King Louie

King Louie. That's what Sam started calling that wee entitled dog of mine. It's a fitting name. It should probably be on his official papers instead of St Louis Caramel Creme. He was clearly misnamed.

I took The King to the vet today to get his cast checked out. Despite his occasional gnawing on it, its faring very well. It didn't need replaced, which is good, and we're hoping to actually get 2 more weeks of wear out of it. This is good for the budget, but not good for keeping Louie clean. The dog isn't house broken yet, and is also one of those fun pups that didn't get the memo that you shouldn't poop in the crate that you sleep in. Because he does. He poops in the crate that he sleeps in. And even though I gave him the big crate so that he could possibly poop in one end and sleep in the other, he prefers to both poop and sleep anywhere he chooses. Sometimes at the same spot. I guess poop is warm? Gross, yes. So is Louie. The dog smells. And as Josh pointed out this evening, he has a heart-shaped poop smudge on his hindquarters. He's just a special kind of dog that way.

I tried brushing those poop smudges off him with a rubber mitt, but it was largely ineffective. I then tried a Clorox wipe (because we don't have baby wipes) and that, too, was a fail. Louie is a hot mess.

So because town is 20 minutes one way from the house, we try to multi task while there. I had to stop at a few places after the vet, and seeing as how we finally warmed up into 40 degree temps and above all day every day (for the most part) I knew he wouldn't freeze to death by letting him in the van. He'd be cold, but he'd be fine. We keep a collapsible, soft-sided dog crate in the back of the van for just such things. That's how you know you're a dog person or not. Well, that, and the dog hair that is a permanent part of every outfit you'll ever put on from now until forever. Including the ones you try on in fitting rooms in stores. True story. I have no idea how that happens. I try something new on, and there's a dog hair on it the clearly came from our house. It's disturbing how that happens.

We left the vet's office and drove roughly 1/4 mile to the store. In that short space of time, Louie pooped. It smelled so bad, because DUH. I grabbed the handful of napkins we always keep in the glove box and was relieved to see that one giant dog log was the cause of the stink. It was easily picked up, and I tossed the ball of smelly napkins into a trash bin in the parking lot. When I came back to the van, the smell intensified a bazillionfold. I checked the crate again.

King Louie was angered that I'd left him alone. He retaliated. He managed to squeeze the last of his bowels onto the palette of his crate floor, then finger paint it all over the inside. OH MY GOSH, THE SMELL. It make the previous poop smell seem like a chocolate factory in comparison. I had other stops to make. I am fairly certain that the smell permeated my clothing and I was that stinky person in the checkout line all day long. I'm sorry for that.

So I came home, used Clorox wipes to dab at the smudges on The King, and realized again how ineffective they are. I had sewing to do, so headed upstairs to my den. I figured the poor pup was locked in a crate in the van all morning, so I didn't want to lock him in his crate all afternoon yet. I carried him to the sewing room with me and figured it would be a good time to work on training, like STAY. I'd give him a bed and expect him to stay on it. This isn't a stretch, as the dog lays at my feet all the time. I chose a sofa bed I'd made for the store. King Louie has found himself new digs. He's demanding that it be installed in his roomy crate.

I have no idea where this dog gets his entitlement attitude. Honestly.

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