This post has nothing to do with the War in the Middle East. It pertains solely to the War at home. (My home… and I am going to win DARN IT!)
I may have mentioned my brave protector in the past. I may have even said how much I love him. Maybe even heaped praise upon his furry back for all the unsavory characters he has kept at bay.
Today, I am scrapping all of that. The beloved “Chance” is literally in the dog house. My well mannered, fairly well trained four legged furry hero blew it big time yesterday.
He was mad at me… and… Let me back up to the beginning.
Yesterday it was pouring down big buckets of rain. My two beautiful chows were in their usually spot on the covered patio enjoying the weather without being immersed in it.
I had a delivery truck coming by with a new freezer. This is usually no problem. I would normally chain the dogs to the fence far enough from the door, so that they will not hurt anyone while trying to protect me.
However, with all the rain, I did not want the dogs to get soaked.
Another option would be to have the delivery guys go around to the other door. They would be soaked as would my freezer.
I opted for plan “C”, which consisted of letting the dogs in the house. However, I would need to block them from the back door and the kitchen.
They are pretty smart and would not be tricked into the bathroom again. The trauma of 8 hours in the bathroom when Hurricane Rita buzzed past is still too fresh for them. No amount of coaxing could get them back in there.
So, I gave up and let them lay down in the living room. They were content with this plan until I blocked them in. (I did not want to take any chances of one of them sampling the leg of one the strangers at the door.)
Chance was mad. I am serious. You could see the glare in his eyes.
He walked two feet from me and peed on the carpet!
Startled, I screamed out his name.
He turned his head away from me, walked a couple feet further and peed again. He then looked back at me (yes, I was frozen in complete shock) took another couple steps and glared at me some more.
He proceeded to pee in such a manner until the entire living room reeked of “outhouse.”
I should mention that the entire time he was in the house during Hurricane Rita he did not even pee once, not even out of fear of the storm. This little act of defiance was completely out of character.
Well phooey…. I have scrubbed and scrubbed and it seems the more I scrub the worse the stench becomes. I was planning on pulling up the carpet and putting in teak flooring. But, darn it… I was not planning on doing it this weekend.
I should mention that Dad J. is very happy. He said that if he would have known that it would be so easy to get me to pull that old carpet; he would have peed on the carpet himself (and of course blamed it on the dogs)