City sidewalks, busy sidewalks...

I apologize that it's been nearly two weeks of acclimating to our New Life... without a single blog post. This process -- re-fitting into my old ways and places and folks, in this brand new manner -- a duo, however un-dynamic -- has been exponentially more formidable than I thought.

Chewie was fantastic on the plane, jetting back we had a window seat, the row behind the exit, with my bare feet on her furry sleepy back, and the middle seat woman not minding Chewie rolling into her footspace from time to time; Chewie was not afraid, at all, of the landing gear machinations or the bumps here and there -- but from the get-go, once landed, things felt dfferent fr her. She is a country dog -- born and bred -- and she was in the Big City now, like a pretty girl in a metal music video.

And it clearly felt upside down for her, to her, about her. While she was primed, geared up with new smells and sounds and scenery -- and so darn many dogs, everywhere, at every turn, large and small and in between... while that was all cool... you could see in her eyes that everything she'd ever known, wasn't here. I was the only link, and she'd only known me three weeks.

She seemed sad.

She got along well in my apartment... for about three hours. Then she pooped in it. Yes -- another dogwaste blog entry. The obsession continues...

Turns out, that my landlord -- when asked if there had b een any other dogs in the apartment, thought i meant dogs owned by tenants -- and the answer was indeed, No. However, the landlord himself had lived in our space... and owned an old hound... who'd peed everywhere.

So after I emntioned to Chewie's trainers that she peed twice and pooped in our apartment... totally out of character for her... the trainers insisted that another dog's waste stains/doodster remains HAD to be in there.. and voila! Twas true. She was simply marking terrain. So now, I am blacklighting the pad, finding and cleaning said stains with a vinegar - water solution + Nature's Miracle, so Chewie doesn't lift anymore.

She is otherwise doing OK potty wise -- if by OK i mean pooping mostly on city sidewalks swaddling with chatty coffee carriers and meeting attendees and bustling businessfolk, in front of gazing passers-by. Chewie is enchanted with city streets, city dogs, city dogwalkers, city traffic, city lights, city leaves blowing by on city parkways, city sticks and rocks, city mud, and city pigeons. She is most enchanted by the sidewalks, were she makes most of her country turning to city tinkles and such. We spend 15, 20, 25 minutes in the grassy parkland near my apartment (2 blocks), near Tamara's apartment (1 block), and near the newsroom (2 blocks) -- yet, she just plays, mostly, rubs her nose in the grass, chases birds, rubs my leg with her snout and paws (odd but true), and looks at other dogs and owners. After I ask her to Go Potty! fifty or sixty million times, and she doesn't, we leave... and she invariably squats and pooped on a sidewalk -- usually in front of a mansion. Once, she did it in front of very nice Greek restaurant, with people walking out with leftovers, left gagging. Another time, she squatted in the middle of a major street -- the WALK sign was flashing, and since she takes more than eight seconds to do it, i had to drag her across, ahead of itchy cabs. Additionally, San Francisco is, of course, a city of many hills.. and Chewie likes to squat and pee thereupon... thus creating a ChewieUrea River all the way down, from Pac Hts to Lower Pac Hts, or from wherever, to wherever below. Streams of ChewPee.. down, down.... down.

File it under my lessons learned: Urine is liquid, and it runs.

Oh -- I am NOT ass wiping. Nope. Jenn... I am off that train.

But I am still using a canister of wipes every three or four days... to clean up the messes on the sidewalks. Grass is so much easier! Oh glorious grass god... get going in attracting Chewliet to your easy bulls eyes!

Access has been mostly ok. Not many inane comments -- though not many means, in effect, that there have been a few. Two unauthorized pettings -- both today: one at the DMV, the other at UPS, where we picked up a package from her Papie in Chicago, who sent her bones and a neato water bottle we can share.

On the first night, the guy at the Korean BBQ place tried to keep us out, but we stood firm -- law is on our side -- and ate what may or may not have been a tainted meal.

Guy: No dogs allowed!

Tamara: It's a medical service dog!

Guy walks away. We remain in line.

Later, Same Guy: Really! Sorry! No dogs allowed!

Me: It's a medical servicew dog!

Guy: I am allergic, and this is a small place.

Me: I'm sorry. It's state and federal law; I'm allowed in. She'll be fine, under our table.

We're next on the waiting list, sitting down, Chewie perfectly quiet and content, an angel at our feet. I take my certification card and the law card with CA law on one side, the federal statute on the reverse.

Me: I'm not trying to be a jerk; it's the law, if you want to glance at it...

Guy: I know the law. It's ok. (waves me away)

Me: (sotto voce - If you know the law, why'd you try to kick me out?) Okay. Thanks.

But Tam and I thought they maybe spit in our food?

People ask what's up... sometimes brightly, sometimes, with inane openers like, Is she a seeing eye dog?

Um. Your eyes are green, and... no.

... and wherever i go, i am stared at, gazed at, and questiuoned, though nicely. Chewie is the center of attention, unendingly. People invariably assume I am training her to be placed with someone else. So be it.

The newsroom has been amazing... supportive in every way. I mean, they have to be, to an extent... but they're beyond supportive. Excited; happy; enthused; admiring; itching to have Chewie get more acclimated, and comfortable, in her new life, so I can take the vest off for a few minutes here or there, and they can pet her soft face and play some newsroom fetch. She mostly sleeps, though -- eats a bone, chills out, bones some more. She's out of the way. Occasionally she gets up and walks around on her own, trotting back waggingly when I snap my fingers.

This week, a TV crew from another local station -- not my CBS brethren upstairs -- came to our newsroom, filmed Chewie at work and me at work, separately and together... and the local reporter Bob macKenzie did a piece on us. I never saw it, but you can probably find it online. KTVU is the station.

And my pal Doug in our newsroom did a story on Chewie and I, using some sound I brought back, of Mykaela, from the program, and of Shannon (Gwen's mama). They sojnd good. Email me if you'd like to hear them and I'll forward them on.

We're getting there. She's still wigged out from all the newness--- she's nervous and jumpy, odd at times, eating a lot or nothing, pooping on sidewalks, thinking odd thoughts, seemingly... She's not quite herself.

She's also exceedingly clutzy. She picked up her bone last night, and cracked her skull on Tam's coffee table -- it would have knocked me out. She fell off a little ledge in a park -- THUMP! -- flat on her side, slipping on wet grass. She slides like mad across hardwood, and bumps into my legs scooting down the street. I have stepped on her paws... though her new vet here says her toe, is mending nicely.

And *i* have a hard time fgetting to work on time, at 11am most days -- despite waking up at 730. There are so many walks, training exercises, feedings, medications, baths, toys to play with and fix...where's the Phil time? Where's my stuff?

I look forward to the routine becoming routine. Right now, life is upside down -- as predicted.

Thanks to Angela for the newsroom pics.. and the SOTP is "Hard to Handle" by The Black Crowes: