PUPPY TALES: Our House Has Gone to the Dogs

We've succumbed. We've surrendered. Rarely do we in command take a stand any more. We no longer force the house to look like two civilians live here in peace and harmony. The K-9 unit has taken over. We  look like we live in a puppy war zone. Our house has literally, and figuratively, gone to the dogs. 

There are chew toys scattered from heck to breakfast. Nylabones, Kong toys, stuffed animals; you name it; if it's a dog toy, it's on our floor. The puppies love empty bottles, and there are a few of those rolling around on the vinyl, too. Trés chic.

Stacks of towels and blankets are readily available for the inevitable accident. Bristol is recovering from his UTI, so I don't know how much longer I'll get to use that as an excuse for his puppy puddles. He is pretty good about pooping outside, but if he gets the urge, we can count on him to take care of business in SAMI's crate, never his. He's not as dumb as he looks.

No longer is the kitchen table covered with a pretty tablecloth. Bristol tried to show us his tablecloth magic trick early on, and we decided while the puppies are in this seek and destroy phase, we will resort to place mats. There are small bowls of kibble on the counter and dining table to reward good puppies who potty outside, and willingly enter their crates. 

Chuck and I sleep in our family room on an air mattress to make it easier to hear when the puppies need to go out in the middle of the night. We still have a combination of furniture and large boxes as a barricade between the kitchen and family room. My plans for interior decorating improvements have been put on hold. 

Sunday, friends were coming over, and I made an attempt to disguise the chaos in which we live. I straightened up the puppy tote on the counter that is full of meds, waste bags, and extra puppy paraphernalia. I cleared the hallway of the chair and giant computer box that keeps the dogs somewhat restrained, in the hopes they won't pillage the carpeted rooms of the house. I unknotted the kitchen curtain, and let it hang freely to the windowsill, figuring for a couple of hours, we could keep puppies from pulling it off the rod. I even mopped the floor.

The PineSol kicked the illusion up a notch of cleanliness and order. I added some orange oil to my diffuser, hoping to mask the scent of puppy that I worry permeates our home. I covered our couches with matching blankets we'd just bought to protect the fabric. 

Our first visit to our veterinarian went well.

Chuck's office used to be organized and tidy. It now contains two of our three large dog crates. Correction: it has one large and one very extra-large crate. Apparently, dog crate companies don't agree on what constitutes a large crate, so the last one I bought is large enough for an adult Great Dane. (Luckily, there is a divider to make it an appropriate size for a pup.) The third crate is in my Highlander, at the ready for vet visits and trips to Petco, and dog parks, eventually.

Watching this hyacinth bloom this week has helped bring some springtime beauty indoors.
Bonus: it doesn't smell a thing like puppies; the fragrance is heavenly!

Will we ever get back to normal? Not any time soon. In the meantime, I try to play soft music to encourage some semblance of serenity, and I add small touches like fresh flowers that make me feel like I am at least attempting to keep our house homey. Since our house has gone to the dogs, we might as well enjoy what we can. If we can't beat 'em, we'll just join 'em.