Pocket and the Thunder Shirt

I am Pocket the Thunder Dog.  Daddy bought me a Thunder Shirt and he did it without Mommy’s permission.  Usually when this happens Mommy announces that he’s done something stupid but this time she said he did something really stupid.  Mommy is a bit cynical about the wonder products that are supposed to calm or train us dogs.  But I don’t care, I have a shirt and Foley doesn’t so cool beans.  

Daddy put it on me.  I can’t say if I felt calm or not.  I  jumped on the couch, rolled around, and was able to get the jacket off.  Now, while this did not make me calmer, it made Daddy more anxious, because he had bought the shirt to make me less anxious and Mommy’s sharp look at Daddy when it came off me was, in the world of anxiety, known as a carrier.

Daddy was determined to show her that she was wrong and that my Thunder Shirt would not end up in the drawer with the Bark Off, the clicker, and the condoms.  You know, the drawer full of stuff that will never, ever, ever be used again.

Daddy put it on me again and then read the directions.  I guess this is the “Men’s Way” of doing things:  Do it then read the directions.  Then he took it off because apparently putting it over my harness was incorrect, removed my harness, and put the shirt on me.  Then he took the shirt off because he read the second paragraph of the directions that said to introduce me to the thundershirt by putting a treat on it.  So he took it off, put a treat on it, and asked me to eat the treat.  I ate it, but it was like asking a human to eat a steak off a shirt they were just wearing.  Anyway, I found the entire thing very stressful.  

Then he read more directions.  It said I should wear the shirt for a short time on Thursday so I could get used to it.  So I did.  Then, on Friday, before Mommy and Daddy went out, they offered me a treat, and while I was crunching my treat they strapped the shirt snuggly on me.  Realizing they put the shirt on me because they were leaving I became nervous and spit out the treat.  Another epic fail.  Then I got put in my crate.

The biggest reason they bought me a thundershirt is because, when I am left alone, I drool a river in my crate.  I get very worried, then very excited, and the blanket I lie on becomes soaked.  It’s like I am wetting the bed but not with pee, with worry.

I, even with a thundershirt, still drool a river.  but maybe a slightly lesser river.  When Mommy was out with her grandbabies at dance practice and I stayed with Daddy I still trembled,  but maybe not as much.  When the grandbabies came in I still freaked out zooming around the house, but maybe a touch less zoomy.  Right now the jury is out on my thundershirt although I do like it because it is snuggly.  But when you sleep between Mommy and Daddy under the covers at night knowing that nothing can ever hurt you, a shirt can’t take the place of that safe feeling.

I want to see if they make a Mommy never leaves shirt.  That would be a big seller.