Most of you probably didn't know this, but I've been puppy-sitting for my parents (as they live on the other side of town) this weekend. It's only Saturday evening, and I'm at work, but my sanity is already in mortal peril. You see, when they were picked up, they were "crate trained."
Housebroken? Not so much.
It doesn't help that all the times that I've been over to see the puppies before this weekend, I've gone to play with the puppies, not pick up after them. So I don't think they know how to act around me; they keep expecting me to play with them when I want them to do their business. Maybe that one time was a sympathy piddle.
Also, with work this weekend (which helped to deep-six plans to head out to Rockingham with my cousin-in-law to check out some drag racing; something I'd never been to so was interested in checking out), I haven't had a good opportunity to sit down and play with the pups like I'm used to. And don't think they haven't noticed; they kept me up most of the night with their insistent whining.
The puppies are adorable and lovable, don't get me wrong, but I will be very happy when I can head back to my own place tomorrow, where I don't have anything crawling underfoot and I don't have to mop the kitchen floor every twelve hours in an attempt to get what crap and piss I couldn't pick up with toilet paper.
Since it's too late for me to go back and earn my Dog Care merit badge, I guess the moral to this story is if I ever get a dog, make sure that the animal's been housebroken first.