Those (rare) moments when I regretted having a dog

I’ve been Ruby’s happy dog ​​dad for a year and a half now, an adorable mix of Yorkshire bichon who destroyed half the sand castles of the Vendée (yes, it was her). I co-adopted Ruby in a moment of bewilderment (the 18th imprisonment, if I remember correctly). Obviously I don’t regret anything. But it wasn’t easy.

Here are all the moments it would have been interesting to have in mind before falling in love with Miss Hairball.

The day Ruby licked someone’s neck on the subway

True, I could (should I?) Fall in love with a 3.10m Doberman while making sure to keep the capital’s entire underworld at a safe distance. But that was missing out on the best of dog-parent life in the city: the subway where it’s hard to lug a giant little dog around.

Furthermore, Ruby is a huge subway enthusiast (and me too, long live the public service!). Underground, she rubs her shoulders / sniffs the whole of Paris and shows her love of her with great tongue licks. But love is one-sided sometimes, an entire repertoire of French songs is proof of this.

Nestled in my arms, Ruby offers long, dramatic looks to the entire oar. One day, she went so far as to lick the neck of a passenger who turned around, pissed off. I had to stammer that no, it wasn’t me, that I would never be allowed to and Ruby burst out laughing. A great time.

The day Ruby pissed in anger

You are tender? From the top of her 50 centimeters, Ruby still has a nice decanter. Madame hates the rain and relaxes once back in the corridor. Madame hates bathrooms and makes a six foot long face for hours on end. In short, she Madame knows what she wants and what she doesn’t want.

I only have Ruby part of the week, alternating custody obligations, and one day, his mistress paid the price for a legendary canine whim. Accustomed to carrying out the separate collection of recyclable waste on the mother dog’s carpet by himself, the little York was therefore reprimanded. Culture of protest in the blood, my dog ​​urinated. On the carpet, of course. If you get a dog, go for darker rugs. A friend’s advice.

The day Ruby celebrated Easter

Having subsequently refused to wear a party hat and a Santa hat, I got used to the idea Ruby was turning down commercial events. Maybe Yorkshire-Bichon, certainly left-wing. He was before Easter and started his career as an indoor mountaineer.

In my absence, the chocolate (an extremely toxic and even deadly product to dogs) had remained in the kitchen, up above. Listening only to her heart, Miss Zinzin has gathered momentum to jump over the garbage can, then onto the counter and grab the loot. This is just a reconstructionas far as I know, he may have simply developed a particularly ingenious pulley system. However, when I got back, everything seemed normal. Ruby greeted me with a wagging tail, a toy in her mouth.

Then I saw the chocolate wrap on the floor. I met the eyes of the poor little hen whose butt we had bitten. Ruby saw what I saw. She hid. And I ran to the vet where, as usual, Cocoa Queen shivered with terror.

Even today, I don’t understand how he got access to chocolate. I got a york, not a meerkat, the name of a dog.

The day Ruby chased a little girl (who has since lived well without her right hand)

Raising Ruby is a long, difficult and constantly challenged process. After classes, exercises and a few nervous breakdowns, my little york has become a good student. You also know some Latin. She is obedient, sociable and reasonable (except in front of pigeons, but neither is Aida).

There are few dog parks in Paris. I don’t know what Annie Dogo is waiting for (niche joke). Most of the gardens and parks are closed to dogs. Probably because fools let their excrement rot. Perhaps also because the world is unfair (eg Gérald Darmanin exists).

Near my old house, a pedestrian square served as a landmark for dog owners. We left our dogs there to socialize quietly. After a few shy sniffles at her, Ruby seemed resigned to go inside.

Suddenly a naked nerve. A category 4 child (those who speak) shouted “hello dog”, proof of a formidable discernment. Greetings Ruby usually laughs heartily. Usually yes. This time she threw herself headlong (like Grégory Lemarchal) into the great escape, right on the guy.

I doubt I’ve ever run that fast. Ruby had never done this before. I grabbed her, scolded her before going home, ashamed. Since then I have not taken it off without the place being closed. I also try to remind parents whose children accompany walks with loud euphoric cries that Ruby is an animal. A nice ball of fur certainly, but shy. I am the owner of the dog, not the owner of the game.

The day Ruby ate another dog’s poop

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

Faced with the poop that an owner had forgotten to collect, he had to go and feel the goods with his own teeth. For fear that, like 90% of the things in this world like tomatoes, chocolate or men, poop could be toxic to my dog, I had to get it out of his mouth. BY HAND. My life expectancy took a hit.

Despite all this little nonsense, as corrected with excellent positive reinforcement shots (one response to an order = a gem), Can’t wait to find my little Ruby. I’m lucky enough to be able to take her to work (where she is adored, just see the stories on our Instagram account).

Having a puppy (and especially a shelter puppy) has been a great source of stress to manage with patience, perseverance and rigor. But at just two years old, Ruby is a well of wisdom overflowing with love and energy. And so much for the sand castles.