One week. Seven days. The trials and tribulations of housebreaking. Yeah, I’m not completely getting it – exactly why do I have to run outside in the snow to poo? When I have a nice, toasty, area rug inside? And sometimes, a lovely weewee pad carefully placed where I have previously indicated (i.e., peed) that I like to go?
So today I decided to throw mama a curveball. Well, a curve-poo. While running around the back yard, doing my best to grab one of the gloves off of her freezing cold hands, the skies opened, the choirs sang, and I POOPED IN THE YARD.
I’m still working on the mental bit of crapping in the snow. But yeah, judging by the way that mama started jumping around (imagine this: a slightly-crazed woman with hair sticking up on one side, coat half-zipped and thrown on over blue flannel counting-sheep pajamas, accessorized with half-on sneakers, fist-pumping the air then yelling, YES YES YES, just before the treat bag comes out and many Charlee Bears are shoved into my gaping maw – yeah, it wasn’t pretty) I done good.
Don’t get used to it. We’ll see if I can do a repeat performance.