Do not read this while eating.

Consider yourself warned: this story contains multiple references to things that, before I became a dog owner, would have made me throw up a little in my mouth.

Travis comes home today from a four-day trip to Montana.  I already wrote about what happened on days 1 and 2.  But Sasquatch likes to keep the surprises coming the whole time Travis is gone.

Yesterday was day 3.  Sasquatch pooped on the bed.  Luckily she pooped on the little protective blanket she is required to sleep on if she sleeps on the bed.  This is still problematic, though, because gross.  Also, how is it that I can sleep through that?  Did she try to wake me up to no avail?  I have often said that sleeping is my spiritual gift.  I'm mostly joking about it being my actual spiritual gift, but I'm absolutely positive that my ability to sleep anywhere and anytime, and to receive rest and peace in the process, was a very purposeful gift from a very compassionate God.  Every once and a while, however, my ability to sleep through things borders on ridiculous.  Freshman year of college my amazing roommate Chelsea was the medic in our dorm.  That meant that people came banging on our door at all hours of the night when they needed to be taken to urgent care.  One morning Chelsea was exhausted; she had been up all night at the hospital with a student who had apparently come into our dorm room after midnight, screaming because he had broken something (an arm?).  Chelsea has her own amazing gift.  She bolts right up whenever she hears the slightest sound.  I, on the other hand, had no idea any of it had happened.
And two nights ago, at some point while I was sleeping, Sasquatch pooped.  The upside was that it was pretty clear that 1)Sassy had in fact eaten all of those hairties, the extension cord, and the electrical plug, and 2)it had all passed through her system quite nicely.
Today was day 4.  I am trying to be a good dog-owner while Travis is gone, so I took Sasquatch on a walk.  We got all dressed (me in 37 layers, Sasquatch in her jaunty matching collar, harness, and leash), and headed out.  We paused in the yard briefly so that I could determine our route.  In the time it took for me to reason through the following:

• The usual zigzag through alleys, or something more adventurous?  (More adventurous) 
• Should we try crossing a main road? (No, definitely not.) 
• Okay, let's go South.  

Sasquatch found a piece of another dog's poo buried in the snow in our front yard.  And ate it.  Well she was mostly just holding it in her mouth, so I told her very sternly to "drop it."  I used the voice that carries all of the weight of my dog-watching mantra (I am stern.  I am tough.  My middle name is discipline, and dogs do not act out when they are left alone with me).  She did not drop it.  I tried shaking her head, but she held on tight.  So I did what you would do (so no judging).  I pulled it out of her mouth.  Then I realized that my beautiful little mitten was covered in poo, and had an internal moment pretty similar to the one I had upon waking up the day before.  My mittens are currently in the washer on the "hand-washables- intermittent agitation" setting, and if they are ruined I blame YOU, puppy.  Luckily I was given warm winter gloves by my boss only yesterday, so we set off again after a very stern talking to (from me) and a very apologetic leg cuddle (from Sassers).

All in all, it was a good walk.  And the positive consequence of Travis' time away is that I always end up a little tougher, a little more ready for whatever life has to throw at me, and a little more thankful for the gift of sleep.

sixth sense

Let's just be clear: Sasquatch knows when Travis is gone.   I mean that he can be gone for 2 hours at Starbucks, and she is a perfect angel while he's away.  But 2 hours into Travis being gone for a week and she eats an electrical outlet, or vomits all over the floor, or shreds a towel.  She knows.
Travis left yesterday morning for a friend's wedding in Montana.  We set up a large pen (tested the previous day), and when I checked on Sasquatch at noon she was fine and dandy.  Five hours later, I came home to find:

• dog greeting me at front door
• pen cast aside
• green Sharpie on the floor, chewed up
• extension cord that led to lamp and heater unplugged, chewed into two pieces

Today, the pen was smaller.  Reinforced.  Ready.  She escaped, unplugged the heater, and ate the plug. Only the little metal piece were left.  The house is cold.  She destroyed the heater.  

Now we are in the basement by the wall heater, and beside me on the couch is a large pile of socks, baseball caps, ski goggles, etc. that I have pried out from between Sassy's teeth in the last hour.

I am stern.  I am tough.  My middle name is discipline, and dogs do not act out when they are left alone with me. (Repeat 2x)