HOUSEBROKEN

Whew!  That was a workout of a few weeks.

Allow me to explain.  When I arrived here in Pittsburgh in the beginning of January, I was a baby.  Well, a 7-month-old baby, but go with me here.  I wasn’t sure at all about the big, scary world outside, and had absolutely no idea that it existed merely for me to poop and wee on.  Really, I had no idea.

And so began a saga of winter-time housebreaking of this fine Dale with not the foggiest idea of what to do, and where to do it.

Oh it was a slog, alright, involving many, many, and then many more trips outdoors in inclement weather and long walks while holding a poop log in with my tail (true story).  Of course this would not have happened without the inspiration of Marcus, the black pug who peed on me, and all of the other dogs that I watched at first with horror as they did their business in the great outdoors.

But it worked.  Something clicked.  And many weeks and boxes of extra-large wee-wee pads later, I have been what they call officially housebroken.  Actually it’s a relief for me and mum as the place is less stinky, I am comfortable in our schedule so I don’t have to be anxious about when I get to go do my business, and mum can now spend the considerable sum of cash that went to wee-wee pads on other, more important things (like treats and stuffies for me to eviscerate).

Does this mean that now I am a (young) man?

Love,

Otto Fizz