Broken Arrow

I came home from work and The Kitty was as big around as an ottoman. Something was very wrong. It took me about three steps into the living room to see why.

We had a situation. The baby gate was on the ground, I repeat the baby gate was on the ground!. Dogger was off the reservation.

My first thought was that maybe the sound of the gate falling might have, should have scared her and that there was a chance that she was in her room curled up on her bed, a little freaked out, but where she was supposed to be, in “her” room on her bed. The Kitty safe and my shreddable possessions sound and not in bits and peices. If so, why was The Kitty puffy and pissy?

No. No she wasn’t there. Grrrrrrrr.

Damn.

I was going to go home at lunch and make sure her little stomach issues were well and truly over... As it turns out, her lower GI seems to have gone back to normal, and while she has regained her control of her bowels, she has lost her mind.

The sound and fury of the gate hitting the floor should have rendered her terrified! She should have turned bob tail and hid in her box! Struck by the scope and severity of the bad dog behavior that she had just indulged in. She is not a brave dog and up until this, she hasn’t been an especially adventurous dog either. New things? Not her friends. For the most part, this has been a point in her favor. She’s really too big to be curious and my furniture way too cheap to survive a mild exploration on her part.

But.

She was not in her room. She was lose in house. She’s almost five years old and she’s never been unescorted in the house, She’s with me or she’s behind The Great Wall Of Baby Gate. I know it shows a certain lack of enlightenment on my part, but I can’t afford to buy a new couch every time she gets a little peckish, also, if she were to have an “accident” I would like the “accident" or carpet bombing, to be on the ancient, stained wall-to-wall in "her" room instead of my pretty cherry floors. I’m a bad dog owner.

I took a moment to survey for damage. Nothing looked doggered. The floor wasn’t covered with cushion gore, my magazines weren’t molested and other than The Kitty was standing there with a drink in one hand, a cigarette in the other and murder in his eyes - everything looked all right.

But where was Dogger.

Upstairs is where I live. My clothes live up there, my bed, my books, the snow globes, The Kitty’s dust box. All things I don’t want Dogger having unsupervised visits with.

And there was Dogger, curled into a guilty dog ball in the middle of my bed.

Edited add - Dropped a big bomb that I didn't find until later. Had another accident Tuesday night/Wednesday morning after I took her out at 3:15am. Today I am calling the vet.