Having eight kids and two adults jammed into a 1,000 square foot home with just one bathroom teaches one the importance of cleaning up. Unless everyone cleans up after themselves the joint is a perpetual shithole. And hence my childhood home was a perpetual shithole. For this reason I and most of my siblings are neat freaks and keep our homes in order. In my case another reason for this tendency may be that life is so chaotic and uncertain that it's fun having a little kingdom where you have some measure of control. Enter my dog. Louie is an eleven year old Brittany. He's wonderful but he's gone through a rough time as of late which has tarnished his image with me. My borderline former spouse was a stay-at-homer (unless she was slipping to the boyfriend's to get his nasty penis shoved up her stinky hole) and hence was the one having the biggest bond with Louie. When she mercifully moved out louie followed the kids -- half time with me, half time with the borderline adulteress. Unfortunately the following changes have recently occurred in Louie's life: (1) the hooker got a full time job (as a psychologist, of course), (2) she moved into an apartment (seven or so houses down from my home, of course) that doesn't permit pets (of course), and (3) my twin boys left for college. Lots of shit for an eleven-year-old dog to handle, and he handles it by shitting and pissing on my floor. I've tried what I thought was best and none of it worked because I don't get the dog logic. I've since taken him to the vet for tests and advice and I've followed all of the latter. I've chatted it up with a dog trainer and have followed all of his advice as well. The thing the vet and trainer said I should try if all else fails is crating him. So Thursday I went to the local pet store and spent an hour talking to the owner or clerk (who looks like a beat up, semi-retarded Kenny Rogers) who was great with Louie, great with me, and spent an hour with both of us getting us ready for the new crate I then bought from him and took home that night. Later that evening, while I was out with Mandy, my daughter came over to the house to get Louie and then sneak him into her madre's apartment. Although the crate was in the kitchen it's too early to leave the dog in it so of course he'd pissed and crapped on the floor. My daughter, who is virulently opposed to crating, and who is angry at me inasmuch as her mom spends so time yelling about me because I've moved on, saw the crate and hence just left the piss and the shit for me to clean up. I texted her my upset over this and she responded with one of the snottiest retorts ever. She told me that the only reason she'd ever bothered to clean up was that she didn't want me to get a crate. Mandy advised me to ignore it, and I have, albeit with great difficulty. That was two nights ago but the fury still rises up from time-to-time. No idea how I'll handle things Sunday though Wednesday, when my daughter's with me. But one thing is sure: My house no longer will serve as my dog's toilet, and he's either going to be crated or he's going to be living elsewhere. Which means he'll be crated. Yesterday evening I worked with Louie and within a couple of hours he was waltzing into his crate on his own and without encouragement. Time for me to mop floors. See ya.
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