I apologize for writing yet another column about canines, but great Danes-a-dancing – what was I thinking?! I’m up to my eyeballs these days in puppy pee, poop, ruined carpeting and gnawed-on furniture. Right now as I’m writing there is an explosion of brown fur over, under and all around the legs of my office chair and under my desk. There’s gnashing and growling and yelping and whimpering and panting – and that’s just the noise I make trying to keep my feet from being shredded by what I affectionately call my two land piranhas. Yes, two.
Three weeks ago we purposely brought a second puppy into our household to “keep the first one company.” At least that’s how I sold the idea to my wife.
If you remember, we brought home an 8-week-old boy Labradoodle in February after being dog-less for much of last year. Then four weeks later, we picked up a girl chocolate Lab. Honestly, it seemed like a good idea at the time.
For those of you keeping score, that’s two brand spankin’ new puppies at the same time. Two house-wrecking hounds with needle sharp teeth and seemingly zero bladder control. I should have my head examined. And our carpets replaced. And furniture reupholstered.
Now that we’ve had “Oakley” seven weeks and “Scout” three weeks, I need to ask a favor. If you happen to run into me somewhere, please remind me how much of a dog person I am at heart. No, seriously. Get right in my face and, in the most sincere way you can, tell me that I really, really wanted two dogs and that it will all be worth it in a few more weeks. Or maybe months. Definitely by this time next year. Okay?
I’m ready to admit that I could have been wrong about all this. To get through this stage I’m even considering evoking higher powers; like the Rug Doctor and Cesar Millan. Speaking of which, I’ve read more articles lately written by whispering experts about how to simply and easily (ha!) house train new puppies and about crate training and teaching dogs not to chew or dig or bark or otherwise disrupt life as we once knew it. But I’m pretty sure these well-meaning folks don’t work with dogs from this planet. I’ve had trainers and vets tell me without the slightest hint of sarcasm that dogs should be completely trained to do their business outside within two weeks. You’d be proud of me. I haven’t decked a single one of these silly people. Yet.
Not to get too graphic, but we’re at the point where we don’t dare walk around our house in stocking feet. Hip waders would be more practical. You just never know what gift one of the puppies has left for us in the 30 seconds they weren’t being watched.
I mean, we used to buy a case of Costco paper towels once every six or seven months. But in the short time our diminutive defecating duo has lived here, we’ve already been to the discount warehouse three times and bought rolls of super-absorbent two-ply by the pallet. I’m expecting a thank you card from the Costco board of directors any day now.
Lately I’ve spent more time on my hands and knees scrubbing our floors than Cinderella did at the hands of her evil stepsisters. In addition to all the paper towels, we’ve gone from buying carpet stain and odor-eliminator in the jumbo spray bottle to the two-liter refill size. Lately I’ve been searching the Internet to see if anyone sells 55-gallon drums of the stuff. By late spring, I anticipate we’ll need to pull up our carpets and flooring and just pour concrete throughout the entire house. I’m thinking of installing industrial-sized drains and high-pressure hose bibs in every room.
Until then, I just noticed a new dark spot on the carpet. (No lie.)
I’ll see you ’round town.