So a couple of weeks ago when we had all that rain (remember that rain? wasn’t it awesome?) Nate and I decided to take the dogs outside on their leashes instead of giving them free reign of the yard. Figured it would be quicker and less messy with less running in the mud and less messing around in general.
Anyways, it was drizzling (oh how I miss that rain) and it was their “last chance before bed” trip so we were standing down under the deck where we usually take the dogs to “go” and just waiting for Layne to go. And waiting. And waiting. And it was not cool standing out there getting dripped on waiting for the dog to pee. We tried to be patient because I think something about being on the leash and being told to “potty” like 500 times were starting to make her nervous. She pretty much refused to budge from my side the whole time we were out there, despite my insistance that she JUST FREAKIN POTTY ALREADY.
Finally after what seemed like forever (but was probably only like 15 minutes) we gave up and went in. Sure the last time Layne used the bathroom was 5pm and chances were that the next time she’d get a chance would be 8am, but that was not our problem.
Or was it?
Because seriously I must have slept with one eye open that night, waiting for the sound. You know.. the one that meant the poor freak of a dog couldn’t hold it for 15 hours like I had hoped. Only the sound never came. Every time the dog moved I woke up, my heart beating a mile a minute like I was about to have to spring into action to avert some sort of doggie disaster. Except the sound I was expecting? It never came.
Instead around 8am we woke up to the other sound. One that I’m sure most pet owners are familiar with, right before the dog (or cat) empties its stomach onto the floor.
It was awesome.
So basically my entire night was killed because I kept worrying about the dog peeing on the floor. Her entire night was probably killed because she couldn’t figure out why mom and dad put her on the leash and then yelled at her in the rain. And Nate’s morning was killed by having to rush the dog into the bathtub, because who wants to scrub the carpet first thing in the morning?
Really.. sometimes I’m not sure who is more neuritic.. Me.. or the dog…
And sometimes I’m afraid it might be me.