Ramblin’ Prose

It’s working out that the girls are taking to Pippin in their own way. They both like to pick him up kind of like a baby (I wouldn’t let them hold a baby the way they pick him up). They generally keep up with him. They do love him.

Camille tends to be the watchdog, so to speak, in the house. We’ve got to keep a constant eye on him as we work on house training him. Camille’s been filling in nicely in that role when we can’t watch him when cooking or doing other house chores.

But Camille doesn’t like to go out walking with him. That’s where Abby comes in.

She’s a great dog walker. And she contributes by insisting on picking up Pip’s poops. She’s got the technique down: Open the bag, turn it inside out and put your hand in, grab the poop with the bag, pull through to get it inside, tie off the bag. We’ve got to give her props for that.

This morning, Pip had a small accident (No. 1) in the house, but I caught him before he finished and took him out to “doggy jail,” a small fence we have in the back yard where we take him to finish his business before we let him out. Later, we kept smelling poo in the foyer. I thought I’d tracked it in, but it turned out I’d tracked in mud. Then I thought one of the kids had finished her business in the bathroom. It turned out it was Pippin.

No, he didn’t poo in the house. Our little caa-caa collector Abby had bagged Pippin’s poo on a walk earlier and had stuck it in her coat pocket.

You’ve gotta giggle at that one.