Those (rare) times I regret that I got a dog

For a year and a half, I was Ruby’s happy dog ​​father, a nice little yorkshire bichon mix destroying half of the sand castles of the Vendée (yes, he was). I adopted Ruby at a time of confusion (the 18th imprisonment, if I remember correctly). Of course, I have no regrets. But it’s not easy.

Here are all the interesting moments to keep in mind before falling for Miss Hairball.

The day Ruby slapped someone’s neck on the subway

Granted, I could (should?) Have fallen into a 3.10 m Doberman making sure I kept the entire capital world at a safe distance. But that’s the miss of the best parent-dog life in town: the metro where it’s hard to get around a big dog.

In addition, Ruby is a huge subway enthusiast (and me too, long live public service!). Beneath the ground, he shrugged / sniffed the whole of Paris and showed his love for it with multiple strokes of his tongue. But love is sometimes one-sided, an entire repertoire of French songs is proof of this.

Placed in my arms, Ruby offers tall, dramatic views throughout the row. One day, he slapped the neck of a passenger who turned around, annoyed. I had to stammer that no, not me, that I wouldn’t be allowed and Ruby laughed. A great opportunity.

The day Ruby was furious with anger

Are you tender? From above his 50 centimeters, Ruby still has a decanter. Madame hated the rain and comforted herself once back in the hall. Madame disliked the bath and pulled on a six-foot-long face for several hours. In short, Madame knows what she wants and what she doesn’t want.

I only had Ruby part of the week, alternating custody is obligatory, and one day, his mistress paid the price for a famous dog whim. Accustomed to making her own sort of recyclable carpet waste with her mother dog, little York was reprimanded. Blood protest culture, my dog ​​urinates. On the mat, of course. If you bring a dog, choose darker carpets. Friend’s advice.

The day Ruby celebrated Easter

With the successive refusal to wear a party hat and Santa Claus hat, I became accustomed to the idea that Ruby dismissed the trade events. Yorkshire-Bichon maybe, leftist maybe. Just before Easter came and he started a career as an apartment finder.

In my absence, chocolate (an extremely poisonous and even deadly product for dogs) remained in the kitchen, high up. Just listening to her heart, Miss Zinzin took momentum to jump in the trash, then to the counter and grab the thief. It’s just a rebuildas far as I know, he may have developed a unique system of pulleys. However, when I returned, everything seemed normal. Ruby greeted me wagging her tail, toy with her mouth.

Then I saw the chocolate wrapper on the floor. I met the sight of the poor little fruit whose shot we had shot. Ruby saw what I saw. He hid. And I ran to the vet where as usual, The Cocoa Queen shuddered in horror.

Even now, I don’t understand how he got the chocolate. I took a york, not a meerkat, a dog’s name.

The day Ruby chased a child (who has been living well without her right hand ever since)

Raising Ruby is a long, difficult and often challenging process. After lessons, exercise and a few nerve cracks, my little york turned out to be a good student. He has some fluency in Latin. She is obedient, sociable and reasonable (except in front of the pigeons, but even Aida is not).

There are several dog parks in Paris. I don’t know what Annie Dogo (niche joke) is waiting for. Most gardens and parks are forbidden to doggies. Probably because fools let their filth rot. Probably also because the world is not fair (ex: Gérald Darmanin exists).

Near my old house, a pedestrian square serves as a landmark for dog owners. We left our doggies there to socialize quietly. After a few shy sniffles, Ruby seemed to hesitate to enter.

Suddenly a vein jumped. A child in category 4 (those who spoke) shouted at him “hello dog”, proof of a terrible recognition. Greetings that Ruby usually laughs at. Usually, yes. This time, he throws himself in the head (like Grégory Lemarchal) in great escape, correct to the child.

I suspect I will run too fast. Ruby has never behaved like this before. I grabbed him, scowled before going home, embarrassed. I can no longer remove it without the place being closed since then. I also try to remind parents whose children walk with loud shouts of joy that Ruby is an animal. A nice little ball of feathers sure, but shy. I am the master of the dog, not the master of the game.

The day Ruby ate and poop another dog

Because I love to finish in style, so here’s a way to ruin the e-reputation of the self-proclaimed mascot Laisse moi kiffer. During the walks, Ruby smelled everything. Here, a piece of bread! Here, here! Here, a mucus!

Facing the shit that is in an owner unaware to get it, he has to go and feel things with his own teeth. Fearing that like 90% of things in this world like tomatoes, chocolate or men, poop could be poisonous to my dog, I had to pull it out of his mouth. BY HAND. It hit my life expectancy.

Despite all this little nonsense, as corrected by many positive shots of reinforcement (one response to one order = one cure), I can’t wait to find my little Ruby. I was lucky to be able to take him to work (where he is worshiped, just look at the stories on our Instagram account).

Having a puppy (and especially a shelter puppy) is a great source of stress that can be managed with patience, perseverance and precision. But in just two years, Ruby is a well of wisdom overflowing with love and energy. And too much for sandcastles.

Also read:

“Cristina Cordula in my life is a Yorkie”