Not only #1 but also #2

Day one of Daisy's crating seemed successful. Not a lot of options for the pup when she's resting in her very own den - because that's what I hear crate advocates say a dog considers its crate - for about 6-plus hours. However, even after her two walks after the kids and I returned from school and work respectively, there was a pile of shit in the office and a piss puddle in the boys' room.

Let's remember Daisy's shit obsession, shall we?

Lucky for us, we feed Daisy Hund-N-Flocken. There's a reason the company is called Solid Gold. Daisy's poops are solid. And gold.

They don't feed your precious pets THAT at the pound, now do they, Soggibottom!

It's not like pan-able gold or fool's gold, but it's solid. And that's what counts when you're utilizing a thumbless bag mitten outside OR inside, in our case.

After cursing The Maker, it dawns on me to add an early evening walk to her existing Three A Day routine. Maybe she's choosing to toilet in our house because of the cold. Maybe we're not timing the walks to her poops. I hate to blame the victim. While some of you may agree with me and think I'm the victim, I'll give this one to Daisy. Speaking of The Maker, a talking dog wouldn't be too off the wall, now would it?

How long am I supposed to put up with this?

One of the perks of inviting once-wild-now-domesticated animals into your home is their innate need to mark where they live. And by mark I mean piss. I choose the word piss out of sheer disgust. It is an ugly word for a despicable behavior that these feral creatures would do, say, ON A TREE. OUTSIDE.

The last animal to do this was killed. Sure, Chloe was old. But I'm the sucker who pays for all the stupid tests and special foods that only lead to the all too predictable announcement from the vet, "I believe this is to be behavioral." Really? Because I don't like this behavior.

Now we have Daisy. She's such a sweet dog, about 6 years old. A pound pup we dutifully rescued from the local shelter. Unfortunate for all of us, Daisy has taken a liking to pissing on the one rug we have left in the house when we're not home. If you want to count the front door mat, she manages to make that her own as well. I cannot tell you how many times I've washed that mat. In vinegar even.

The thing about this one rug we have in the house is that it covers the floor of our family room. Children play there, babies crawl, AND I WALK. There's no longer rugs in any of our bedrooms, office, either hallway appropriate for a runner, play room, or even bath mats. Why? One word. And becaues of this One Word the rug smells more like a pickling factory than anything else. Thankfully I've trained my kids well enough to handle the clean up. Yesterday after I stepped into a wet patch on the rug, clearly my body language screaming THIS IS NOT GOOD, Gil volunteered, "I got it" and returned with papertowels, some wet with water, some dry, and the jug of vinegar.

Living in a home with hardwood floors really has the inhabitants longing for warm, wool or cotton blended fibers to ease the discomfort of bare floors.

Due to Daisy's need to mark up my house while she's unattended, whether it's because of her houndishness or her need to reclaim her territory, I decided to reinstate her crate. Instead of gazing out the window during the day, barking and protecting her home and pack, she is confined to a 3x2 cage.

Sure beats joining Chloe in a can of ashes on the bathroom shelf.

EDITOR'S NOTE: Mind you, Daisy is loved and cuddled, walked and played with while we're home. She's allowed to lick the dirty dishes as I load the washer, handed scraps of food, and asked kindly to "GIT DAISY" when too close under foot. The problem is when we're not home and she has the run of the house that has led to crating during the day.

For Daisy, wherever I may find her...

...having scattered cat litter on the runner in the hallway, on the rug in my bedroom, or sprinkled atop the hardwoods in any other given room in the house.

What's with dogs and eating litter-covered cat poop straight out of the litter box? Better yet, hastily searching for the any remaining moresels, having been dutifully scooped by a 10-year-old fulfilling her daily chore, in the garbage can. The latter, however, resembles more of a CAT SHIT EXTRAVAGANZA! As if Daisy discovered the scooped poop and, in her drunken excitement, ran to call her friends to share the good news, leaving several other unmentionables strewn about the bathroom floor.

A friend of mine referred to such delectable organic dog treats as Snow Caps. Like the movie theater white sprinkle covered chocolate candies? I prefer to think of Daisy and her cat shit eating habits as just plain disgusting. Especially when she actually has the nerve to approach me, mouth open, tongue wagging, ready to coat me with her slobbery affection.