The Nuts Are Running The Squirrel House

For two nights this weekend, I slept in the same bed as Winston, whom I have known for less than a week.

Don’t worry - it was all innocent, as it should be, since Winston is a golden retriever.

I frequently housesit for a wonderful couple who travel a lot. When I first started housesitting years ago, they had a golden retriever, Chloe, and a cat, Herbie. Chloe was very well-behaved, her only faults being a bit of barking outside and a tendency to get into the bathroom trash can, but nothing major. Herbie doesn’t really have any behavioral problems, but he will try to bite you if you pet him longer than 4 seconds. (He’s like a grumpy old man with really sharp teeth.) Housesitting for them was very easy, and it was nice to have animals around (since I don’t currently have any pets in my apartment).

Sadly, Chloe died late last year, at about 14 years old. Although heartbroken, the couple decided they wanted to have another golden retriever, and within the past month adopted a 5-year old male named Winston. Winston is big. His paws are huge. He could palm Newt Gingrich’s head. But he is also very affectionate, wanting to be right by me every second. What more could you ask for in a dog, right?

Well, I can think of at least one thing: stop using the carpet as your bathroom. You see, I had a crappy weekend. Not a bad weekend, mind you, but one filled with crap.  Feces. Yes, although he is 5 years old, Winston has been having an issue with going potty indoors. Perhaps it’s because this is a new home, and he’s learning the rules. Who knows. But when I came over Friday to start housesitting, he had left me at least 5 gifts. There were a few #1’s, and three #2s. Actually, the number two’s were more like #1.5s, all requiring some paper towel and rug spray. I took him outside a few times without results. And he’s a stubborn dog. If he doesn’t want to do something, he’s not going to do it. Case in point, when I tried to get into bed that night, he wanted to be right by me. RIGHT by me. He jumped on the bed before I could get under the covers, and thought it was a King-sized bed, I had to move him–or try to move him–so I could get in. Then came the battle between me and him - he, trying to be as close to me as possible, and me pushing vainly so I could get situated and have something besides DOG in my field of vision. I mean, c’mon man, I need my space.

When Winston and Herbie woke me up on Saturday, I took Winston outside. Glory be! He found a place, lifted his leg, and let the river flow. Part of the river hit the leash, but I was mainly happy that the river existed.

The wife called later to see how things were going. I suggested that they change the name from Winston to Sully, since that was what he was doing to their carpet.

Saturday night I hung out with a friend. When I came home, I thought I walked into a lumber camp. In front of me on the carpet was a cabin-worthy log. Had I been an early native American, I would have carved it into a totem pole. But no, it was not a Lincoln log, it was a stinkin’ log.

I thought, Fine. You want to poo on the rug like a puppy, I’ll put your nose by it like a puppy. But besides being stubborn, Winston is also strong. About 75 pounds of dog let me push his head 2 inches closer to the rug, which was still a good 24 inches away. I pushed, and he stayed. Fine, Mr. Rock of Gibraltar. I picked up the log and waived it in his face. I’m sure he thought, You stupid tall pasty bed-filler. Why are you playing with my poop?

That night before I got into bed, I had an idea. I took a ball that Winston liked to chase, and threw it down the hall. In the precious 5 seconds that gave me, I quickly jumped into bed and claimed my covers. Winston ran back in with the ball. Then came the battle between me and him again - he, trying to be as close to me as possible, and me pushing vainly so I could get situated and have something besides DOG in my field of vision. No, seriously man, I need my space.

Sunday morning–blessed Sunday morning–I took Winston out for another gamble with futility. But this time, I won. I had developed a method that seemed to work: we’d walk counterclockwise around the house, then stop by some wooden landscaping where he had peed before. It was successful. Winston went #1 AND #2 OUTSIDE! I praised him like he had cured cancer.

Yay! Maybe now we had turned a corner!

Yeah, no. From the time I left the house to take my laundry and stuff back to my apartment (I had stayed the weekend at their house), and the time when the couple returned, Winston pooed on a different rug, got into the trash, and peed by a chair. Welcome home!

I’m watching him next weekend, too. If he hasn’t improved by then, I may have to resort to a more Pavlovian approach. Every time he messes on the carpet, I’ll make him watch one of the Look Who’s Talking movies. Pretty soon he’ll associate indoor defecation with extreme psychological pain. It will only be a matter of time before the rug pooping ends.

This entry was posted on Monday, April 9th, 2007 at 3:03 pm and is filed under General, Have A Laugh. You can follow responses to this entry through the Comments RSS Feed. You can leave a response or trackback from your site.