Why Does My Dog Whimper?
1.Because he doesn't want to be in the crate so he whines and whimpers which is kind of like a child crying if they don't get what they want. Ignore him if he is whimpering because he just wants attention and to get out of the crate. That is one of the ways of teaching dominance to a dog
Give him attention when he's not whimpering and whining that way he should stop whimpering.
2.Try buying a baby pen or something and some puppy pads. Litter it with some toys so that when you dont have the time to play with him he will have something to do. I assume he pees in order to get your attention and get him out of the crate. He whimpers cause hes sad.; (No one likes to be locked up. You can buy him some puppy bones too. ;) Try to keep him interested and he won't whimper anymore. After he pees, you can let him out for like ten or twenty minutes.- best time to potty train him.
3.If he only whimpers when you put him in his crate then it's can be a sign of loneliness or anxiety. Associate the crate with good things E.g. give him a treat when he's in his crate and make sure he has lots of toys in his crate too. To get him use to it you should put him in little but often. Start with 2 minutes giving treats, then let him out. A few minutes later try 5 minutes with treats and a lot of 'good boy' etc, and gradually increase his time in the crate.
4.Give him time to adjust and fall into the routine of the family. Don't pull him out and coddle him when he whines, because that reinforces the behavior. At night when he's kenneled, let him whine. As hard as it is to ignore the adorable puppy whine, you have to.
5.He is lonely. Make sure you are not using your crate more than one hour for every month of the dogs age. Crates are useful tools but not a jail. Make sure you are giving your puppy enough of your time.
now, let us ask the dog.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Boyhood
Boyhood Remembered
Mother and her sister played poker when I came out of the bedroom looking
for my trousers, but mother had just lost them to Aunt Gabriella who refused
to give them back. I sat by the coal fire and warmed my knees; winter with frost
roses on windows. Without long trousers I could not go to school, the idea of this
pleased me, I began reading a Robin Hood book. I didn’t care so much for him,
he was in love with a girl, but I liked the other ones in his gang. “Here, ” mother
said, “I have won back your trousers, your shoes as well; go to school now.” I was
going to take the bike out of the shed, but a monster rat sat there.
” Mother” I yelled, “There is a big rat in the shad it is eating the tires off my bike.”
Mother dropped the cat out of the window, from our third floor flat, just caught it.
“Put the cat in the shed, ” walk to school, it is good for you biking makes you lazy.”
My sister came with a crate of beer she had bought at the supermarket, ” you are
just like little girl frighten by a tiny rat, ” she said, took the bike out, put the dazed
cat on top of the crate and walked in. I was one hour late for school, but there was
no use telling the teacher why, he would only say I was telling tales as usual.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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I once saw a forklift lift a crate of forks. And it was way to literal for me.
quote by Mitch Hedberg
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Love Letter Written In A Burning Building
I am in a crate, the crate that was ours,
full of white shirts and salad greens,
the icebox knocking at our delectable knocks,
and I wore movies in my eyes,
and you wore eggs in your tunnel,
and we played sheets, sheets, sheets
all day, even in the bathtub like lunatics.
But today I set the bed afire
and smoke is filling the room,
it is getting hot enough for the walls to melt,
and the icebox, a gluey white tooth.
I have on a mask in order to write my last words,
and they are just for you, and I will place them
in the icebox saved for vodka and tomatoes,
and perhaps they will last.
The dog will not. Her spots will fall off.
The old letters will melt into a black bee.
The night gowns are already shredding
into paper, the yellow, the red, the purple.
The bed - well, the sheets have turned to gold -
hard, hard gold, and the mattress
is being kissed into a stone.
As for me, my dearest Foxxy,
my poems to you may or may not reach the icebox
and its hopeful eternity,
for isn't yours enough?
The one where you name
my name right out in P.R.?
If my toes weren't yielding to pitch
I'd tell the whole story -
not just the sheet story
but the belly-button story,
the pried-eyelid story,
the whiskey-sour-of-the-nipple story -
and shovel back our love where it belonged.
Despite my asbestos gloves,
the cough is filling me with black and a red powder seeps through my
veins,
our little crate goes down so publicly
and without meaning it, you see, meaning a solo act,
a cremation of the love,
but instead we seem to be going down right in the middle of a Russian
street,
the flames making the sound of
the horse being beaten and beaten,
the whip is adoring its human triumph
while the flies wait, blow by blow,
straight from United Fruit, Inc.
poem by Anne Sexton
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Understandable hate
There is only one understandable thing about hate,
it can take over me at any second,
my heart with hate is almost like a crate,
holes everywhere,
destroying everything in its path,
i understand the hate,
i take what i feel,
just to create the hate i need to survive,
on hate i thrive,
the hate makes me cut,
the cuts make me bleed,
the blood releases the hate,
a little at a time,
there is understandable hate,
and that hate is mine.
poem by Alicia Roseberry
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Homeless
Peace on earth, mercy
Mild… give… to help feed, a
Homeless, hungry child
Snow so soft, winter’s
Just great! Unless one’s home is…
In a cardboard crate
Christmas…a place in
The heart…where many poor souls
Live too far apart
No coats…gloves or heat
No bed…Not enough to eat.
That’s Life on the street
Offer a hand up
To one who’s down, help to
Fill an empty cup
Tomorrow get up
and about… and help someone
Who is down and out
poem by David Whalen
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Poisoning Pigeons In The Park
Planned it all out mate,
put these pigeons through sore straights.
Should teach them a lesson or two,
of where to dropp their doo.
Planned it all out mate,
put it in the bread crate,
took it to the park and fed,
all the pigeons till they were dead.
'Tis our favourite pass time,
my honey and I.
I'll not take it for such a crime,
they're pigeons after all, who'll cry?
Gave 'em a little bit of cyanide,
and threw some mercury in for good measure,
maybe people will think it suicide,
or view their deaths as a great pleasure.
poem by Soren Valentine
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Wherefore Art Though Julian
INTERNATIONAL INSIDENTS COME AND GO
HIGH PROFILE FIGURES, SOME YOU MAY KNOW
TO FALL FROM GRACE AND BECOME A FUGITIVE
DESPERATION DEMANDS ONE TO CHOOSE CAREFULLY WHERE TO LIVE
FEAR OF PERSECUTION, BEING PASSED FROM HAND TO HAND
SUPPORTERS CHANT..DON'T PACK HIM OFF FROM ENGLAND
LESS AUSPICIOUS ABODE WILL HAVE TO DO
BARICADED IN YOUR NEW HOME, A ROOM OR TWO
FOREIGN STATES AGREE OR NOT BETWEEN THEMSELVES
AS CORRESPONDENCES PROLIFERATE
THIS TIME HE WON'T ESCAPE TO FREEDOM IN A CRATE.
poem by Brian Roy Skyers
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Puppy In A Cup
Have a cup of puppy,
Puppy in a cup.
Brown and slightly sugary,
Puppy in a cup.
Warm, soft and cuddly,
Puppy in a cup.
Don't drink the puppy, silly,
Just pick the puppy up!
That's Not All They Do
People do not listen to others.
In fact,
If they are not directly affected...
They could care less.
Not all people.
But enough of them to make this noticed.
'My dog,
Who had been my best and closest friend...
Since a puppy.
Was hit by a bus this morning.
And this makes me sick to my stomach.'
~You?
Many of them have no respect.
Cussing?
You should hear those kids that live near me.
That's not all they do,
When they get on public buses.
It's enough to make me want to throw up too.~
'No. No.
You're not paying me any attention at all.
It was my puppy.'
~You've got a puppy that cusses?
And your a passenger like me on a public bus?
If I were you,
I'd look into having my own reality show.
I have never heard of that before.
That would be an instant hit.~
'What a friend you are! '
~Hey...
What can I say?
You want me to make a few calls for you?
I know I can get you an appointment,
To see somebody.
Male or female? ~
'What are you talking about? '
~You puppy's gender.
Or preference?
A dog that smart can be what it wants.~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I don't Like You
I, my, fly, die, shy, sigh, guy, bye
gone, flown, cone, drone, blown, away
hay, hey, neigh
Cry, my, guy, yigh, goodbye
wait, hate, gate, crate, weight
even some debate
Watch out! or you'll trip over escape
While I poke you with debate
And escalate mole hills
Into mountain ranges
'equate'
poem by Midnights Voice
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On Sand Track
We walk barefoot on sand tracks
Leaving behind foot prints with nothing at stake
Within moment they will disappear
You need not look back or see from rear
Laughter is no free commodity
That is inbuilt and smells of humanity
You can crate or ignore
What else you can ask as more?
Eyesight is not a reason to worry
Immobility is not concern to feel sorry
We have lived life to its full length
Now why worry if that is taken over by death
We have lot more to share
As we were looked after with care
Let nature play its part and take us away
This is only right thinking to part the way
We remember almighty as creator
Our true guide, philosopher and mentor
What would have been we if not brought on this earth?
Let us faith due respect and unstinted faith
We gave to the world or family what ever we could
Now let them think about us or what they should
We are now lest concerned about what they may think
We have still enough of time on ship before it sinks
Let the end be also memorable and exemplary
Each stage has been made important are necessary
Like seasons change and leaves fall by taking clue
We must think only in those terms which are worth to view
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Street Person
Oh what a cagey vagrant
Slumming yourself flawlessly
Garbage bags filled to overflow
As you pace the city streets endlessly
Your palace came free of charge
Orange crate and designer cardboard
A woolen nesting blanket inspired
Your dream time into warmth
Foraging for a living
Everyday a new adventure
Setting out in the concrete jungle
To dig for more hidden treasure
(This was written because of my anguish of
The lives of many whose lives have been
Driven to the streets.)
poem by Theodora Onken
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Big Jack Loves His Food
Jack went to his doctors
he hadn't been for a year
twenty five stone he was
due to his love of chips and beer.
The doctor said he was now obese
and he would have to lose weight
Jack was told to eat more salads
and to stop drinking ale by the crate.
But Jack was now depressed
because he really loved his grub
his favourite meal was pie and chips
washed down with ten pints in the pub.
But he knew he was far too heavy
and the doctor was probably right
but he wanted one last big meal
down the pub that very night.
But alas Jack ate far too much
and couldn't stop filling his face
and after one pie too many
he exploded into outer space.
But even though Jack was gone
and this must have been his fate
you could say he did achieve something
he got rid of all that weight!
poem by Kevin Halls
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30 Minutes
Mama, papa forgive me
Out of sight, out of mind
Out of time to decide
Do we run? should I hide
For the rest of my life
Can we fly? do we stay?
We could lose we could fail
And the more minutes take
To make planer, or mistakes
30 minutes, the blink of the night
30 minutes to alter our lifes
30 minutes to make up my mind
30 minutes to finally decide
30 minutes to whisper your name
30 minutes to shelter the blame
30 minutes of bliss, 30 lies
30 minutes to finally decide
Carousels in the sky
That we shape with our eyes
Under shade silhouettes casting
Shapes crying rain
Can we fly do I stay
We could lose, we could fail
Either way, options change
Chances fail, trains derail.
30 minutes, the blink of the night
30 minutes to all of our lifes
30 minutes to make up my mind
30 minutes to finally decide
30 minutes to whisper your name
30 minutes to show her the blame
30 minutes of bliss, 30 lies
30 minutes to finally decide
To decide, to decide to decide to decide
(repeat until fade)
song performed by by Tatu
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A good writer
I must stop dreaming
In no way it is helping
It gets me nowhere
I must start from somewhere
My friends used to laugh
They will cut a joke and loudly cough
They were showing pure indignation
My existence itself was in question
I expressed my wish to a poet
They bore sturdy silence and remained quiet
They were not happy even to greet
I was ashamed to look at them to meet
What had happened to me at late age?
Was it not appropriate place or stage?
What was wrong to bring ideas out of cage?
I was sure of it and able to manage
I did think of a lovely woman
She must be longing for man
I concentrated on very good plot
I fired my first salvo as good shot
it did crate good interest with flutter
they liked it but tried to murmur
It was real set back for their thinking
I was going ahead and not sinking
it strengthen my belief
At later stage it was good relief
I stood there as good fighter
I was to prove not as bad writer
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Obtained By Ghosts
Ghosts obtain justice from us,
As we are near extinction.
Ghosts monitored our moves
Like houses of parliament.
Their revelry is unjustified
As far as lieutenancy.
I marry those ghosts meaningfully
To images of past poltergeists.
I have conquered burgers and chips
With a few of them.
They sedate me, cast a crate of food
On the floor in malpractice -
Professional or educational?
Both of these men are ghosts
And I am teased, when I am haunted.
poem by Naveed Akram
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A Alcoholic's Puppy Dog Happiness
I dog fooded long gone I home come
Miles high respect I for animal dumb,
He me look see I love him
Unconditional licking him no whim.
Dollars bring when he come born
Children million money look puppy see forlorn,
Joy in walls house paws thru door
Puppy love wants fooded for whining more.
Whining, more, name brain twisted will call Oliver
Oliver gobbled enough menu no deliver,
Licking frenzy children laugh sadness delete
Puppy dog happiness make family complete, except
If only his loving sloppy lick
Could rid my painful life, a drowning alcoholic
Puppy give life a happy kick
maybe one more drink will do the trick.
nb. Written in the style what alcohol
can do to the brain and start life's
spiral downwards.
poem by Ken e Hall
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Bright day
Think of bright day
And you will find always a way
Think of little disaster
And you will become slave and not master
It is life and you can only hope
As they are on high slope
You may try to get on top
And there won't be any hurdle or stop
In morning no confusion must occur
As you may be heading for adventure
It may not be that hazardous
Yet it warrants thoughts continous
You may just think bad side
But area should not be left wide
It must never let you crate fear
As later you have on go on bear
Mornings are always good and pleasant
They are yours priorities and present
You go whole heatedly for achievement
There is no need to create fear movement
Leave everything for future anticipation
As it may address all the questions
You may remain behind to see its close relation
As there is satisfaction all over and no more bad escalation
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Problems
I have problems, and you have problems
Let's make problems with our problems
When I'm the problem you're the problem
But we know where the problem for one another
I start my day by any other way
Looking under my bed for the metallic crate
Encrypted with a steel isomorphic key
Projecting documents enveloped with two words
"Today's problems"
When I have no problems I make more problems
To entwine the world with inventive problems
What would we do if we did not have problems?
Neglect our security for hypothesizing new problems
Problems, Problems, Problems
An exegesis of problems
Categorized and productized
In rationale arrangements
Ontologically customized
Parasitically neurological
And involuntarily exercised
I empty the glass and make if full
To furbish the center that never holds
Happiness elixirs baseless catchment
Percolating vertices of inverted orphans
So what's the problem?
poem by Kevin Patrick
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Ripper's Hand
palm gird
its direction, pointing neither
straight
nor curve it goes where
it begins and holds
what makes
it fulfill, the night shows no mercy
direction
has nothing to say
and the star above pointless
array even it
catches perfect horizon
in a compass way but still it pushes
no limit
our eyes couldn't see
the ripper's blade
cut with honor
regardless of whose right or wrong;
for sharpen edge
hit the core,
with the guillotine eye feasts
the flesh,
the night whistles the day
of spoilage crate
now take me
where I shall stop; the nail and the
hair has clever to ask,
as the head wants
it to stop, the Ripper's mind always
come
with hands in the top
poem by Antonio Liao
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