Dog-in-the-House or in the Dog House?

When you’ve got a dog in the house, or kids, or a live-in parent, or more than one of the above, everything takes longer. I tried leaving the house yesterday, in a hurry. It feels like a minor miracle to achieve: kids on the toilet, dog taken out, feet wiped (dog), bottom wiped (child), question why we’ve done this to ourselves, re-evaluate our lives, decide it’s probably all worth it but my word we make it hard for ourselves, then finally leave the house.

Oh, and not forgetting my own toilet trip. Many’s the time I’ve arrived at the supermarket only to dive to the customer bathrooms because I forgot to go before I left. Then oh! I forgot the reusable shopping bags again. So, I spend a penny (as us crazy Brits refer to using the toilet), then spend another five pennies on each shopping bag.

Then home with the shopping, where the dog greets you like you’ve been gone for days. But careful as she wags her tail – yes dawg, you keep that canine bladder clenched... oh no, she’s got excited on the hall floor again. Put the shopping down – just careful where.

It means I feel empathy towards my dog’s bladder. Like me, sometimes she just can’t control it. She tries, bless her, and she’s getting better (we’re still in the puppy zone), but sometimes it just does its own thing. And sometimes yes, I’ve been tempted to fit the dog with her own catheter and bag – save on the clearing up.

One step I haven’t needed yet is to blame any accident on the dog. (I mean, just the breaking of wind, but everyone does that.) Thankfully I’ve not had any floor-based urological incidents myself for some years. But trust me, if I do, the dog’s taking the blame for that. Sorry, hound.

The opinions expressed here are of a personal and anecdotal nature, and are in no way a substitute for professional medical advice. You should always consult your doctor or nurse if you have any questions.