Just a little over two months ago, after we lost our Thor, we reached out to the Great Dane rescue and became the grateful parents of a 2-year-old rescue named Storm. (Now also known as Storm Bob Naughty Pants.)
Do you know what a 2-year-old Great Dane is? It’s still a puppy.
Do you know what a Great Dane puppy is like?
The word I’m grasping for is “mayhem.”
Now granted, most of the time, it’s a FUN sort of mayhem. What’s better than the good laugh when 120 pounds of flying goofball races through the house and uses the sectional sofa as a turnaround so he can race back?
Or listening to the THUD THUD THUD Thudthudthudthudthudthud of him zooming down the very same stairs that, just a few short weeks ago, he was so frightened of that Husband had to carry him downstairs the first morning he was here? (As an aside, I’ve been informed by Husband that getting “pantsed” while struggling to carry a squirming, wiggling Great Dane who is all legs and arms down a flight of stairs isn’t nearly as much fun as it looks. Who knew?)
Shoes are kept put away, books are out of reach, and, obviously, he’s not a fan of stuffed squeaky toys, judging by the sheer number of them he’s mutilated and murdered. Dog beds too. We keep an extra hand towel close by at all times to wipe up slobber and whatever else falls out of his mouth.
We’ve settled into a pretty good routine – we get up in the morning, and, after he has his breakfast, Storm goes outside to do his business before we take our morning walk. It’s still pretty dark that early, but that’s okay – I’ve got a flashlight so I can see to clean up after him.
This morning, while I was hunting around in the leaves, in the rain, bag in hand for what I could SMELL was right there, Storm decided that he was going to zoom around the yard a bit, which is fine. We’re fenced in, and he’s got a light-up collar on, so I say have fun. After all, who doesn’t love a good toweling-off after coming in from the rain, right?
Do you know what else is in the back yard?
Picture it. It’s dark, it’s raining, and there’s nothing left in the garden other than a row of parsley (that’s still producing quite nicely) and the garlic we just planted. The soil is soft and rich – I’ve been working compost and fertilizer into it for several years now.
So basically, Storm decides that THIS is the perfect time to race through the big square of soft, wet, fine, black dirt.
I have never had a dog that digs before, and may I just say – NOT a fan.
His feet were COVERED in black – my garden soil! – up to his knees (or his elbows?).
In the dark, in the rain.
Of course, I told him to get out of my garden – I may have even screeched a little.
He laughed at me and dug a little more before trotting up to the door.
I’ve learned that “give me your hand” so I can untangle your leash means something completely different to a dog than “give me your hand” so I can clean the mud out from between each of your toes – front AND back.
Treats only go just so far – especially when you need one hand to hold a treat, and one hand to hold the dog, and one hand to pick up his foot and yet another hand to wipe it off with an increasingly filthy washcloth and towel.
I was able to get him cleaned up – mostly – before I had to leave for work.
Boy, when they say Great Danes leave giant footprints on your heart, they don’t mention the giant footprints they leave in the garden.
And on the carpet.
And the bed.
And the furniture.
I’m telling you – it’s mayhem!