I went to the vet the other day so Mr. Duncan Doodle could get some shots (I still have no idea what they were) and the vet told me that the reason Mr. Doodle goes potty in my house (0 days without an accident--I have a chalkboard and everything) is because I give him too much freedom. And I was like, "oh I'm sorry. THAT I LOVE ANIMALS SO MUCH AND WANT THEM TO HAVE A HAPPY LIFE." And the vet was like, "Mr. Doodle will not have a happy life if he's trying to live in your house without rules."
Then he told me that Mr. Doodle needs to be either in my arms, in his kennel, or on a leash whenever he's in the house until he has gone FOUR WEEKS without an accident.
You guys. FOUR WEEKS. That is an amount of time that I'm actually afraid of. I feel like when Matt sent me the pathetic rescue picture of Mr. Doodle and guilted me into saving him he forgot to mention that for at least four weeks I wouldn't have any semblance of peace in my life.
But oh my gosh. Because take at look at these Pictures & Distractions:
"It's times like this that I think two dogs might be too many." Matt Broome.
Snowshoeing.
Mr. Doodle got a name tag so now he knows he's here to stay.
Mr. Doodle slowly testing the limits of Mr. Grumpy Pants's patience.
Mr. Pants has been exhausted ever since Mr. Duncan Doodle came into our lives.
Mr. Doodle helping me work.
Mr. Doodle about to pounce.
Mr. Doodle guilting me into working from home.
Crap to distract you from whatever you're supposed to be doing:
