Pepper, our mutt of a schnauzer, holds our carpet ransom. If he feels like he's gotten short shrift with his walks, he will shit on the floor.
It takes considerable thought to urinate outside--even if he is whining at the door and ABSOLUTELY MUST GO NOW he can miraculously hold his damn bladder and thoroughly investigate each pole, orange cone, fire hydrant, corner, and wall before he finds just the right one to pee on, even when it's freezing outside and the wind is 30 mph off the lake and blowing the blankets off of Baby Girl, who is hungry and crying and I really want to go inside now and get dinner because I forgot to eat lunch again at work.
Poo placement is also important to Pepper. The turd must be dropped near where another dog has peed, if at all possible. And preferably after a reeeeally long walk, especially when Momma is tired from running around at work and Baby Girl is sitting in her own shit.
For a few brief days in March, we could make it to the dog park for Pepper to play while I tend to Baby Girl. It was win/win. Then the dog flu hit the news and everyone deserted the parks, including me. I don't want Puppyboy to die on us.
So it's been walks only, and if Baby Girl is fussy or sick or hungry or wet, sometimes we can't go out right away. This leaves him wanting more--then in the morning I'll find his brown ransom notes by the balcony door.
But at least we're communicating.
And then when we get home from a (short) walk, Baby Girl lays on the play mat and kicks, gurgling and cooing at the dog, remembering his voice and smell, and Pepper licks her. And then pulls her socks off of her. And sniffs her diaper. And tries to steal her bottle. And gets hugged.
We're all adjusting to the new routine. The new normal.
Filed under: Working Mom