I don’t know if it’s because it’s easier in a house, or it’s just easier with this particular canine, but Norman is the most non-stress, non-drama dog I’ve ever had as a houseguest. Harry is probably the only one to really come close to the ease of fostering as Norman has.
Norman is housebroken, doesn’t make a peep, and as it turns out, is rather annoyed by the concept of chewing and not eating something, which means I never fear leaving him alone with my things.
I’ve introduced toys to him, and he’s expressed that he just doesn’t get what the big deal is about. One day I came around the corner to see the ropeman toy in his mouth. I was delighted! I walked over to discover that he hadn’t been chewing it at all; the one stray string that had once held the tag was still on the toy and Norman had found it irritating enough to cut it off for me.
Our outings have been few since Shakespeare. My friend Ben has been over on numerous occasions to help out with things (help lift the patio doors into place after I stained them, bring me food when I was ill early in the week, and just to stop by to say hi.) I’m pretty sure Norman thinks Ben is his estranged dad.
Saturday night Ben and I got tickets to Eat-See-Hear. Neither of us had ever been, but for $10/ticket we thought we’d give it a try. It was a 5:30pm to 11:00pm of food trucks (eat), an outdoor screening of Ghostbusters (see) and two live bands (hear) that took place in a baseball field in Beverly Hills.
Norman did amazing, given that this was a new experience and a cacophony of smells and sights for a canine. Tons of people picnicking, other dogs about, and all surrounded by a ring of glorious-smelling food trucks.
As I waited by one of the food trucks, the owner was outside and asked about Norman. I had Norman’s Adopt Me bandana on, just in case someone might have an interest in him. The owner of the truck said Norman looked a bit thin. I agreed. I had packed Norman his own picnic of dog food, treats, and a travel bowl, so when he asked me, “Do you want get some chicken for him? We can cook up some chicken,” I politely declined. (I wasn't going to pay $8 for Norman’s meal when I had already brought his dinner.)
“Well, I would feel better if I gave him some chicken. Can I give him some chicken?” he said sweetly.
The rephrase of the question prompted a bright affirmative from me. “Sure! If you would feel better giving him chicken, I’m sure he’d be quite happy with that.”
Within fifteen minutes of being in the park, Norman had already scammed his first free meal and downed the roasted chicken breast (freshly cooked) in about 12 seconds.
On our picnic blanket, Ben lay on his back to listen to the music and I did the same. Before I even fully hit the ground, Norman saw the two of us, and like a two-year kid happy to have his divorced parents back together again, Norman flopped onto his own back and wiggled up between the two of us with his goofy grin.
“He’s not your daddy,” I explained to him.
“Totally not your daddy, kid,” Ben said. “You’re cute and all, but not your daddy.”
Norman was calm and serene (perhaps digesting the chicken) just up until the opening credits of Ghostbusters at 8:30pm. Granted, it’s a loud movie with much noise-effects, but I was surprised he didn’t just settle in. He had been for the previous two and a half hours; perhaps he had just hit his limit.
The heat during the day this week has marooned us indoors for the most part. Even the afternoon walk is just a race to the back tree to pee and come back into the air-conditioned room to his new favorite spot: the fireplace.
Granted I had been contemplating what to do with this big, beautiful defunct fireplace, and Norman gave me a great idea – the best indoor doghouse ever. I had swept and mopped out the area prior to his arrival, but it was still a bit dusty in there. I laid down a dogbed inside. Norman refused to go in. I put down a towel instead. He lay outside it. I left it open with just the cold bare brick, and alas, the dragon returned to his lair.
Norman is learning to cuddle a bit more. Since his bath (quite traumatic for him), it’s been more enjoyable for me as well.
I was popping Claritin every day for awhile there due to being allergic to whatever Norman had rolled in during the past month.
He’s still awkward in that he has no idea how to be helpful in allowing someone to pick him up, and once placed down, he merely lays right in that position never to move. He might groan in displeasure once his leg falls asleep, but rather than stand up and move about, he wiggles on his back and makes a dramatic spectacle of it (okay, I guess there is some drama for this dog.)
Thursday was the first day that the temps in the valley were below 80 degrees. I took Norman out back to get some sunshine, as he seems a bit down and depressed to me. Now that he’s not sleeping 24/7 from sickness, and he doesn’t play, there’s not much for a dog to do unless there’s other dogs around. He’s already mastered Sit, Down, Stay, Paw, and Come (whether or not he wants to abide by each request is a wholly different matter.)
I hate having a dog on a leash in my own backyard. Especially because they should be able to come, go, and lay down as they please. Otherwise, I end up standing in the driveway repeating, “Norman, come on, you wanna go for a walk,” as he lays there, coyly thumping his tail on the dusty earth, imitating the dead grass around him (I know, I know--working on saving up for a sprinkler system... and some lawn.)
I acquired a 40ft tie out to use for now. I wrapped it around one of the trees and then attached the other end to Norman’s harness. The night before I had attached it to his collar, much to my horror he felt exuberant enough to race so hard he almost gave himself whiplash when the tie line ended. Perhaps he had learned a lesson from that. This time, he didn’t want to run around.
My lap was sufficient. Why run in the big backyard when there’s a lap to be draped across (because this is where I placed him—why would he move)?
Having a backyard is the entire reason I’ve wanted a house. I want to open up the sliding glass door and allow a canine to leap out and off the deck and run around like a maniac. Granted, my backyard isn’t an open space with no fences, but it isn’t secure enough for me.
“Where is Norman going to go?” Ben asked when I told him how my heart stopped beating the other night when I walked out the kitchen door, arms full of stuff, and Norman raced out under me and into the yard.
“I don’t know. But it was terrifying. He could have run down the driveway and out into the street.”
“I really don’t think Norman wants to be anywhere else but with you.”
Perhaps Ben is right. It’s not like Norman has an escape plan (that I know of.) The moment I urgently whispered his name he turned to me with a “What?” expression and then returned obediently. I wasn’t yelling; perhaps he could see it was fear, not anger, that was motivating my request.
Norman is an independent little guy, but I’ve noticed that he’s been following me around more often. He doesn’t seem upset when I leave, even if it’s for a few hours. I always return. I wonder if he’s ever had a family, someone he could count on to always return.
Mary Ann emailed to say that there was a hit on Norman’s adoptapet page; someone was interested in him. I hadn’t even thought to bring him to the adoption fair, first off because I didn’t know where and when it was, but also because I was still looking at my end goal being that he lives with Katya. But now I’m wondering if he’ll even get a chance to do that. Perhaps he’ll go straight from here into his forever home.
Norman’s a sweetheart. He’s a good dog; a great dog even. The easiest dog and the best energy to have as my first canine guest. Right now as I’m writing this on my laptop, sitting on my deck, drinking a glass of hard cider, Norman is beneath my chair snoozing.
Norman deserves a great family to call his own; one with a real dad and a real mom who are together (or two moms or two dads—I don’t discriminate and neither does Norman--as long as you have good lawn of course) and maybe children or at least another furry companion for him to spend his days with.
I’m going to miss this little man, I admit it. Katya returns on August 28th, so he is free to go to her at that time so he can have beagle time with her dog, Ophelia (yes, her dog‘s name is a Shakespeare reference—yet another reason why she is one of my favorite people.) Norman deserves that time to be with others of his kind. Maybe he’ll even bark and whine and have something to say. If each neighbor’s lawn is like a canine’s Facebook page, Norman has had plenty to say in his graffiti urine. Maybe once with other dogs, he can speak his mind rather than write it.
Katya was right: this is a special dog. He will bring joy and laughter and fun to whomever is blessed to be called his family. I feel blessed to have had him under my roof, sharing my space and time with me even for this short spell. I mean, how can I not miss that beautiful Norman grin?
Norman's potential adopter isn't written in stone; they still have to meet him and whatnot. So, here's a link to Norman's page again, if you or someone you know believe that this special soul is your canine lifemate:
(Norman says, "Goodnight, folks.")
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