When I woke up yesterday morning, there was a puddle in the corner of the kitchen. Again. Savannah must have barked in the middle of the night but I was so tired from her barking the night before that I didn't hear her the other night. The puddle itself was easy to mop up and clean, and I tossed the scatter-rug into the washer. Thankfully, we decided not to replace the larger area rug that had been in the kitchen when she peed the first time last Wednesday night.
I saw that Savannah's water bowl was empty yesterday morning, but it had been empty on plenty of other mornings when she did not bark in the middle of the night and did not pee on the kitchen floor. One would think that a nearly year-old puppy would have a bladder that wasn't the size of a thimble.
Last night before going upstairs, I made sure that Savannah's water bowl had less than half the amount of water I usually put into it. I also took her outside to the grass just before going upstairs at ten o'clock, and I stayed out there in the colder-than-normal night until she did something. At 12:30 last night, I heard Savannah bark once. The single bark woke me up... that's usually her signal to go out, plus I was aware (even in my sleep) that I didn't want to wake up to another puddle.
So down the stairs I came... on went the coat... and outside into the full-moon night we went. After trying to eat some grass and catch a moth, Savannah decided to pee in the grass. Finally, finally... this dog can be so dense at times. Before going up the stairs, I made sure Savannah had some biscuits to chew on and a little water in her bowl. As I got back into bed, my husband asked me what Savannah had barked about. I told him that she had to go outside, and I also told him that I was good and tired of being tired and also tired of walking up and down the driveway in the middle of the night.
"Look on the bright side... since we got Savannah, there haven't been any burglars." My husband laughed at his joke... we didn't have that problem before Savannah, thankfully. I told my husband that right that very minute, I would give Savannah to the first burglar I saw. "That's not nice," said he. I told him that I knew it wasn't nice but that's just the way I felt when I kept having to go outside after midnight with this blasted dog.
I heard Savannah barking again somewhere between 12:30 and 3:30 but my head was practically under the pillow and I was just so tired. She barked a couple of times and then stopped, so I didn't even bother to get out of bed. My mistake.
A little after 3:30, I woke up to sounds by the stairs. A mouse? Savannah trying to get up the back stairs? My husband heard the sound also and he thought the same thing-- that Savannah was trying to walk up the stairs. I got out of bed and stood by the bedroom door to hear the sound more clearly... it did sound like Savannah was at the bottom of the stairs but it didn't sound like climbing, it sounded like chewing.
Down the stairs I went and there was Savannah, with her teeth clamped down on the very bottom step. She was so intent on her chewing that she didn't even notice me till I was about five steps away from her. Then she looked up, got up, and ran through the kitchen and into the breakfast room.
When I turned on the light, not only did I see the teeth marks in the corner of the bottom step, but there was brown stuff all over the kitchen floor. What the heck? I put on the overhead light and the brown stuff went all the way across the kitchen and into the breakfast room and ended in a pile by Savannah's bed. One look at the torn corner of Savannah's eighty-dollar bed told the story--- she had torn the thick piping off one of the corners and had pulled out the plush fiberfill that made the bed so soft and comfy.
All I said was "Oh, Savannah, what did you do here?" The response from this stupid dog was a close-mouthed innocent look worthy of a Normal Rockwell painting. Give me a blessed break.
At that point, I heard my husband coming down the stairs. "Is everything okay down there? Do we need to call the police?" What the heck?!
I told my husband to come down into the kitchen.... I showed him Savannah's de-plushed bed and he said "All that money for that bed...." and then he asked me what the noise had been by the stairs, and I pointed out the teeth marks and bites at the corner of the bottom step. "Savannah did that?" he asked. "Indeed she did," said I.
By that time, Savannah had walked into the kitchen because she heard my husband's voice and her tail was wagging and she was giving him her paw and was just delighted to see him.
My husband suggested that maybe we should keep Savannah out in the fenced-in coop during the night if puddles on the floor and torn-up dog beds were going to be the new normal. I told him that if I had to keep a dog outside so she wouldn't destroy the inside, then I didn't want a dog. Period.
Gary went upstairs to check the Internet, his usual go-to when there's any sort of problem. He was back downstairs within a couple of minutes telling me that Savannah may need more exercise, or more chew-toys, or she may have teething problems. I reminded my husband that this dog gets walked up and down the road morning, noon, night, and in the middle of the night, plus frequent trips to the dog park. I also told him that she has plenty of biscuits and chews, and her puppy teeth are gone and her adult teeth were what she used to tear her bed apart and put her initials in the bottom step of the back staircase.
"I still don't see why we can't keep her in the coop at night... the weather is getting warmer now," my husband was telling me.
"And what happens when the weather gets colder again in the winter?" said I.
"By that time, she'll be more mature and probably won't do these things."
I insisted that a dog who can't be trusted inside the house is not the dog for me. Period. End of story.
My husband said "What would we do? Bring her to the shelter?!" And I told him that at that very minute, after cleaning up puddles and having to be out in the dark of night nearly every night, and finding the torn-up bed (which could have easily been a chair) and then looking at the teeth marks on the stairs, I would gladly do the honors of bringing her to a shelter and walking away.
And at the very minute those words came out of my mouth, I believed them. That is just how frustrated I get with Savannah at times, and I know it's not 'nice' and not 'good,' but there you have it. This isn't the first time Savannah has used her teeth on things other than her own chew-toys. A vintage wicker chair in the TV room has three-inches less wicker near one of the back legs. And one of the breakfast room chairs has three small teeth marks.... both chairs damaged when Savannah was younger and in the teething stage, so I forgave those mistakes. But now... this dog knows better.
Gary went back upstairs at that point, after telling me that Savannah had clearly changed our daily living patterns here, and sometimes not for the best. I got a needle and thread from the sewing box and started to sew up the torn corner of Savannah's dog bed. I had all intentions of trying to get all that plush fiberfill back into the corner of the fabric but then decided that it wasn't worth the trouble. The corner of the bed is all sewn up now, but isn't as soft and plush as the other three corners. So be it.
As I type this, Savannah is in her bed, curled up and sleeping like a puppy. And once again, looking innocent. My husband is upstairs, probably sound asleep. I am wide awake and will be for the rest of the morning because I'm not going back to bed.
When the sun comes up, I will walk Savannah up and down the road, her usual morning walk. I'm not very happy with this dog at the moment. And I wouldn't begin to make a decision about her destiny when I'm tired or angry or frustrated. I do know one thing... I will not keep a dog that cannot be trusted in this house. I could just scream.
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