Yesterday I . . .

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Pooping everywhere is exhausting

– Had a tour, for which I was getting ready assuming that Schmoop would be taking the pups out while I did so.

– Did NOT adhere to my standard Calvin Anxiety Mitigating Routine because see above.

– Discovered Schmoop had NOT taken the pups out, but rather decided to go get bagels.

– Departed the bathroom to discover stoop poop.

– Proceeded downstairs for cleanup materials and discovered hallway pee.

– Suspended personal preparations in order to clean up two anxiety-related accidents, worked up a sweat, cursed Schmoopie and his damn bagels, became grumpy.

– Ate a bagel after initially refusing bagel out of spite because if it weren’t for the damn bagels I’d have had a lot more than 15 minutes in which to eat a bagel.

– Went to work while contemplating bagel-related Möbius strip of suck.

– Came back eight hours later and began critter feeding preparations.

– Opened kitchen door to take puppies their food and was whacked in the face with poop stench.

– Discovered dining room poop.

– Cleaned up dining room poop and fed puppies.

– Enroute to living room, noticed hallway had dreadful smell, still.

– Discovered stoop poop AND pee.

– Questioned, deeply and profoundly, what my life had become.

– Cleaned the third batch of inappropriate excrement OF THE DAY.

Today I . . .

– Went for a ten mile run having only eaten a spite bagel, 2 meatballs, Cheeze-Its, and a bacon burger the preceding day.

– Spent 7 miles wishing for death.

– Sat passively on the couch while Schmoopie cleaned up YET MORE STOOP POOP WHAT EVEN IS HAPPENING HERE????????

* * *

An epilogue for anyone who may be thinking: House train your freaking dogs, lady!

They actually are.

They were? I don’t even know what to think anymore.

Both pups were fabulously house-trained. But we moved out of the south last summer, and apparently if my dogs had cars they would have those stupid “G.R.I.T.S.” and “American by birth, southern by the grace of god” bumperstickers. Since they are bumperless, they lodge their cultural dissatisfaction through wanton household elimination. This explanation is also known as THE SOUTH WILL HAUNT ME FOREVER, DAMMIT.

Thats one explanation.

The other is that the move caused some stress, which coincided with Karmann developing arthritis, which led to some mobility-related accidents on the stoop, which led to more stress, which caused some anxiety-related accidents on the established-as-potty-zone stoop. All of which coincided with the traditional layout of the new-old house (i.e. not the Househunters preferred “open floor plan perfect for entertaining” type of soul-sucking new construction that we lived in while in Georgia, where asking a perfectly able-bodied Augustan to walk upstairs to the master bedroom is–PERISH THE THOUGHT, but I digress.)

All that basically means that we can’t see the front door, where the pups were trained to sit for potty notification purposes, from any other room in the house. More importantly, I think, they cannot see us. I believe this has caused a notification crisis. If we happen to be present in the front hallway (unlikely) or kitchen when the mood strikes them, they will sit at a door. If we are not, I think they just think, “oh well hey, we have that section of carpet on the landing so . . . ”

We’ve been trying since the fall to teach them to ring a bell on the door, but for reasons I cannot fathom they don’t seem particularly interested in learning this new skill. Probably because the stoop is so much less work.

And that is why I bitch incessantly about the out-of-control indoor elimination. I am not used to it, it is not normal (though it is frequently hilarious, because if I didn’t laugh I’d cry) and my dogs are not just totally untrained ruffians.

At least, not in this specific situation.

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