Dog Days of Summer - Already

Disclaimer: Please do not read this if you have a delicate stomach or are eating or have just eaten:

Two weeks ago we got a four-month old puppy. He's part Chocolate Lab and part Collie. We are struggling with killing this dog - over housebreaking. OK, I'm not serious about killing the dog - I'd never do that. But I am letting it upset me. We also bought a cage, in which he sleeps. The idea behind having Jake (the dog's name) sleep in the cage is based upon the dog's natural instinct not to relieve himself where he sleeps. We also put him in the cage whenever we go out of the house to go grocery shopping or whatever.

Yet when we're at home, we let him out and take him outside to relieve himself. When he's inside, we need to make sure that he isn't unsupervised. He's been known to pee and poop from time to time.

Case in point: Not even 10 minutes ago, we had just finished dinner, and I'm sitting here typing at the computer when I smell dog poop. I noticed that Jake had somehow gotten downstairs. I sent him back upstairs and looked around to see where the dog had been, and, sure enough, he left a poop pile on the carpet! I ran upstairs to get the pooper scooper and came back downstairs. As I approached to poop, the smell got to me. I felt it coming. So I ran to the garbage can and threw up.

Tasha, the deaf woman who, with her 10 month old son, lives in this area of the house, took the pooper scooper and went to pick it up. Then she started gagging. I knew what was coming for her, and of course, that prompted the gag reflex in me. So I ran to the stationary tub and threw up two more times. Then Tasha came running to the downstairs bathroom, which is located next to the stationary tubs, and vomited. Hearing her vomiting again prompted the gag reflex in me again, and I threw up two more times.

Keisha, our four-year old daughter, just attempted to come downstairs. I told her to stay upstairs. She isn't wearing her hearing aids, so she said, "What?" and I heard her begin the descent. "Stay upstairs, Keisha!"

Then I yelled, just to make sure she heard me, "STAY UPSTAIRS, KEISHA!!!" (I'm such a sensitive dad, aren't I?)

Then she went running, crying to her mom. "Daddy's mad at me, Mommy!"

Soon afterward, Tasha came downstairs, with a t-shirt tied around her mouth and nose (I wish I had the camera), and heroically used the pooper scooper to clean up the mess. Immediately, she put it, pooper scooper and all, in a plastic bag. At first I told her that we needed to keep the pooper scooper (I'm having fun typing that, by the way), but then I realized that it was better over all, at least for the short term, to have the mess out of the house.

Later, Tasha came back down with some Lysol (TM, just in case it's needed, you know) cleaner and cleaned up the area.

Well, I think I need to go soon. I need to floss my teeth, if you know what I mean.