Pets in Apartments
When we moved into our apartment we brought with us our dog, our cat, two fishtanks and one tank containing an apparently immortal hermit crab named Mimi.
Previous to becoming city slickers, our pets lived the life of urban-suburban animals. Our dog had a sizeable, fenced yard to run around in, and our cat had been living the good indoor/outdoor life for 14 years. The fish and crab had enjoyed (as much as one can tell) the quiet and privacy of my son’s room.
But then they were all thrown into complete and utter dismay due to our apparent disregard for their comforts, routines and very being. — Well, that’s what we imagined they might feel, at any rate, on the day we moved. With the fish and crab, it’s been a bit hard to gauge their reactions, so we base the success of their move on the fact that they all survived it. Our dog has been on a bit of an emotional roller coaster as he adjusts to new smells, sounds, people, other dogs, smells — did I mention smells? — going to the bathroom while on a leash, walking on a leash, riding in the elevator, meeting new dogs in the enclosed space of the elevator (Can this elevator go any faster?…Please?) walking on city streets and not peeing on the sides of buildings; especially ours.
Our dog used to be that dog in the neighborhood who barked at every living thing passing by our house, whether in front of it, or behind. (Yes, he’s truly missed.) But now, 26 stories up, able to see only clouds and the occasional bird from his vantage point of the floor, he at times seems to be missing his vigilant job so much it’s all he can do to open his eyes when we step over him to get into the kitchen. Denied his high-level guard dog security clearance, he’s decided, until further notice, to become a fur rug.
And yet in many ways his life seems improved to us, if not, at all times, to him. First, he doesn’t spring to his feet every few minutes, darting to the window day or night and barking “Get OUT, get OUT!” to the mystery people who apparently had materialized in our yard (absolutely freaking us out on a regular basis), which you have to think is way more relaxing for him. Also, he gets walked much more than he used to. Although we tried, he definitely wasn’t getting as many walks as he needed, before. He was a suburban dog with a large yard, and it was ever so easy to let him tear around outside to burn off his energy. The same held true for dog parks: we brought him to them, but not on a regular schedule. Now, if he’s in the apartment he’s not relieving himself or getting exercise, so there is absolutely no way to slide a bit on those walks and dog parks. They have become woven into our days, and we’re all the better for it, frankly. Although I realize the fact I homeschool my son (i.e., flexibility) is making this possible. Because to tell you the truth, the dog park we visit the most is about a 35–40 minute drive away. The next most-visited dog park is right next to the Amazon Spheres and isn’t far away at all, but it’s also not big at all, either. So if we relied upon the scant number of parks for dogs relatively close by, our dog, a 1 1/2 year old English Shepherd, would be, I’m pretty sure, about ready to jump from our balcony — if only to burn off the excess of energy slowly building up in his muscles until he is so jittery the only thing he can think of is to jump — anywhere.
Anyone who says dogs in Seattle have enough dog parks simply cannot have a dog. Or they are letting their dog burn off energy primarily in the back yard, too. Because I’m telling you, dog parks are few and far between. To make this okay we’ve embraced the dog park runs as part of our homeschool routine. I plan events and visits around dog park locations so that both son and furry-son are taken care of. It works for us because it can work for us. I’m not entirely sure what others who live downtown are doing about their dogs: those who leave in the morning and come home only at night. It’s something to talk about while we all ride the elevator up and down.
Speaking of up and down: for the first few weeks of living in our apartment, I essentially didn’t sleep. In other words, I was up. A lot. Because our elderly cat was up all the time. He went from being a quiet, sleepy cat to being an insomniac cat who started meowing in the morning and never, ever let up. And I mean never. Ever. Let. Up. We knew it was a risk with him, being elderly and set in his ways. We gave him a few weeks to adjust; lots of hiding spaces, an enclosed litter box, tons of affection…but no go. This was a cat who was telling us he was never, under any circumstances, going to accept his circumstances. He lives at my sister’s house now. We’re lucky: she was happy to take him and we still get to see him. I realize we’re lucky it worked out this way. Without that option I’m not entirely sure what we would have done. I don’t know if this happens with other peoples’ cats who didn’t formerly live in an apartment. If it does, what did they do? — This is also good elevator conversation, or chit chat to make during our all-building get-togethers in the lounge.
So, six weeks in to apartment living, we’re going strong in the fish and crustacean department, and are 1 for 2 with the mammals.
We just returned from the far away dog park, my son and I: it was beautiful and sunny there as we walked along the driftwood with our happy, happy dog. My sister emailed me the other day to say our cat only meows when he’s hungry, now. Back to normal for him, it seems.
Tonight, very late, my husband will take our dog out for his last walk of the day. I’ll ask him if he has his phone, like I always do. Sometimes he encounters people out on the sidewalk at night who our dog growls at, low in his throat. I’ve made my husband promise when our dog does that, to listen to him and go the other way. So perhaps our dog still has his purpose firmly intact: he just uses it a bit more judiciously. Maybe when he’s lying in a drowsy stupor on the floor he’s dreaming about The Last Walk of the Day, and how he’ll scan for danger and bring my husband safely home. I hope he is, because I’m counting on it. In return I’ll take him to dog parks 45 minutes away on a regular basis. I think it’s a fair trade.
