You might remember, back in November, when we brought a new member into our family: our puppy, Nora. We’d had such success with our pride and joy, Delilah. And I was feeling guilty for leaving Delilah on her own all day, every day, while we were at work. So, we took the plunge and brought our little Yorkie home.
The first few weeks were brutal. She started out in her crate at night, which we keep in the kitchen. Even with our bedroom door closed, and our fan running on high, we couldn’t block out the incessant crying–not just whining, but crying–that lasted literally all NIGHT LONG. One night, the crying ended early. Really? We let ourselves think the sleepless nights were over. But then we heard a scratching on our bedroom door. No, she had not settled into a deep night’s sleep; instead, she’d learned to open her crate.
We tried everything.
We crated her, then put up a baby gate for security. She scaled the gate.
We pushed chairs up against the gate. She leaped right over.
We bungee corded the crate shut. She chewed through the cord.
We used a thicker bungee cord. It lasted two days.
We pushed the crate into a corner so that the door was flush against the wall. Using the strength of her front paws, she pushed through the bars, against the wall, until the crate had slid far enough away that she could shimmy out the door, over the crate, over the gate, the chairs, and to our bedroom door.
That was not all, however. Whenever we got back from work, or the gym, or church, or when we woke up in the morning, she had number-two’d in her crate. Okay, not just had an accident. She’s then proceeded to push the excrement through the bars, into the towels, onto the kitchen floor. This led to all of our beach towels becoming “dog towels”, multiple trips to the power washer with the crate, at least one bath/day for Nora, and countless of B’s lunch hours spent on the kitchen floor scrubbing, scrubbing, scrubbing. Then, while we were busy cleaning, cleaning, cleaning? She’d do the same thing on our carpet. Or on my favorite chair.
Now, I won’t lie; things have improved. We’ve figured out how to get her to stay in her crate: put Delilah in there with her. No bungee cords or crazy crate positions needed; with her sister by her side, she seems to have no reason to try to escape. She no longer messes in her crate, which is great. However, her favorite place to pee is still my blue armchair. And she’ll still poo on the floor right in front of us,LESS THAN TEN MINUTES AFTER GOING OUTSIDE. (We’ve heard this is normal for Yorkies; multiple Yorkie-owners have told us that this is a trait of the breed. Can anyone else attest to this?) She’s clearly housebroken, and knows when and were she’s supposed to do her business–but it’s like sometimes she just decides she doesn’t care.
I must say, there were a few times that I begged B to send her back to the farm where we’d bought her from. But she’s finagled her way into my heart now. At the expense of our ottoman and our slipcover, we’ll be keeping her. After all, how can you say no to this face?
(By the way, about the title: pun intended.)