A DAY OF RECKONING

So, today--like too-many other days in the too-recent past--I came home from work, and there was trash on my apartment floor.

"Looooooo-Eeeeeeee! 'Chu gots a lotta splain' to do, Looooo-Eeeeee!" I'd whispered.

Lou was in his--no, he wasn't. He was *not* in his usual place of on-the-couch-who's-there-at-the-door? lounge-about. Rather, I'd opened the door to my apartment and his wet black nose was the first thing I'd seen.

Great, I'd thought. What had he done now? Garbage, from my kitchen trash, I'd surmised correctly. And, then, that smell assaulted my nostrils. The left-inside-to-bake smell of dog feces. I looked to his favorite spot, right under the Tiki table upon which I have balanced my "boombox." Yep. Right there. A nice pile of time-blackened dogshit.

I swallowed my pride, I swallowed any thought of retaliation--I've read dog-books: Catch 'em in the act or don't catch 'em at all.

I put my purchases in the 'fridge and I walked back out into the front room, the parquet floors upon which, Lou-kid-dog had shat unmercifully during the last two weeks. To...reminesce: Lou, in all of his two-and-a-half years had pooped inside three times, two of which had been when he'd been under 10 months old. Tallified, most recently? Lou has pooped four times, inside, during the last two-and-a-half weeks. One of those times, I had screwed up. The other three? I'd taken him out and he had shat before I had left for work. And then I'd come home...to shit. So, those are on him.

Each time he has Shat-The-Inside, I have picked up his poop calmly, put it in the trash, sprayed some stuff called Ultra-Zyme--which is supposed to dissuade puppies from pooping in the same place, on the cartoon-rings of Skank--and I've calmly with love taken the kid Outside, whereupon he has done nothing but lunge at squirrels and squirt some urine out, almost like an afterthought.

Today was different. It had been a long day at work, the eight hours seemed to have been melted with molasses. And then I got home and saw trash on the floor--again--and saw poop on the floor--again--and I have to admit that I was severely--most--nonplussed. I started to quietly pick up the strewn trash, as I'd done before, and then I angled back to the blackened poop. I'm no medical examiner, but the shit looked oxidized. Like it had been there for a few hours, at least. (Not, like, Dad's working late again, oh shit. Oh, I just did. )

And a red-hazed Fury came over me. I know, I know: Catch them in the act or don't do any kind of regulation. Regulate this. I dragged him over, by the scruff of his neck--he whelped--and I lowered his nose to the pile of shit inside my apartment, on my front room floor. I lowered just enough for him to be within licking distance. Then I let him up. His ears went back and he had a pouty expression on his mug. I wasn't buying any of it.

I've had a couple of people tell me that kenneling animals in inhumane. I happen to agree. I don't *want* to have to. But if the kid is going to terrorize my place when I'm gone? Strewing kitchen grabage and shitting an inch from the place he last shat? Yeah. I'm definitely considering it. (The Cage...I'll have to get it out of storage.)

On the other hand, he is a blissful boy, my greatest admirer, and a friend for life. I feel bad enough about leaving him with no contact, in the apartment, during an 8-hour-workday. To leave him in a cage--at almost three years old--for 9 hours? I don't think that I can do that. I truly do not.

I used to rent a room from a buddy. His dog, Roxie, had had her innocence taken by the dog from the other side of the fence. Roxy had eight, I kept one--Louie--and my sister bought two others--Pete and Willy.

Renting a room from a friend is always a dicey situation, espescially when said friend is not much one to compromise. So, House Rules, at 9, 10, 11, 12 and 13-months, Lou slept in a cage, in the basement, while I was at work. I'd exclaim, But he hasn't *done* anything! Why can't he sleep in the room I rent?! He's pooped, before, in the house, my friend had intoned. You getcha own house, you can make the rools.

All that to say that Lou was brought up right and trained moderately-well to respect the sanctity of the Indoors. And I've never had a problem except for, like, the last two-three weeks.

So. I blame myself. I sleep too late, I don't give the kid enough attention...but, I ask this: Lack of attention or not, in the past, Lou-dog has shit before I've gone to work and has not shit during the interim of my workday. Why now?

Cage the fool! I just might, though it would feel wrong, in a way.