Tuesday, October 2, 2012

Chevy the Farting Dog

Olivia is a German Shorthair Pointer puppy, six months old.  She's as smart as a whip.  I suspect she's smarter than me, and that's not good.   Within a few days of living aboard Drift Away, she's learned how door handles work and can open doors that swing out.  Luckily, most of our doors are sliders and only Chevy can open those, and only then if left ajar.

Olivia is also spiteful.  Whenever Pam and I run off do do errands and leave the dogs on the boat, we return to find the following;

a) Anything I've left on the dinette table, such as the laptop mouse or bills, will be on the floor and chewed or shredded.

b) Pamela's clothing from the laundry basket will be strewn around the main saloon.

Olivia has shredded newspapers, bills, magazines, and books.  She's destroyed USB cables and my reading glasses.  She does it to show her displeasure at being left behind.  We've tried disciplining her to no avail.  The only thing left was a crate.  Doggie jail.  If we didn't crate her, she'd be invading Poland next.

So Pamela hied herself to Pet Smart and bought a medium sized crate.  Space is at a premium on a boat, but we had to do it nonetheless.  We pulled it out of the box and set it up between the sofa and the dinette table. Chevy immediately parked himself in it.

Chevy is a rescue dog.   We got him when he was about two years old.  We suspect he was a bait dog for a dog fighting ring.  He was found abandoned in a a vacant warehouse in Bridgeport, Connecticut.  His backside is all scarred from dog bites, his muzzle is scarred from being wired shut so he couldn't fight back, and the tip of his right ear has been cut off to mark him.  When we got him, he weighed 50 pounds.  He now weighs 80 pounds.   But I digress.  It's apparent that he once lived in a crate since he took his bone and plopped himself inside.

Not Olivia.   She knew it for what it is.  Doggie prison.  She has to be put inside it, and she's not happy about it.   Too bad, so sad.

On the bright side, I thought that maybe this would be Chevy's new night time bed.  Our present sleeping arrangement is Pamela and me in the bed, Ruby on the sofa upstairs in the main saloon, and Chevy and Olivia on the settee next to the bed.  During the night, Chevy and then sometimes Olivia wind up in bed with us, squeezing me out.   Well, that night we went down below to go to bed, and Chevy and Olivia trotted right behind.

One of the dogs threw up on the settee cushion and it stinks so bad that it's out on the port side deck until we buy a replacement.  The dogs don't care and sleep on a couple of blankets.  Chevy and Olivia have an uneasy truce when sleeping on the settee and usually Pam has to intervene, scooching one of them to one end to make room for the other.

I watch TV until I get drowsy enough to turn it off and roll over.  While doing so, I noticed this.

Chevy can be a gassy dog.  

Fun fact - a dog's sense of smell is 400 times better than ours.


  1. Wow! Olivia's schnoz is right up there! The stinkier the the better I guess. It sounds like Chevy had it pretty bad until he met you guys. It makes me furious to even think about. I am glad he found you. When Fred was little, I put him in a crate all the time. He got used to it quite quickly and would sometimes go in on his own like Chevy. It was nice to have the peace of mind that things wouldn't be destroyed when I got home. He's fine now without it, but it's still around. He used to sleep in it while on my bed, now he's under the covers...not sure how that happened.