A lesson in minimalism, with love, from a puppy
GIR (formerly Minsc) is a terrier mix of about a year old. He loves to run around the couch, dig, and chew on things. He came from Korea to teach me about minimalism and keeping tidy.
After the initial 72 hours of his arrival passed, it was clear that he wasn’t house-trained. The fun surprises we came home to stopped being fun pretty quickly. (Although it was a good excuse to burn yummy-smelling incense.) For the next two months, when we’re at work during the day, it’s the kitchen for the bugger.
So he’s come to hate the kitchen, which is no surprise and really sort of cute. His reactions, whether to something pleasurable or disgusting, are hilariously exaggerated, especially if you consider the awful futility of his predicament: no matter how hard he wriggles, he’s going to be in the kitchen. I mean, we’re bigger, so we get to boss him around. That is the way of the world.
We could never get used to the whining — it’s such a sad, pitiful sound — or the noise of his feeble little claws clashing on tile, wood and recycled plastic as he scrambles to jump over or dig under the baby gate we erect between him and us. Even his favourite toys do not amuse him. We don’t know for certain what he does during his time in the kitchen, but gauging from his bleary eyes and untouched water dish, he seems to simply sleep it out. Once upon a time he would search through the recycling bin for toys, but he’s since stopped doing that.
Lately, though, we decided that he could stay in the living room instead. It seems to relieve a great deal of anxiety, judging solely by the greatly reduced amount of whining emitted when we put up the gate. That is usually a good thing.
I was quite careful about not leaving wires accessible, since they are a well-known puppy-attractor — something about the soft gooshy black plastic brings these natural chewers no small amount of joy. And since we knew he was big into shredding paper, we hid away our notebooks and post-its on higher shelves or on the other side of the gate. But I was not prepared for the destruction of at least two tape dispensers (we don’t know from where he got the second one), a few plants, a jewel case and its inserts, a CD (not the one contained in the previously destroyed jewel case), a wireless mouse, an old telephone charger I left on the side table for all of ten minutes, the plums and coasters I left on the dining table, or the walls themselves.
It was after GIR put a few holes in my mouse that I realised how attached I was to certain belongings. The sleek, slim gadget has set me back a good $40 not a year ago. At the time, all I could think about was that I was, in a way, $40 in the hole. Which wasn’t entirely correct: the mouse still works fine; I just had to remove two chunks of plastic which were bent out of shape, and sand down the bottom so that it would once again slide around a surface smoothly as a mouse is wont to do. The clicking doesn’t work a hundred-percent of the time and the cover falls off quite frequently, but it’s still a perfectly usable pointing device.
As I reflected on my own anger, I realised its futility and irrationality. Quite frankly, it was my own fault for leaving him with super awesome fun chewables; how could I blame him for being what he is — a dog in heart and soul and mind and body? How could I even fathom changing his very canine nature and scold him for the one thing that brings him pleasure when he so misses his beloved humans? And what’s $40 to me, anyway? I’ve already dumped fifty times as much into the dog’s well-being to-date, and much more on myself over the years. And it’s not like I can’t replace it if it was really broken… some might even say that’s cheap for a mouse!
So I meticulously smeared bitter apple on the wall corners and table legs and basically any part of the piano I thought GIR could reach. (I’m not sure what I would do if he chewed on one of my musical instruments, so I’m doing everything I can to prevent it.) Everyday after breakfast, I make sure to place the plants on the dining table and tuck in the chairs so that he can’t jump onto the chairs to get at the plants. I put away in boxes all my arts and crafts things, which, being in rolls of paper or tubes of plastic, are sure to make awesome doggy chew toys.
All of which actually keeps my living room fairly neat.
If I concentrate on not looking at the horrifying stains in the carpet, I can almost enjoy my stay there. I have ideas for ditching my ottoman, getting a smaller couch and two minimal or modern chairs, which should help the spacing issues greatly, but for now, it’s really not bad.
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