Free to be you and me, at three

At three a.m. Rufus vomited up the part of the towel and soft glasses case he managed to chew while crated. I was at a production of Hedwig and the Angry Inch – lots of strobe lights but overall a wonderful show about letting your freak flag fly – and came home to shreds of stuff lying in his crate. Sophie didn’t want to be near him, lest she incriminate herself. The doodlebug seemed fine at the time, and I assumed it was mostly a mass shredding, sort of like Enron back in 2002.

Arthur Andersen & Co found guilty of shredding important files during Enron investigation.

But at three he politely left the bed and vomited on the carpet. Since my washing machine is broken down and my new one doesn’t arrive for a week, he chose the better option. Still, I had to clean this up. On our way downstairs to get cleaning supplies, he then decided to pee on my Perisan rug. Just because. That’s when I got mad at him. I put him outside while I cleaned everything up – took about twenty minutes. Once back inside I stuck him in his crate and put myself back to bed.

Then the barking. Oof. I’ve spoiled this dog. He has spent a total of one night in his crate, and that was a good night. It wasn’t going to be now. I went back downstairs and let him out. He happily returned to the bedroom. Jerk.

I’m relieved actually that he vomited rather than experienced intestinal blockage. And I know better than to put anything on top of his crate. Even if it looks way too big to get through the bars, he will find a way.

I’ll leave on a nice note: yesterday I put up the Christmas tree – a fake one that doesn’t smell like anything to pee on. He wants to play with the ornaments but seems to get that they are off-limits. We watched Star Trek while decorating so hopefully the wisdom of Jean Luc Picard somehow penetrated his little Rottie skull.



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