Don’t leave a man and a puppy alone in your home for up to 4 days. Nothing good will happen.
Nothing.
Before you say oh no she’s writing about that damn dog again – hear me out. First of all, it’s November. Must we talk triathlon? All year it’s tri this tri that. Let’s give it a rest. For at least a few more day I’m interrupting the regularly scheduled tri-blog-broadcast to give you very important puppy news. Secondly, you must understand my house right now is exploding in puppy so it’s taken over my thoughts.
On Monday, Chris picked me up at the airport and there was Boss popping out of his Sherpa bag. Oh he was just as cute as I last remembered (Chris, not Boss). As we drove back home, Chris thought I might want to leave the dog with him for awhile and go to the house alone.
Why?
Well, because there might be a bit of a miss that might be a bit easier to clean up if there was no dog. Hmmm. Mess? Come on. I’ve left Chris alone for a few days and it hasn’t been that bad. If I get worried, I just call my mom in for back up. Mom, go over to the house and make sure the doors are closed, the lights are off, and above all the house is still there. She usually sends a report back that nothing out of the ordinary except Chris had every drawer, closet, and cabinet door open. And clothes everywhere.
My favorite report:
“Elizabeth, I found an entire outfit on the floor. It was like he just stepped right out of his socks, pants, shorts, shirt and it fell to the floor in one big pile.”
Yes, yes. That is my Chris.
But back to Boss. And Chris. How bad could this be? How much worse than one 160 lb man plus one 3.3 lb dog?
I opened the door. I walked in. It was bad. 163.3 lbs of bad. And mostly on the floor.
Locust leaflets all over the foyer floor. Empty dog bowls. Dog blankets. Tufts of carpet that have been pulled up. Towels to clean up one said dog mess (or two or more). A crate. A giant blue bed that I assume belongs to Boss either that or Boss is now sleeping upstairs and Chris has taken the kitchen floor. And the most dog toys I have ever seen. EVER. All over the floor.
Later in the day, Chris and I tried to ride our bikes. While last week Boss handled the whir of one set of bike wheels, two sets plus the rollers were overstimulating to say the least. From atop the rollers Chris was screaming something about one puppy head in rear spokes would not be a good thing so we leashed him to a piece of furniture. It didn’t feel right but a puppy and a rear wheel are a deadly combination for sure.
Afterward biking, we entered the hours of 8 and 10 pm which Chris has warned me are Boss’ witching hours. During this time he usually drops anchor about three times, runs laps around the kitchen, and hides under the couch. In no particular order.
And speaking of the couch – SPEAKING of the COUCH, Boss seems to have outsmarted us. From a series of complex calculations he has determined that he fits under the couch and we…do not. And so, when he is naughty he runs under the couch. When he wants to chew on lamp cords, he runs under the couch. When he wants to steal and hide Chris’ socks, he runs under the couch. And then he taunts us by sticking his paws and head out before slinking back under the couch in his own version of the commando crawl.
There is also the subject of squeaky toys. Chris says it’s the cheapest form of GPS we can put on Boss. We have noticed when he goes missing or quiet he is either in his Sherpa bag or somewhere taking a dump. I don’t mind the bag, but I’ll pass on the random piles of dump expertly hidden around the house. Enter the squeaky toy. When the toy stops squeaking we start searching.
Last night, Boss was wired. He refused to sit and eat. Grabbed a kibble and ate it on the fly. As in 30 mph flying around the kitchen, hallway, living room. He’s doing a 100 meter sprint around this imaginary track. Occasionally he grabs a toy or a shoelace. But other than that he’s full speed ahead.
Somebody last night also had a poopy paw. No one has fessed up yet, but someone apparently went outside and stepped in a pile of poo and tracked it in the house. I’m not sure who isn’t bagging the poo or who forgot to wipe the puppy paw when they came back in the house but one puppy paw was enough for me to remind all parties involved that we must wipe paws. All six of them – four for Boss, two for Chris.
Other highlights of the night included when Boss’ teeth were attached to my pajama bottoms. He had that maniac look in his eyes and he was hungry for blood. Or tattered pajama bottom. A short while later the squeaky pig stopped squeaking and I traced Boss’ location under the chair. When I peeked under it he came leaping out at me, paws ready to pounce right at my hair. And then he humped my arm.
The world of a puppy is very exciting. There is much to chew and much to explore, arms to hump, places to hide. And I think I’ve got all of the puppy reports out of my system now so tomorrow this station will return to its regular programming.
