My wife and I turned another corner with Prometheus last night. For the first time, we let the puppy sleep without a middle-of-the-evening potty break. And his crate remained bone dry too!
Until last night, one of us always set an alarm for 2:00 a.m. so Prometheus could empty his tiny bladder in the yard where pee-pee properly belongs (as I’ve repeatedly told him). Those late-night strolls have taken their toll though. As should seem obvious by now, I’m not the most careful soul under ordinary circumstances. And waking from a dead sleep to take a puppy out has proved anything but ordinary. I haven’t been at my best, and the periodic blunders caused by my sleep-deprived brain have tasked poor Sophia to her limit.
Between the puppy’s arrival on Father’s Day and the last accident a couple of weeks ago, the incidents my wife’s had to endure, courtesy of yours truly, have run an ugly gamut.
Early on (blessedly, before the Mrs. bought her pistol), I spent consecutive nights practically peeling Sophia off the bedroom ceiling, after I forgot to deactivate the burglar alarm before stepping outside. We haven’t used the alarm since.
Her decision to purchase a handgun no doubt resulted from the boo-boos I committed after we stopped activating the burglar alarm. Though I’m sure the four times I forgot to lock the front door after the dog did his business played a large part in her decision, she didn’t pull the trigger on the pistol purchase until I neglected to shut the door one night. She was spitting mad the next morning, pointing out that it could’ve been a murderer who walked in and slit our throats while we slept … instead of the unidentified wildlife that treated our pantry like a woodland smorgasbord.
One night, a couple of weeks ago, I felt particularly muddled and was functioning on autopilot. Prometheus seemed dead tired too. Consequently, when he and I returned to the darkened bedroom, I thought it safe to briefly set him on the floor so I could rearrange his crate’s interior. I finished tidying and blindly reached down to the spot where I’d placed him. When my groping fingers made contact with fur, I put the dog in his crate and returned to bed.
I still can’t believe I mistook a stuffed animal for my live canine. While the plush toy snuggled peacefully inside the dog’s sleeping quarters, our uncrated puppy ran amok, chewing three pairs of Sophia’s designer shoes in the process!
Thankfully, that was the last of my late-night accidents. I wish I could say the snafus ended because I grew more careful in my behavior. No doubt Sophia wishes too, since she’s been the one waking up at 2:00 a.m. every evening since then.
THE USUAL SUSPECTS FOR THE PANTRY RAID