Puppy
Fatigue Syndrome (PFS)
another look back: nostalgia on anti-depressants
I’ve been instructing clients for years regarding the
care of their new kittens and puppies. I’ve fine tuned my casual chat, surfeit
with expectations and worries that come with adopting a young pet. There are
wormers and vaccinations, diet and obedience. I speak at length about paper
training vs back garden pottying, biting and chewing issues. There is a general theme of
consistency, trundled out with gentle care. I
encourage using recommendations from medical texts, followed up with
soothing words from guide books that compare their soft little creatures to
babies. They’ll grow out of it, I say; be patient, and most importantly,
persevere.
It was only by some preternatural
instinct that I addressed new pet owners like this: with calm words and
marshmallow-soft expressions. It
was like giving advice to a new mother who hadn’t slept for weeks, and had suddenly
found she’d been filling the bassinet a little higher with each un-slept night, even though I was myself childless. They
were hollow platitudes of the inexperienced and uninitiated. Because until I’ve nursed a colicky
baby til my nipples fall off or waded through the gurgling brooks of puppy
diarrhoea in my living room, stepping between mangled remotes and eviscerated
sofas, I am essentially just wind. I’m a hypocrite and no more than voyeur to the madness. It’s only when, on a dark 3am walk to the toilet, I've personally
felt something unfamiliar squirt between my toes can I speak with a
modicum of wisdom. Accent
this with no sleep and you see the darker side of yourself creep to the
surface. And you think, Alf White my friend, you can kiss my ass!
***
For the first few evenings, Fionn lulled us into a false sense of security and slept through the night. There were accidents in his kennel, but he was mostly quiet until morning. Less than a week in, he began feeling a stronger need for pack support and the high pitched shrieking began. That was day three.
At bedtime he muttered for a few
minutes. It was a low hum that built into a quiet requiem of whines and
developed into that crooning death howl that no floor/wall or pillow can
muffle. We live in a block of apartments with neighbours on either side of very
thin walls and don’t envy the idea of eviction. We tried all the remedies we’d
ever recommended - the hot water bottle, the ticking clock, the soft music –
but nothing pacified him. In the end Katie slept downstairs. She took Fionn out whenever he cried,
and played with him for awhile. The next day I came from the shower and saw my
wife perched at the edge of our bed staring blankly ahead, swollen purple
crescents under her eyes. She looked up and told me that Fionn had wanted to play
the whole time. She hadn’t gotten more than twenty minutes sleep all night.
“This is going to be the worst day ever,” she said, her hands stuck halfway down her face. She sighed, only her red-rimmed eyes peeking out, and burst into tears.
The next night I started sleeping downstairs with Fionn. I laid a mattress of blankets, pulled up my sleeping bag and camped by his kennel. I kept a finger in the cage and touched his back. He’d get a little restless, make a few turns and maybe squeak a bit, but he’d feel my hand and lay back down. He settled eventually, and we both slept – if not comfortably – without too much fuss. And yet, it wasn’t ideal.
“This is going to be the worst day ever,” she said, her hands stuck halfway down her face. She sighed, only her red-rimmed eyes peeking out, and burst into tears.
The next night I started sleeping downstairs with Fionn. I laid a mattress of blankets, pulled up my sleeping bag and camped by his kennel. I kept a finger in the cage and touched his back. He’d get a little restless, make a few turns and maybe squeak a bit, but he’d feel my hand and lay back down. He settled eventually, and we both slept – if not comfortably – without too much fuss. And yet, it wasn’t ideal.
***
The truth is, we link these little
creatures with the baby image because that's the most understandable comparison
I can make. Learned people will claim this is anthropomorphic silliness (and I
do my share), but the fact remains that this is a recently hatched beast - a
small new voice that's been pulled from what he knows and dumped into an
evening of isolation. He's a pack animal, used to the warm soft bodies of
family. How can it be unreasonable to offer a gradual transition to this
period? Would he learn faster if we just let him cry a few nights - realizing
we were there in the morning and everything was really okay? Likely. But I just
can't do it. I'm a vet - which makes the logic of training palatable - but I'm
also a new dad (anthropomorphically speaking) and so ridiculously protective of
this new addition to the family.
Unfortunately, this is a recipe for (temporary) exhaustion and a part of the responsibility I've unwittingly agreed to. It means finding the patience hidden deep below my sleep organ (which was new to me). Just like anything else, it all gets better. And after a relatively short transition – nights not weeks – he was sleeping through the night, curled up in the plush bed of his kennel. Fionn was sleeping like a baby. And so were we.
Unfortunately, this is a recipe for (temporary) exhaustion and a part of the responsibility I've unwittingly agreed to. It means finding the patience hidden deep below my sleep organ (which was new to me). Just like anything else, it all gets better. And after a relatively short transition – nights not weeks – he was sleeping through the night, curled up in the plush bed of his kennel. Fionn was sleeping like a baby. And so were we.
