Adventures in Puppy-Owning

A week after Rook received his second round of puppy vaccinations, our veterinarian said that it would be safe to start taking Rook outside.  This was a very exciting moment for us.  At last we were free of the stinky potty pads in the apartment!  We were prepared for taking him on walks with a leash (we had been praticing in the apartment for weeks), the craziness of training him to go potty outside (which he quickly mastered), and teaching him to go up and down the winding staircase (which he mastered, but not quite as quickly).  However, bringing Rook outside came with all sorts of new adventures in owning a puppy that we had not necessarily anticipated. 

First and foremost:  Rook is a bulldog puppy.  This means he is guaranteed to put anything and everything in his mouth.  I never realized how much junk was on the ground until Rook began making it his mission to eat every leaf, cigarette butt, rock, and piece of glass that litter our side-walk.  Even when risking fingers to sweep out whatever manages its way into his mouth, there is still a secret hiding spot somewhere within those floppy jowls that I am never able to find.  Occasionally, we will make it back inside and he will triumphantly spit a rock out onto the floor.  I do not even want to know what he has managed to swallow. 

I also found this is an opportunity to use my new French skills - which I fail at daily.  Even though I  completed my first French course, I am embarrassingly awkward at putting it all together.  As English Bulldogs are a bit of a novelty in Montreal, Rook has become a celebrity - I am not joking - the garbage man has stopped to take Rook's picture.  All of this attention comes with a lot of questions... in French.  And because there are many ways to ask the same question (How old?, What age? How many months?), I panic and hope I will recognize at least one word so that I will be able to answer.  Sometimes I make a guess and blurt out an awkward answer in my best terrible French and wait for their reaction to see if it made sense.  Sometimes I have no clue, but am still feeling Frenchy, so I apologetically respond with, "Pardon, mon francais n'est pas bon".  Other times I chicken out completely, and just say "I'm sorry," and hope they are not offended by my use of English.  On one occasion, I had a delightful encounter with an elderly woman whose English was as good/bad as my French.  Somehow we managed a conversation.  At one point she told me, "I am a Shih-tzu", which I took to mean she had a Shih-tzu because she looked quite human to me.  I wonder what silly nonsense I told her in French. 

Finally: Rook is a bulldog puppy.  Which means going for walks is really not his thing, but being the center of attention is.  Once he takes care of his business, he is usually quite content to sit on the side-walk and let all of his admirers come to him - which they usually do.  But much to Rook's dismay, there are some people who have no interest in him and just keeps on walking.  Adam and I like to take these opportunities to "draft" behind these people (who clearly have no souls - how could one not at least smile at a wrinkly wiggly puppy?) as Rook walks after them with a look on his face that says, "Hey!  You forgot to make a fuss over me!!! "  If the timing is right, we can make it down the block and Rook gets his exercise. :)