Today, sadly is the day I have not looked forward to since being home. While I've touched up a few areas of my house in the past six days, I can deny the need for some serious floor washing no longer. Oh, Toby, Toby, Toby. This morning Tilly goes to the beauty salon, and I will scrub the floors of the house. All of them. Something has to give with my thirty five pound mobile sprinkler system. Last night as I slept he creeped out of the room and painted the town red again, well more like yellow. Yesterday afternoon while I was working on my artwork he snuck up to my bedroom where there was a half full box of milk bones on a window sill (the pups get a "nite nite cookie" at bedtime.) I say "was" because he knocked it off the ledge and ate them all. Every. Last. Cookie. I tried to explain the lack of a bedtime snack to Ellie and Tilly, but they looked at me sadly as though I'd eaten them.
I really don't know what to do with this dog as it is getting hard to live with him on a daily basis. Even if he goes outside once an hour he still goes the bathroom in the house. He will go where he sleeps, eats, and on anything vertical. He selects books from the bookshelf, pawing them onto the floor to use as a target. He jumps his short self up to high locations to retrieve trash, then drags it across the floor like fresh killed prey, and pees on it. I can tell he's done a naughty thing too late when he growls at it and kicks his hind legs to extend his mark zone. I've tried doggie diapers, but he manages to slip them off and deposit them on my pillow (unused, thankfully) as if to say "Nice try!" I've made doggie wraps, same thing. I've kept him leashed, and he has peed on my leg, after coming in from outside! I guess he loves me. I've saturated every surface with "Doggie No Mark" and I seriously think he just laughs. I tried crate training him years ago, and he did get used to it, although his crate and crate bedding needed to be cleaned and washed every day, which was more difficult than cleaning the floor. I find I am constantly cleaning, one way or another, and since he and his better trained sister are inseparable, it seems cruel to keep them apart. It isn't fair to Ellie to get peed on in a crate, though, which has actually happened. Toby has even peed on her head when we've been out for walks. How can one dog be so much of a handful, yet still lovable at the same time?
I've grown used to having da Pugs sleep with me. Toby hogs the bed, too -- but he is the best snuggler in the bunch, and like a clumsy shadow he escorts me down the stairs should I get up in the middle of the night. Can I sleep through all night through his tantrums, banging, and howling as he adjusts to his crate again? Can I keep up with the daily laundry? Maybe this summer is the time to do it. Can I sleep without my big lug acting like a heating pad on just the right spot on my back? He will be nine in a couple weeks, qualifying as a senior doggie, and has Addison's disease, is deaf, was treated for Lyme, and has chronic ear issues. How much longer will he live? Do I want to have his last days spent living in a crate and feeling rejected? With my luck (or should I say HIS luck) he will be a Guinness Book qualifying pug. Maybe I could live in a clean crate and give him the house. He's already marked it as his own, anyway.
I wrote this less than eloquent poem about the Tobster a while back, and am adding a couple lines today:
Poop piling
Puddle making
Sound barrier breaking
Electric cord sparking
Fur ball growing
Skin itching
Wallet draining
Bed space hogging
Scratch making
Paint peeling
Trash flipping
Patience killing
Sick inducing
Rub demanding
Bath avoiding
Leg kicking
Cookie stealing
Lundry creating
Stink sharing
Food filching
Wall marking
but lovable, Toby.
What will you make today while I am cleaning after the Tobster? Cheers!