The #cage?

You called?  Is something fun going to happen?

       While we are out of the house, Gizmo scratches the door to the garage, the way our Shih Tzu Beowulf did.  He tears off strips of wood, which are strewn on the floor.   Even worse, he also craps in our closet after Grace took him out for as quick walk before we left: it began to thunder and lightning while she was out.  Grace walked stooped over so as to present a smaller target for the lightning – conditions were that bad.

      For whatever reason, Gizmo was reverting to pre-housebroken modes of response.  Something needed to be done.

       The next morning, we go to an estate sale a few miles away on a beautiful ranch and spa, where Kay, a lovely woman put in her heart and good taste and now, because of the economic downturn, is forced to sell as many of her furnishings and paintings as possible.  While we are out, Gizmo is in his cage, led there by a treat.  He also has a fake bone to chew on in case he gets bored.

     Having left without breakfast, we end the visit to the estate sale (thus continuing our furnishing our Santa Fe home with, in our phrase, “tchtchkies of the dead”) and we are starving.  We go to a local diner and return home about 3 ½ hours after leaving.

     Gizmo is in his cage, anxious to get out.  The garage door is no worse.  Our closet has no poop in it.  Have we begun to re-train him or have we used brute force to get our way?  Only time will tell.  

                   "To be happy, (dogs) basically need a good job, and good food, and a pat on the head.  Americans tend to over-do on the affection and under-do on the exercise.” Cesar Millan, the Dog Whisperer