Everyone Poops (I Poop Twice)

Animals - particularly dogs - use their bodily waste as unique identifiers for a number of different purposes (such as marking their territory). Usually they use their urine and I would assume that's because they have a bit more of that stuff to allocate at their discretion.

Apollo hasn't ever been much of a territory control kind of dog. Perhaps our indoor lifestyle has led to further domestication and removed that primal aspect from his instincts. When we're out walking in new areas or around the neighborhood, he's not one to stop at every tree, bush, or fire hydrant to tag it with his pee. He'll stop and sniff, but doesn't care to contribute.

However, he seems to feel the need to completely empty his bowels of feces on our extended outings. Apollo will pee once (maybe twice) but squat and poops two or three (sometimes more) times! Even during our daily bathroom routine - I know he's not done until he's given birth to brown babies at least twice in two different spots. I wonder if he uses his poop to mark his territory...

Big Boy

My dog is a genetic freak specimen. Coming in at a hefty 22 pounds, it's fair to say that he's quite big for his breed.

But let's get something clear: he's not fat. It's true that Dachshunds are prone to obesity and weight management issues - and Apollo could stand to lose a few pounds - but that's not what I mean when I describe him as "big". There's a clear difference/distinction between a sumo wrestler and a professional basketball player when you look at their BMI (body mass index) as well as their physical skills (i.e. agility, endurance, strength). Both of those types of athletes are massive when compared to the average person, yet with very different body types.

Apollo's original records from the pet store had identified him as a "miniature Dachshund" due to both of his parents being minis (dad and mom were 11 and 9 pounds respectively). I'm not 100% sure if that "miniature" trait is something like the genetic probability of off-springs inheriting similar eye colors or if it's something much deeper rooted like Dwarfism. Whatever it was, Apollo didn't get it.

I've yet to meet another doxen that's equal or larger than Apollo in person. I suppose Apollo wouldn't exactly be the physical equivalent of LeBron James reincarnated in the canine world, but he's not exactly a Yokozuna either. I suppose we'll settle for something like a Shaqille O'Neal - large body, can be quick (for a small period of time), and has good jumps.

Begging With Patience

All dogs love to eat, and mine is no exception. Unlike cats, most dogs don't have picky tendencies when it comes to food that's been put in front of them. I'd like to think that they take on the "beggars can't be choosers" motto - which makes a lot of sense when you think about the amount of begging they partake in every single day.

It all starts with their nose and ears. The instant they pick up the scent of food or a familiar sound (the fridge door opening, can opener, silverware drawer opening/closing) they are already on their way. Once you've settled into your seat and taken that first bite, your four-legged pal is on full alert. Their eyes now serve to accomplish two tasks. The first is all mechanical as their pupils track every motion and trajectory of the target (food) as it departs from your plate/bowl and travels up to your mouth. If it ever deviates off course - they're immediately there to say "I've got this!"

The second is to instill every sense of guilt and sympathy into you the instant you make eye contact with them. That's Apollo's go-to move, and it has a decent success rate. He's quite patient and it helps add to his case pleading for just a corner of my sandwich or a bite of pizza crust. It's hard to resist, which is part of the reason I think why I choose to watch TV as I eat... I need the distraction from Apollo's re-enactment of Oliver Twist saying, "Please sir, I want some more."

The Sock Bandit

Apollo - like all dogs - went through his destructive phase when he was a young puppy. I had figure out a way to withstand his chewing habits and minimize the financial hole that he was gnawing in my wallet.

Squeaky chew toys went right out the window as an option. They lasted about as long as the time it takes to microwave your TV dinner. Within minutes, the squeaks would be completely extinguished and bits of plastic, fur, or stuffing would be all that's left of a massacred animal. I had to find something else (and quickly) as anything that had either a soft or fuzzy quality all of a sudden had a shelf-life in my house.

One day as I was sorting my dirty laundry with Apollo watching intently, I dropped a sock on the floor. "A new toy!" I saw in his eyes... as he quickly scooped it up and ran off with his prize to evaluate closer on the other side of the room (away from poachers who might want to steal it back) before deciding to shred it into a hundred pieces. I didn't think much of it and decided not to attempt recovering it, as that sock had a small hole and was ready to be retired anyways. It suddenly dawned on me that this was exactly what I was looking for.

In additional to providing comfort for your feet, I came to realize that socks (especially worn and dirty ones) was one of Apollo's favorite things to play with. There were so many uses: we played fetch using them, stuffed them with treats and toys, I used it as a glove when he plays play-biting with me. And to this day he still loves the freshly worn, stinky ones that he steals right off my feet.

The way he runs away with a sock in his mouth, prancing around the room... reminds me that he will always be my little sock bandit.

Right On Cue

I'm sure one of the reasons why some people dislike dogs is because of their potential for noise pollution. The way that some dogs seemingly bark at the moon or for unknown reasons has surely pissed off a lot of people (including myself) at inopportune times of the day when we need silence. That fact alone has led me to be conscious about not encouraging Apollo to be excessively loud.

That's not to say that I've attempted to strip my dog of one of his primal instincts and natural reflexes to respond to his surroundings. I've never scolding him for those "appropriate" reactions, but will calm him down if he's still at it (barking) after a few moments. I do encourage and give Apollo plenty of opportunities to speak on my command - it makes me feel like we're conversing.

Again, it's the unsolicited vocal outbursts that are sometimes unnecessary and transpired at the most  inopportune times. The flexibility and luxury to work at home comes with both pros and cons. One of the pros: my dog is by my side nearly all day. One of the cons: my dog is a dog and will behave like one. No sooner had I finished thanking the audience for putting their microphones on mute to eliminate background noise for a training session I was leading did Apollo decide to make himself known to everyone by letting out a blaring bark.

His timing was embarrassingly right...on...cue.

Trampled and Headbutted

Certain breeds have a mis-matched temperament with their physical size. When you pair a large, heavy, powerful body with the curiosity and energy of a puppy - it has a high probability of the situation ending with destruction or injury. But even smaller bodies can cause pain if they catch you off guard.

Apollo and I find ourselves nearly attached at the hip when we're at home. Whether it is on the couch, floor, or my bed... we he doesn't have a great sense of personal space and is frequently "all up in my business." I've pretty much accepted the fact that my dog will scale my body like a mountain if he so chooses. That means walking all over me to get to his sweet spot on the couch or climbing onto my chest in order to get a taste of whatever it was that I just ate. And when a 20-something pound body lands or steps on "undesirable/sensitive" body parts - you can bet I'm uttering "oooof" or "owwww" in pain.

Another unexpected weapon Apollo wields is his noggin. Yes, he's a bright dog - but I'm not referring to his smarts. I'm talking about his cranium, his skull. That thing is as deadly as any other blunt object and I've caught it on my chin and mouth several times. I've bitten the inside of my mouth and even cut my lip a time or two from him suddenly/unexpectedly whipping his head upwards with my face in striking proximity.

Catching that headbutt feels like getting upper-cutted.

Bite and Run

My dog and I don't play too many games but we do rough-house every so often. These bouts tend to last 5-10 minutes whereby a fired-up Apollo will attempt to attack my hand (with just enough power to deal some pain but controlled enough to not break skin). In these play fighting matches my hand become the pretend-jaws of another dog and I go after Apollo's feet or neck area. He really gets into it with playful growling and strong persistence to fend off my attacking hand with his own reciprocating bites.

We occasionally also have some Texas-standoff moments. The most interesting part about these is how they get started. I would typically be walking around the house, minding my own business and out of nowhere, I would see Apollo - who had also happened to be milling around, getting a drink of water or something - across the room. We both freeze where we are standing, our eyes lock (cue Western duel music and rolling tumbleweed), and we both know what's about to happen. The first person to flinch takes off running in the opposite direction and the other will go chasing after them at breakneck speed. Once we catch each other, we'll switch directions and go running the other way... and repeat for 30-60 seconds.

These sessions tend to leave us both out of breath, entertained, and joyously amused with each other's company.