My dog has anxiety issues. Don't let that sweet, droopy hound dog face fool you. Electra is a bonafide basket case.
Don't get me wrong, I love my dog, and in every other way, she is absolutely perfect. She is super sweet, an excellent snuggler, and a champion napping partner. She doesn't bark, she doesn't lick, and she doesn't even have the ability to snarl, let along try and bite someone. She's patient as a saint when Cadence climbs on her or accidently pokes a finger in her eye.
But then, we try and leave the house, and our sweet little Jekyll goes seriously Hyde on us.
After four dog beds destroyed, three shredded towels, two torn up blankets, the paint clawed off our bathroom door, and dozens of land mines left in our absence, we decided to set up a video camera to see just when the hell was going on while we were gone.
We could only bear to watch the first fifteen minutes of the footage. The whining begins shortly after we close the door. By the time we pull out of the driveway, the whine becomes a full-blown howl. If she is kenneled, she claws and bites at the cage. She paces and pants so hard that she nearly passes out.
We've tried every solution we can think of. We left out articles of our clothing for her to sniff. We left dog cookies and treats around the house for her to find. We bought a hollow ball that we fill with a handful of dog food so pieces fall out randomly as she pushes it around the house. We tried filling another hollow toy with peanut butter to keep her occupied. We installed a dog door so she could have access to both the house and the yard in our absence. We even tried giving her a dose of Benadryl to calm her frazzled nerves. Yet, the only thing that transforms her back into our sweet, doe-eyed dog is for all of us to be home together.
There is a fine line between love and obsession, and Electra just might have crossed it.
But just look at that sweet face!