The (Smelly) Test of Love

I am a huge fan of animals: dogs, cats, squirrels, etc. Animals of the fur-wearing, snuggle-with-you, devote-their-undying-loyalty-to-you variety. In fact, I would challenge anyone who claimed to love animals--particularly dogs--more than me. But if there was any animal that might make me rethink my stance, it'd be the Beagle currently living like a king in my residence.

Last night was yet another Teddy adventure. Dog behavior issues are always so much more fun at 1:45 a.m., aren't they?

After a round of bladder infections (his, not mine) in which Teddy learned that barking in the middle of the night from his previously-beloved crate brought us steppin' and fetchin' to do his bidding (namely, let him out of the crate and into the yard, then a stop at the watering hole multiple times a night), my husband and I have determined that Pavlov was no fool. Though the physical need to go outside 4-5 times throughout the night is long gone, Teddy has been continuing to bark his displeasure at being in the crate for an entire six hours all throughout the night. After our vet (the best in the world, if you live in the ATL area, you must go to see him: Dr. Sam Adams of Creekside Animal Hospital) gave the all clear on any physical malady, we knew that the barking in the night and wanting to be let in and out, in and out, in and out was simply a behavior problem: one that needed correcting before we lost our minds along with all the sleep.

We moved his crate to the farthest possible point from our bedroom. Each evening, we make sure Teddy has been out one last time before he heads to the crate for the night. We close the door of the room he's in and head off to a peaceful, non-barking night of sleep. It was going pretty well for a week or so.

Then last night, with my hubby laid up with a bad back, I was zonked and ready to crawl into bed at 9:45 for some reading and then shut eye. Though 9:45 was a bit early for Teddy to hit the hay, I knew that many a morning, I've been up at 6:45 and Teddy hasn't exactly been dying to get outside so I know he can last longer than 6-7 hours in the crate. So in he went at 9:45.

Fast forward four whole hours and I'm awakened from a dead sleep by the incessant barking I've become all too familiar with. It's loud enough that I hear him through a closed door, up a level in the house, to the opposite quadrant of the abode from where he is... I stumbled downstairs and opened the door to a scene straight out of a horror flick. Apparently, when I put Teddy into his crate four hours earlier, either he went in with a shiv, bobby pin or toothpick strapped to his inner back leg like the criminal he is, or I didn't latch the crate door properly. I'm going with the shiv/leg/criminal theory. I should have expected as much. The bandanna around his head, the sneer and glower that said What the Hell?! and the way he flipped me a bird when being put up at such an early hour were indicators.

Alas, Teddy sprung himself from the pen and was running around barking up a storm at the aforementioned 1:45 a.m. Unfortunately, it must've been about 1:15 that he apparently decided nature's call was urgent and he made the room his own personal backyard, if you know what I'm saying. The good news is that the room has a wood floor. That made clean up much easier than if it'd been carpet. The bad news is that the room has a wood floor. Add to that the fact that Teddy doesn't have the sense God gave a Yorkie and he had proceeded to run around the room, oblivious to what he was tracking through and, thus, all over the room.

Truly, a nightmare. Fitting, since it was the middle of the night. A roll of paper towels, a thorough mopping, a heavy dose of Febreeze, a fair amount of swearing, and one appropriately positioned fan later, and the T was back ensconced in his crate--after he'd been patted down for various lock-picking paraphernalia, the hoodlum--and I was back in bed.

I love animals but sometimes the test of true love can be mighty smelly.