The Eagle Has Landed

And by "The Eagle" I mean Duke's poop, and by "Landed" I mean he went on the floor. MT got home this morning and he had pooped, get this... in the bathroom. Hey, that dog is no dummy. He's obviously brilliant because he chose the tile over the hardwood or the Persian rug. Genius, really. I took him out twice before I left this morning, but he wouldn't go. He peed like he'd drunk a river, but nothing came out the back end.

You know what? I actually get a huge kick out of the fact that Duke shat on my floor. Because you know what that means? It means he lives with me. He's a Brooklyn boy now. He lives and poops in the best borough around. The indoor poop part will soon be a thing of the past. He'll go for walks and play in the park like a good city dog. Just as soon as we get him leash trained. He's always had a fenced yard to run in, so he's not been on a leash much. Last night I thought he was going to rip my arm right out of the socket right after the leash wrapped around my hand crushed what felt like 37 bones when he decided to barrel down the sidewalk. Oww.