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| yes, I can fly |
After two discovered dumps and a big wet spot in our closet three evenings in a row (yes, we love to go out, but one or both of us is with Gizmo most of the day and every night), it was time for decisive action.
I left for my wine tasting class about an hour before Grace went to her clay sculpture class (yes, life for us is one continuous search for enjoyable ways to improve ourselves). We brought in his cage/training device/humane restraint mechanism and, with a treat and a bone, Grace got him into the cage. There would be no mistakes in our closet tonight.
I got home about 15 minutes before Grace did and was greeted at the door to the garage by….Gizmo. Happy to see me. Leaping up to put his legs on my hips. Running joyously ahead of me.
When I got to the living room, I was amazed to see the cage partially taken apart. The pan, which is fastened to the bottom of the cage, lay about three feet away from its original resting place.
Furthermore, the cage itself was on its side, about five feet from the wall where it started. And the door, with some of the metal that attached it to the front wall of the cage, was nearly detached and laying on the floor, allowing Gizmo to walk comfortably out of the cage.
We do not know how long it took him to flip the cage on its side and knock open the door. We do know that Gizmo was not apparently bored while we were away.
However long it took, our closet has no “presents” from Gizmo on this night. And this does not mean he is again housebroken. It means only that he has discovered his inner escape artist.
“Bulldogs are adorable, with faces like toads that have been sat on.” ~Colette
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