I know you’re old. And maybe senile. I know you would rather sleep under the stars than under our roof. But the yard is not completely fenced in and while you are generally well-behaved, you’ll take off at the first sight of a squirrel, a cat, or even better, another dog. Not to mention that you may try to attack the neighbor’s dogs again.
Plus there was the time when you escaped and caused quite a commotion on our street. Maybe you forgot, but a grown woman was so scared by the sight of you that she climbed on top of a parked car. Screaming bloody murder while you stood staring, shell-shocked. I know you’re fairly harmless, but everyone else seems to think you’re a wolf. Especially kids. I think you’d rather be inside than permanently attached to a leash. Or worse, dognapped.
Despite these facts, please stop shitting in the house. I buy so many paper towels I wish I had stock in Downy. Today, you tracked it all over the entry way. How do you think I felt when I came home to a lake of piss and multiple mountains of shit? I got all choked up.
Your pee and poo is so pungent that it causes Emile to vomit. And then we have quite the mess to clean up. I mean, James has quite the mess to clean up.
If you must, please limit your “accidents” to nights and weekends only. Otherwise I have to do the honors. Through my tears. And you don’t want to make another grown woman cry, do you?