material.

10:00 am: Open Bloglines and begin visiting recently updated weblogs. I like to visit each site rather than read from within Bloglines. Weird, I know. I use the shit out of the tabs in the Firefox browser. I really do get carried away. I often times crash my computer doing that crap. But I have this mountain of blogs to scour every day, I feel like if I open a bunch at once I’ve gotten a lot done. Then I start clicking them closed. Blogs about dreams or post of just song lyrics or just reprinted news stories get shut immediately. I post about things sometimes off the cuff, and other times I let posts simmer, adding more and revising before publishing. Many are, frankly, cut and paste jobs. I want people to read those posts, but not every link requires my commentary. Besides, by the end of the day my brain is so fried from reading sometimes I simply cannot work. Words swim together and stringing together even a single sentence seems daunting. That’s when you call in the coffee.

12 noon: Update scrolling banner with any new or breaking news. Consider lunch. Read Fark.

12:30 pm: Continue blogging.

5:15 pm: Put the brakes on the blogging. I’m often very ready to go by this time.

5:25 pm: I clean up links and misspellings (if I catch them). I return emails and watch the newcast from behind.

5:45 pm: Hit rush hour traffic toward East Nashville. Attempt NPR but am overloaded by news by then. I usually opt silence. Blaring phones and televisions and reporters are in my ear all day, so by this time I’m ready for the blissful sound of nothing.

6:15 pm: Enjoy my dog and the boyfriend and maybe a glass of wine.

9:00 pm: Out. Stone cold sleeping.

Click on the image there to see a full-sized version of a note I found near the school by our house.

Fuck Christmas.

When Tootie is outside and wants back in, she’ll sit at the side door and do this funny little chicken bark. It is really about 1/4 of a bark. She doesn’t even open her mouth. She just does this little chicken bleat that blows her floppy lips out.

When she does the chicken bark I find myself amazed yet again that I fell in love with a damn dog.

So, my work blog is nominated for a Weblog Award in Best Media/Journalist Blog. Which is cool. I’ve been blogging for six years and the best I won was sixth place in a stupid weblog game. Puppetmaster 2. Any of you been reading long enough to remember that?

Murfreesboro’s own A.C. Kleinheider nominated me, which was quite nice of him. I fully didn’t expect to be a finalist, but I kept refreshing that page Sunday night anyway. F5 F5 F5 F5. On Monday morning when I saw my name I got pretty excited. Then I saw the words "Raw Story" and "Michael Yon" and realized I’m totally outclassed.

Michael is doing original reporting in a war zone while I drag in at 9 a.m. and enjoy candy from the vending machine. I go to freakin’ Raw Story every morning because they’ve got the pinko-commie, Che Guevera-lovin’, Christian-hatin’, George Bush-bashingest news I need. So I should have voted for one of them.

Instead I voted for myself. And you should go vote for me, too. Micheal Yon may be dodging bullets and ducking bombs. And Raw Story may be scooping the corporate media all over town. But neither of those sites has a Cute Baby Alert.

There are few things in this world that piss me off harder than being accused of something I did not do. It fucking infuriates me. The other day at work a section of the newrooms’ power went out due to a space heater that overloaded the system. The engineers got everything up and working again within 20 minutes.

The day went on. And around 2:30 I finally went out to grab some lunch when the news director called me into his office, a big smile plastered on his face.

"I heard what you did," he said grinning. I asked him what I did, and he said, "Shut down the system. Ya know, with your heater."

Folks, I do not have a heater. I’ve considered it many times as the temperature in that room hovers at 40 degrees or so, but a former News 2 employee who shall remain nameless told me of the time her heater shut down the system, so I never bothered. So, I was immediately miffed. Getting blamed for a heater that had brought me no warmth? Oh, nuh-uh.

I informed him I had no such heater. He said two people told him it was my heater. I wanted names, but he only mentioned a department. I assured him it wasn’t me, and he recommended I send out an internal note pleading my innocence. I did just that.

Because I hate nothing more than being accused of something I haven’t done. Which is why I’m pretty fucking hot right now.

I saw crazy, bitch neighbor lady this morning as I was walking Tootie. I was nearly home when her navy blue Oldsmobile came driving by. I verified it was her, and just to be a big ol’ bitch started waving furiously like we were the best of friends. She picked a drieway and turned around back toward me. She rolled down the passenger side window.

I asked if she was the woman who asked if I had a dog. She said she was. I asked her if there was something she wanted to tell me, and she said no. Then I asked her why she asked me if I had a dog and if I walked it, and she finally gave it up: I’ve been sneaking around in her mailbox.

Oh yeah, man. I’ve been digging around in her mailbox stealing her identity! I got sick of this tired identity, so I chose to steal that of a fat, red faced lady who lives five houses down from me. Brilliant plan, no?

That is what this crazy bitch accused me of. She said, "Two different people, two separate neighbors have come up to me and told me they’ve seen a girl who looks like you, with a dog who looks like that, getting in my mailbox." I must have looked like somebody slapped my mama.

I think I laughed. "I assure you I have not been in your mailbox." Then she said that there is no way two people (and she held up two fingers) could have told her the same thing and it not be true. That is when I got super pissed.

I was all, "Look lady, WHY would I mess with your mail?" That is when she dropped the bomb. Her daughter has been the victim of identity theft. She knows what can happen!

Again I defended myself by insisting I hadn’t touched her freaking mail. She replied, "Oh, I don’t have to worry about this. I’ve called the police and the postal service, and they are investigating."

I told her she was wasting everyone’s time because you can’t prove something that never happened. I hadn’t touched her mail! I asked if she was delivered a paper, and she said no. I told her the most that had ever happened was the dog picked up someone’s newspaper, and I had to take it from her and return it. That was it. But she doesn’t subscribe, so I assured her there was no way I could be mistaken for that person.

And she said, "Well, you know what you’ve done, and you have to live with that." She is lucky I didn’t hit her, I swear. So, I raised my voice.

I said, "Look, if you have a problem with me I’d appreciate it if you came to my door instead of yelling at me from the street and idling in your car. It’s really creepy. She was yelling back, "I did not! I did not do that! I asked you one question!" This is inherently false. She asked if we owned a dog and if we walked it. That is two questions. So, this bitch is accusing me of something I haven’t done and denying something I know for a fact ocured. Excellent! At least I know you’re a fucking nutjob moron, neighbor lady.

I told her to quit creeping by my house. Then I told her that she should mind to her business, and I would look after mine.

And I left. Turned around and walked back to my house. She drove up the street and turned around and came back. I guess she doesn’t want me to know where she lives, but if I’ve been stealing her mail, then wouldn’t I know that already?!

I know the best thing to do is to just let it go and not stoke this fire any further. I could give a rat’s ass what my neighbors think of me, quite frankly. Especially if their impressions are based on blatant falsehoods. Then I don’t have to make excuses for not saying hi to their crazy asses.

I would love to send everyone on our street a postcard that says, "This is the first time I’ve been in your mail. Merry Christmas!" But, of course, I won’t. I will ignore this and go about my life until the SWAT team kicks in the front door and hauls me in for a federal offense.

Oh, that is another thing. She said, "You do know that tampering with mail is a federal offense." And glared at me with the most accusatory eyes I’ve ever seen.

"Yeah, lady," I said, my temperature climbing. "That is why I don’t tamper with anyone’s mail."

Just when I think I’m over it, I find another reason to be misanthropic. Fuck her.

A couple of days ago the boyfriend and I went out to pick up some lunch and as we were unlocking the front door I noticed a dark blue Oldsmobile driving about 5 miles an hour past our house. With the window rolled down and her car rolling to a stop, a blonde lady with a red, fat face said, "Excuse me!"

I turned to her. She asked, "Do you have a dog?" I yelled that I did. The she asked, "Do you walk your dog?" I yelled back that yes, we do walk our dog. In retrospect I kind of wish I had yelled out, "No, we just let her shit and piss in the house!" Instead I was very polite.

The red faced lady just stared at us blankly, her car idling. "Okay," she said suspiciously, and still just sat there.

"Is there I problem?," I asked her. Again, she just sat there silently, starting at us.

"Do you have a problem with us?" That was the boyfriend. He yelled it with more force than I could have mustered. With that she drove a few feet up the street, but stopped again. Trying to get her to tell us what the hell she wanted I tried the flies with honey approach. "If there is something I can do to make you more comfortable just let me know," I said clumsily. It came out wrong, but I really wanted her to tell me why she stopped us.

"Okay," she said again, still staring. Then, she drove off. We watched her car all the way up the road, waiting to see if she’d turn into a driveway. She did not, she left the street as if she didn’t live on it, but she does. That lady is our neighbor a few houses up the street. She has a cat that is always out in her yard. I have to keep Tootie on a short leash around her yard, since the dog is dead set on cat chasing. But Tootie has never done more than frightened her cat. We’ve never left any poop in anyone’s yard. At most Tootie might have walked a few feet into her yard.

Once when I was walking the dog I saw Red Face in the glass front door, staring. She waited until I was out of sight, then yelled something. Something about her mailbox. I ignored it, because I figured if she was talking to me she wouldn’t have waited until I got all the way past her house.

But apparently Red Face has an issue so problematic she can’t even talk about it. Why would you ask someone those questions then refuse to answer their questions of reply? Even stranger there was an elderly person sitting in the passenger’s seat, but I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman because he or she never once turned to face the rest of us. The person just sat there, not moving, frozen. It made the situation even more bizarre.

Once we got inside I got really pissed. I wanted to know what that bitch’s deal was. Now every time I walk Tootie I make sure to get on the other side of the street from her home, but I cup my hand over my eyes and peer into her windows to let her know I know where she lives. And that I am looking for her. And when I see her again, I will invite her to the road (I wouldn’t dare take the dog onto her property) and ask her what the hell she wanted. I why she couldn’t be bothered to answer me the first time.

I’m looking forward to it.