If he were a person, I'd probably be miffed at the lack of attention a family member was giving me at my departure, but he's a dog. He's also a dog that had severe separation anxiety as a puppy. Now I'm relieved that he calmly rests rather than in a panic trying to follow me out the door.
During Boris' first year, I'd leave our apartment every morning with dread as to what I would find when I came home. During his early puppy hood Boris ate three throw pillows, a number of pens, a pencil, a SODA can, a number of shoes, a couple of remotes, a set of coasters, a few books, newspapers, a wicker basket, and chewed through our Persian rug.
I wasn't upset about the things that were destroyed, because, after all, they were just things. I was worried that he'd hurt his internal organs with something he had eaten. Once I had to take him to the emergency vet because he ate so much pillow foam I thought he wouldn't be able to pass it. The vet gave me some kind of laxative to push it out, and he was fine. Soft things, not so bad. But, he had a particular liking for pens, and that's what scared me.
When Boris was around six months old, he'd learn that if he'd take something - usually a pen - I'd chase him to get it back. He being smarter-than-smart, figured out the exact time I was ready to leave, then steal something. He knew that I'd chase him and that would keep me home longer. Once he stole my eye glasses from the night stand. The little thief grabbed them, watched me to make sure he knew he had them, then trotted off. Once I'd catch him, I'd have a terrible time getting the object from him. I'd have to lure him away with a treat to get whatever he had away from him.
All this changed when we learned to use the crate. We discovered this when moving from Brooklyn to Jersey City. The weeks before the move, we had boxes and plastic wrap throughout the apartment ready to be moved. Our dog walker in Brooklyn pointed out that it really wasn't safe for Boris to be wandering around all this; he was now large enough to knock over a box that could lead to a number of boxes toppling down on him. So in the crate he went.
Crating Boris calmed him down tremendously when we weren't there. He was quite happy going into his own space to take a long, undisturbed nap. This worked so well in Brooklyn, we decided to use crating in Jersey City for the first six months we were there. Until he adjusted to the new place, he'd be crated all day with a break when the dog walker came. Then, after about three months in the new place, we'd crate him until after the dog walker came then she'd leave him free to roam the apartment. After about six months, he was adjusted and could roam the apartment while we were gone.
Putting Boris in a crate when he was a puppy seemed so cruel at the time, but as it turns out, leaving him to roam around a large space more more cruel. I'm so thankful that during that time he didn't really hurt himself. I'm even more thankful that he's over his anxiety and can enjoy a good long snooze while Kola and I are away.
Lesson learned: Crate your dogs if you have to - they actually like it!
