An Adventure in Puppy Fostering

This week has had an eventful start. I’ve managed to spend a good amount of time with friends, particularly one who regularly takes care of about five children, two of whom are pretty close in age with Persephone. Her name is Kita and she recently acquired a 2-year-old, half-Labrador/half-Chihuahua puppy.

            She needs to have someone take Milo, the dog, until her boyfriend’s lease ends in August and they move into a house. I thought the person to watch Milo could be me; after all, I have another dog and she could use a canine companion, and my cat is chill enough that it shouldn’t be a huge problem. She’d also told me that Milo was good with other dogs and cats, as well as children, so I had high hopes.

            So, Tuesday night, I took Milo home with me. Before entering my apartment with him, I took him for a little walk and he peed. I didn’t go too far or insist on watching him poop, as it was the end of the day, I still had to walk Baby, and I assumed he had probably pooped earlier in the day. So, I took him inside long enough to drop off his supplies, then grabbed my dog and took both of them outside.

            The greeting process was highly energetic. Milo was all over Baby, sniffing, and Baby was overwhelmed. My poor dog is so timid that this little 2-year-old puppy was intimidating her despite being smaller than she is.

            A few problems arose right away. First, Milo started barking the moment he met Randy. I put him in Baby’s crate almost immediately, to try shutting him up. We put a blanket over the top so that he wouldn’t have any stimulation and he could calm the fuck down in his own space. That was my thought process, anyway. I had to let him out, though, because his barking got worse in the crate. So, I let him out of the crate and put Baby in it so that he wouldn’t be able to bother her.

            That didn’t work. He was restless and would wander back to my bedroom, where I’d hear Baby’s growl arise from his intrusion. I managed to keep him in the living room for the most part for a little while, but then it was time for me to go to bed. Milo seemed slightly improved; he’d been listening to me, at least a little. I left him in the living room and went to bed, letting Baby out of her crate so she could lie next to my side of the bed the way she likes.

            That didn’t work, either. Milo whined, barked, and scratched at my door persistently enough that sleep was out of the question the way I was trying it. Still, I tried until I couldn’t stand the noise anymore and I got up to check on him…

Problem the second, he pooped all over our floor in front of the front door. And I mean all over—it was scattered little-dog poop (mind you, Milo is not an ankle biter; he’s about knee-high to me and I’m 5’8”). Randy had just gotten home and I saw the poop in the front hallway. Randy cleaned it up while I shoved Milo back into Baby’s crate with a new resolve to keep him there all night regardless of how much noise he made.

            Finally, his barking became whining and his whines became fewer and farther between until he was quiet except when Randy walked by. Then, he would growl and maybe bark once to voice his discomfort. I managed to get to sleep and it was glorious. I thought that the morning would be better.

            I woke up and began my day as usual, leaving Milo in the crate. I didn’t want to let him out before I was ready to walk him because I didn’t want him to potty in the house. This turned out to be an all-too-valid fear, as the moment I let him out of the crate—before I had the minute to put his harness and leash on to go outdoors—he peed on Persephone’s toys.

            I caught him the second he started, grabbed his nape, smacked his hindquarters, and shoved him down by his nape so he’d be close enough for a nice strong whiff of his piss. I didn’t rub his nose in it. He yelped and, while I don’t think I hurt him, I did reconsider the course of action I was taking to ask myself if there wasn’t some other way of punishing him for his actions. Meanwhile, I took him and Baby outside while Randy cleaned up the mess.

            This was quite early in the morning; I don’t think it was even 09:00 yet. I walked around the entire apartment complex, thinking all the while that Milo has a great deal of energy and the regular shortness of walks I take with Baby would not be sufficient. I also wanted to make sure he got out as much pee and poop as he had in him, so I was quite pleased when he did poop outside—a decent amount, it seemed, though it could have been more. I learned that later…

            It’s one thing to have a dog who is noisy and needs correction. It’s another to have a dog who seems completely un-housebroken. I took a shower yesterday to take my friend Katherine to City Hall to get her passport. After my shower ended, somehow, both Randy and Persephone ended up in the bathroom with me. When we stepped out, there it was again—

            Poop. All over the front entry. Again.

            Jumbo Chihuahua shit.

            That’s the best way I can describe it. If you’ve seen dog poop, you’ve seen the different ways it comes out of dogs’ asses, and you know that little dog shit looks different than big dog shit. Well, Milo’s shit has the aesthetic of little dog shit, but is on a slightly bigger scale because of the Labrador in him.

            Milo had shit all over my front entryway again.

            I had been considering, while in the shower, giving it a couple of days with Milo to see how things would go. With the second scattering of dog shit on my floor—and the second bout of relief at my refusal to live in a carpeted apartment paying off with the ease of cleaning up animal waste—I realized that watching Milo would be overwhelming, despite my best hopes.

            He had seemed better behaved after the initial pee incident on Persephone’s toys. I thought the pee was just an accident from being kenneled all night and not going potty. When I saw the poop on the floor after my shower, though, I knew that watching him would be too much. I don’t have a yard; there’s no way I could have put him outside. If he stayed, I would have had to monitor him practically every waking moment, watching and waiting on edge to take him outside to avoid indoor pottying.

            I have a lot on my plate. Those who regularly read my blog are aware of this; you’ve read about some of the struggles I face with raising my daughter and getting recognized for my artwork to make money with it. The last thing I need at this stage in my life—in an apartment with no yard—is an animal shitting all over my house all the time.

            So, much to my chagrin but to Kita’s understanding, I took Milo back and explained the situation. Randy was quite angry with the puppy and probably especially angry that he was the one cleaning up the shit and piss. He hadn’t wanted anything to do with the puppy, but still I’m grateful for his actions because I was busy after my shower with keeping Persephone in my room with me, away from the dog shit.

            It was difficult having a puppy in my home, but having Milo for the night and morning made me realize how wonderful Baby is and how blessed I am with the animals I have.