Every day I get home from work to find the mini-poodle chilling with Violet and Redford in the back yard. Which wouldn’t be so bad except, when he sees me coming, he shloops between the railing slats and pees on the deck. Punk.
When I go in the house to get Buffy, he shloops back in. And as soon as we come out, he shloops back out, which causes Buffy to vault the gate and tear off after him. She returns almost immediately, but this is not working for me.
I try to lure the mini-poodle to me. Little coos. Kissy noises. Treats. He is not having it.
In the last 20 months, I have picked up a hound, a Shepherd, a mutt, and a pit bull, and not one of them showed me even an ounce of aggression. But the one time I manage to get close to the ten-pound, full-blooded miniature poodle, that little bastard bares his teeth and growls at me.
I call Animal Control.
The officer finds the owners, a family that lives on the avenue. They don’t speak much English, but he manages to conclude that the two little kids just always leave the gate open, and he tries to convey that the family will get fined next time the mini-poodle’s out.
I resign myself to the fact that my foster dog will escape her crate, so I just leave her in the spare bedroom with the door closed and the blinds open so she can gaze out the windows. When I get home, she is fine and wiggles herself in circles.
I also leave Buffy out of kennel at night for the first time. At about 2:00am, I hear her up and worry that she’ll go potty on the floor. I herd her into her crate. She’s not amused.
Buffy stays out at night again. Again, she’s up in the night, and I put her, resistant, into the kennel.
The natives are restless. I put them outside where they whirl frantically around the shed. I go back inside. Unmistakeable sound: Redford and Buffy galloping up onto the deck and Buffy hurdling the gate and hitting the gravel walkway.
I call her back and bring them into the house. Manic laps between kitchen and living room.
Nighttime rolls around. Buffy is snoozing on the couch with Violet. I leave her out of the kennel and don’t lock her up when I hear her shifting around in the wee hours.
6:00am: There’s a puddle of semi-dry pee in the living room.
I go out for two hours in the evening. When I come home, the basket which lives atop a 52″ bureau and contains a toy, two spare collars, and a bit of a pig’s hoof is on the floor. My bitch got hops. All contents and the basket itself are slightly chewed.
The blind is closed. I had left it open.
I go to the gym. Buffy
The solution, clearly, is to put her in the yard with the other dogs when I’m gone, so that she can get fresh air and exercise and not be lonesome. I can’t do that, though, because she can jump the gate onto the deck and from there the gate to the outside world.
I could rig up some chicken wire to the top of the railing maybe, but how much time will that take? What if she gets adopted tomorrow?