Our wired-haired terrorist Buddy is about eleven-year-old and is housebroken but when I went into my studio last week, a no-dogs-allowed area, I found someone had left me a "present" on the floor. Present in this case was a small pile of dog crap in the corner and yes, I do know the difference between a gift of some value and this. I was amazed because this isn't something this dog does. Oh there was that one time at Mary's when, much to my horror, he lifted his leg on a house plant but the two Bark Brothers were there and I think he was just marking his territory.
My beloved stepped in on Buddy's behalf because while moving cars in and out of the side yard he'd closed the doggie door and forgot it for the rest of the day. Poor Bud-man. There was no use admonishing him, it was long past, but this incident did qualify Buddy for a new Navajo name. My darling christened him, Poops-on-Floor.
Thanks, Snores-Real-Loud. I can only guess what he calls me.