The girls had a sleepover Saturday. What that usually means is Pippin, who normally sleeps with Abby, gets relegated to the kitchen.
Why?
Because when the girls have a sleepover, they usually sleep in the den. Why some of them like to sleep on the coffee table is another bizarre story…
We keep Pippin out of the den. But there is no way he’s going to sleep in our room for reason #1 and reason #2.
So he gets a little alone time in the kitchen. We bar the entrance to the den – and the girls – with his crate. We close the pocket door that leads to the living room. And we have a gate that closes off the entrance to the dining room.
He ended up sleeping in his crate. I checked on him about 1:30 in the morning because I went to the kitchen to take some medicine. The girls were still up singing to the likes of Miley Cyrus, Demi Lovato, Jesse McCartney and Taylor Swift with the Wii game “Sing It: Pop Hits.”
It must have been about 7:30 this morning when we heard his mournful wale. Susan got up to check on him, allowing me some much-needed extra sleep.
When I did get downstairs, I found out from Susan that he hadn’t been as sedate as we thought during the night. Apparently, he had a little ‘tude about being “trapped” in the kitchen. And he showed it by piddling on the kitchen floor. But not in a random spot.
He actually stood in his crate, lifted his leg and peed on the tiny triangle of kitchen floor that was left between the crate and the carpeted den where the girls were. The little rat bast***.
Abby fearing that he’d been hurt when he started wailing, rushed to pick him up. We still don’t know how she managed not to step in the puddle of pee.
For 17 pounds of fur, he has a much bigger vindictive side.
Just the other day the girls were supposed to take him out in the morning for a No. 1 and a No. 2. Unfortunately, they rarely stay out long enough to let him find his spot to do a No. 2. So what does he do when they drag him back in? He drops one tiny turd on the kitchen floor. A protest poo? A warning shot?
It got our attention.
Susan cleaned up and took him out and whadayaknow? A tiny turd explosion in the yard.
The dog is trying to talk to us. Maybe it’s time we teach him Morse code.
Our pouting puppy’s protest
The girls had a sleepover Saturday. What that usually means is Pippin, who normally sleeps with Abby, gets relegated to the kitchen.
Why?
Because when the girls have a sleepover, they usually sleep in the den. Why some of them like to sleep on the coffee table is another bizarre story…
We keep Pippin out of the den. But there is no way he’s going to sleep in our room for reason #1 and reason #2.
So he gets a little alone time in the kitchen. We bar the entrance to the den – and the girls – with his crate. We close the pocket door that leads to the living room. And we have a gate that closes off the entrance to the dining room.
He ended up sleeping in his crate. I checked on him about 1:30 in the morning because I went to the kitchen to take some medicine. The girls were still up singing to the likes of Miley Cyrus, Demi Lovato, Jesse McCartney and Taylor Swift with the Wii game “Sing It: Pop Hits.”
It must have been about 7:30 this morning when we heard his mournful wale. Susan got up to check on him, allowing me some much-needed extra sleep.
When I did get downstairs, I found out from Susan that he hadn’t been as sedate as we thought during the night. Apparently, he had a little ‘tude about being “trapped” in the kitchen. And he showed it by piddling on the kitchen floor. But not in a random spot.
He actually stood in his crate, lifted his leg and peed on the tiny triangle of kitchen floor that was left between the crate and the carpeted den where the girls were. The little rat bast***.
Abby fearing that he’d been hurt when he started wailing, rushed to pick him up. We still don’t know how she managed not to step in the puddle of pee.
For 17 pounds of fur, he has a much bigger vindictive side.
Just the other day the girls were supposed to take him out in the morning for a No. 1 and a No. 2. Unfortunately, they rarely stay out long enough to let him find his spot to do a No. 2. So what does he do when they drag him back in? He drops one tiny turd on the kitchen floor. A protest poo? A warning shot?
It got our attention.
Susan cleaned up and took him out and whadayaknow? A tiny turd explosion in the yard.
The dog is trying to talk to us. Maybe it’s time we teach him Morse code.