Brave New Worlds...

So, we had to venture to the grocery store this evening. Pretty mundane task, right? Sure! If you're not hauling along a worn out eight and a half week old puppy with energy to burn. It's going on 7:30 this evening, and Freedom is currently tethered to my desk as I type, though why he's still tethered is beyond me, as he's crashed out, beyond moving another inch because he's so tired from his evening adventures in puppy-hood.

I've said this before, and I'll say it again this evening... Freedom is an amazingly well-behaved 8 week old pup. He's housebroken, more or less, with a few mistakes, barks and whines very little, and usually only when I'm nearing an anxiety attack, or he's really gotta go. Chewing, we're working on. Let's face it: Puppy teeth hurt like heck when they're coming in, and anything feels good to chew on when the pain strikes. Bully sticks work great for this purpose, and Freedom agrees wholeheartedly. But, I digress. As amazingly well-behaved as our little guy is, he's still not ready to be a service dog in training, let alone a full-fledged service dog. And it is a Federal crime to represent your dog as a service dog, if it isn't one.

Freedom is still just a pup, still in the early stages of training, and still an Emotional Support Animal. I mention all of this because of a discussion that Brian and I had while heading into the grocery store, leaving Freedom behind in his crate (in the well ventilated car, as it's nice and breezy and cool here today--wouldn't have attempted this yesterday for the world). I started having an attack while entering the store, and Brian wondered aloud why we couldn't bring the dog in with us, because he calms me down while I'm dealing with attacks. Simply put, while he does calm me down, according the the ADA, that doesn't constitute a working function to assist with my disability. Alerting to my attack, does; however, he doesn't do that consistently, he isn't labeled a service dog, he hasn't passed his CGCT (canine good citizen test), or his public access test yet. There is NO way I can legitimately bring him into a grocery store at this point. After he's finished his vaccines, and his good citizen test, and he's qualified as a service-dog-in-training, perhaps. But mid-anxiety-attack certainly didn't feel like a good time to challenge a gate-keeper in a store at any rate.

So, grocery shopping completed in record time while shaking, hanging on to hubby and cart for dear life and forgetting what we needed (despite the list right in front of me), we made it out of the store and to the car. I got Freedom out to go potty--he peed, and sat down, staring at me, waiting for the next fun adventure... Water the dog, put him in his crate, expect to hit the highway home... and what a racket from the crate in the back seat. I tell you, it's like having a 3 month old baby all over again!

We got Freedom out, I sat him in my lap (he'd had food and water, and peed, didn't seem to need to do anything else... figured he was hot, and reacting to my anxiety attack), and let the cool air hit him while we drove down the highway the 10 minutes or so home. Wouldn't normally let him do this, but figured it would help him calm down and cool off. Eight minutes into the drive, he couldn't sit still, kept wriggling to get down, and I knew how much cooler the foot area was, so (duh!) I let him down on the floor to cool off some more. This, is where the trip went horribly, and hilariously wrong...

Within seconds, Brian and I looked at each other, and simultaneously reached for the window button. Freedom was neither hot, nor reacting to my anxiety. Mom simply didn't wait long enough for him to finish his business at the grocery store parking lot. And boy-howdy, did he ever stink up our car in a hurry!

Needless to say, I did penance when we got home by cleaning up the floor in both the front and back seat on my side while hubby took the groceries in, and Freedom did time in the bathroom until I could put him in the tub to wash off his feet. I made sure that bath got double duty as a swimming lesson while he was there, so he'd be good and tuckered out after dinner, which he thoroughly demolished once dried off.

As I said, he's now sleeping soundly by my desk chair, hasn't moved a muscle since I started writing, and probably won't for another hour or so. He's been all work today; he's even turned his play sessions into training sessions on his own (he's gone looking for my clicker at least once so I can work with him). I think it'll be a quiet day tomorrow.