Things are going reasonably well with the new family member— I’m (no lie) walking him too much, but he’s a good boy, the training scheme is working well. I’ve lost a throw pillow (to a repairable tear), a pair of sunglasses, and a soda can to puppy, but otherwise, he’s a good boy. The cats are starting to protest because they’re still afraid to come downstairs, even though he’s ignoring them beautifully.
Because I know I’m being a bit of a neurotic pet-parent, I’ve dialed it back a little, and if I don’t have a specific destination, I let him pick the destination. He likes to stick a little closer to home, and we’ve explored my condo complex thoroughly. I’ve lived here seven years and didn’t really understand how it was laid out. Now I do.
But this is not aimless wandering we do— we’re on squirrel (or at night, bunny) patrol. It’s a serious, take-no-prisoners search of stretches of lawn and the undersides of shrubbery aimed at flushing prey for him to chase. As long as I’m at the other end of the leash, he’ll never catch one, but his search is deadly serious. We patrolled for 45 minutes last night, before I called it over, and did a vigorous and repeated loop of the local vicinity twice this morning before I called it off. We’re working on his not dragging me behind him on these patrols, but all bets are off as soon as we’ve discovered our target.