I know, I know – I introduced you all to my recent trip to Iceland yesterday, and this post is going to be about something totally different, but it’s my blog and I can do what I want. (Part two of my Iceland trip will be up within the next couple days, I promise!)
A few posts ago, I introduced the internet to my beautiful ball of fur – Zoë. My girlfriend and I have had Zoë for a little over three weeks now and we’re still working on her potty training. She’s getting better at it as the days go by (e.g. occasionally whining when she has to go outside), but it’s still not at 100% potty perfection. There are still occasions where I catch a glimpse of the sun shining through the window and reflecting off a perfectly placed circle of bodily fluids, and times where I’m not so lucky and end up with a wet sock on the way to the kitchen. But, like I said, we’re making progress at what I like to think is a reasonably good pace. (If you potty trained your dog in three days, I don’t want to hear about it. Take your super puppy and kindly leave my blog. That is, of course, after telling all of your friends about it.)
Now, to the part where I’m not sure whether or not I should be mad. Being the unemployed blogger I am, waiting for that one day the right person reads my blog and my writing career takes off and I befriend all of the celebrities like Ariana Grande, Tove Lo, and Rich Homie Quan (man do I love rap), I spend a lot of time at my apartment. Ever since getting Zoë I don’t really have a choice to get away to skate or go on a solo photo adventure. I can’t bring her with me, due to the obvious reason – she’s all fur (you thought I was going to say she’s only 9-weeks old, huh?). If I did bring her with me, I’d have to bring her back within an hour of leaving because the sun is brutal here in Charleston. Unless you’re at the beach with a nice breeze, you’ll sweat faster than Biebs getting pulled over in the USofA without his green card. (Does he have citizenship in the US? If so, my analogy is irrelevant and I’m being judged heavily by all of the Beliebers.)
(I’m sorry for this break in the current programing you’re tuned into, but I just witnessed the saddest thing ever. According to whatever spell-check system WordPress uses, the word “Beliebers” is in fact a real word. There is no red dotted line underneath it, signifying it’s spelled incorrectly, so that must mean it’s a word, right? I should just stop where I’m at in this post and have this be my final sentence. The world will soon be run by these Beliebers, and everyone will be forced to bleach their hair and shave the sides of their head, leaving only a reasonably long, awkward patch of hair on top. Thanks a lot, Canada. Take your free healthcare and friendly people and shove it – but let us keep that delicious bacon, please. The US is doomed.)
Being the only one at the apartment during the week means I have the freedom to do whatever I want. I could elicit the hardest of drugs to residents at my apartment complex if I wanted to (I don’t). I could fill every square foot of space in the apartment with M&M’s (I haven’t…yet). I could even use the bathroom and keep the door open if I wanted to (this is the one option listed I do). Now that we’ve established that, the craziest thing happened the other day. I got up to use the bathroom, made it safely with two dry socks, and executed my business to perfection. Perfectly executed bathroom session complete, I turn around to walk out and what do I see? The cutest of puppy faces staring back at me. Awww, Zoë. What else do I see? The most symmetrical circle of puppy business separating me from Zoë.
I kind of just stood there, not knowing how to react. I mean, yeah, sure, she peed in the house again. BUT, she peed in the bathroom. It happened a few days after that as well, only I didn’t witness it this time, I just saw it when I walked in.
Should I have been mad? Should I have flipped everything in the apartment over in a furious act of Hulk-rage? Should I have banished Zoë off to our screened in back porch with all of the creepy spiders and dog fur from the person above us until mom came home? Nope, I did the complete opposite and gave her a treat and then tweeted about it with an excessive amount of emoji’s. My thought was she saw me and wanted to be like her dear old dad *wipes tear from eye*. She’s a super-DUPER-SMART pup and saw the human bathroom as her bathroom as well. Gosh, she’ll be the one supporting us soon, just you wait!
Anyway, that was the post that ruined the fluidity of what would have been a perfectly executed three-part Icelandic trip summary. Can’t promise it won’t happen again between part two and part three. Life’s just that unfair sometimes.