The joys of puppyhood

Now I love Sparky, I really do. I just wish he didn’t poop and pee in his crate, and then lay in it and step in it and sniff at it all the time. I’d give him a bath everyday, except that baths are bad for Cairn Terrier coats. So I resort to wiping him down with a puppy bath wipe and then spritzing him with crisp apple puppy perfume. It works pretty good until the next time I put him in his crate, and then the poop-n-pee process repeats. I get really mad and frustrated with him, but all it takes from him is one lap around the house running full speed, tongue lolling, ears pinned straight back, doing that little grunt he does when he’s really exercising, before my heart melts again and he can do no wrong. And when I pick him up to look him straight in the eye to try to get a point across in a low, growling tone, all it takes is that little tongue to sneak out and lick me across the nose. It’s not fair that puppies have such powerful weapons in their arsenal. And don’t even get me started on the sad look he gives me when I’m walking away from the crate, or the pitiful howling he does in attempts to get me to let him out of the crate. It’s almost too much. But I don’t cave. I don’t know how, but day after day, I put him in the crate, even though I know he doesn’t want to go in there, even though I know I’ll just come home to a dirty, wet, smelly dog. Who knew house training a puppy would be so hard?