Charming Oliver takes a chill pill

By SHANNON BREEN, Times Staff Writer
Published September 21, 2007

ADVERTISEMENT [Handout] The vet diagnosed Oliver with separation anxiety. Antianxiety drugs have helped Oliver with his urination problem indoors.

Pill bottles are scattered across my kitchen counter. It looks like my 80-year-old grandmother lives here, but she doesn't.

The pills aren't mine either.

When I dropped off a Xanax prescription for Oliver, the pharmacist wasn't surprised. She just smirked and asked if he has any allergies. What did I expect? For her to ask if he greets people by sniffing them?

We adopted Oliver, a 2-year-old beagle-Jack Russell terrier mix, from the Humane Society in May.

Since then, he's urinated everywhere from the couch to the bed to on my friend's face.

He's ruined window blinds, eaten a back massager and dug holes in the yard to escape.

He was also declared the worst student in his obedience class.

The trainer's wife, who frequently kept a cigarette tucked in the side of her mouth, sprayed him with a squirt bottle when he got out of line.

After Oliver flunked out of obedience training, his problems only worsened as his self esteem dropped.

We crate him when we're at work, but he frequently relieves himself in his crate. Not normal for a dog to do that in his personal space, we're told by the woman with the cigarette. Oliver is not a normal dog.

We had no choice but to go through Oliver's diary in search of any evidence.

After he'd strut home from his neighborhood romps, we started to check his eyes to see if they were bloodshot. Or if there was alcohol on his breath.

We also demanded to meet all of his friends and their parents - who are mostly rude and use our yard as a toilet.

And that rock music. We played some of his albums backwards and heard demonic messages directing him to urinate on the couch, and then kill us.

The only option left before dropping him off to run free on a farm was to take him to the vet.

She recommended that we hire a special trainer who not only charges $350, but is also booked up for several months in advance. And Cesar Millan, the dog whisperer, is booked up through the 21st century.

Her second recommendation was antianxiety drugs.

I made fun of my friend for putting her chihuahua on anti-depressants.

What does he have to worry about anyway? Genocide in Darfur? The Palestinian/Israeli conflict? Licking his, um? Yeah.

The vet diagnosed Oliver with separation anxiety. For a reason unbeknownst to us, our dog has abandonment issues. Most likely because his previous owners gave him up for the same reasons we were considering throwing in the urine-soaked towel.

My couch is ruined. It smells like my Uncle Jackie's apartment, which can be best described as a mixture of Stouffer's frozen dinners, cat urine and something else that I just can't talk about.

When guests come over, I light incense and try to distract them by pointing at things like my framed wedding photo of Liza Minnelli and David Gest.

- - -

Oliver's been on meds for about a month now and he's mellowing out. A little.

Either that, or we just don't care anymore because we've mistakenly tapped into some of his medicine.

But he's a good guy overall. Just a little troubled. Besides, he's starting to grow on us. Especially when he's asleep.

Part of his codependent charm is following us around, from room to room with a waggly tail. Tripping on our feet as we trip on his.

And his sweet freckled face.

Not to mention he uses the outdoor facilities these days. Mostly.

The vet suggested upping the dosage when he recently gnawed his way out of his crate.

I don't think we'll do that. He's just being a dog. A young dog at that. Trying to adapt to us as we try to adapt to him.

So what if my house smells like ammonia. Or if he eats remote controls. Maybe that's his way of telling me to pick up a book once in a while.

The lady with the cigarette was right about one thing: Oliver is special.

No farm for you, Ollie.

You made us love you.

Our little pill popper.

Tampa Bay native Shannon Breen will muse about life in this space from time to time. She can be reached at breen@sptimes.com

[Last modified September 20, 2007, 21:59:39]