Dog Day

"Sweetheart," I said as I stumbled down the stairs this morning to let Chienne outside. "You know I love you bunches and bunches. But if you step on my pajamas again while I'm walking down stairs, I'm going to swat you on the head!"

Much as we - Chienne, Sprout and I - love the space, we're still adjusting to several aspects of our new home. Chienne doesn't have a dog door, making it challenging for both of us to sleep when I'm trying to decide if she has to potty or not. If she goes in the basement again, I'm going to do worse than swat her on the head. So I shuffled toward the sliding door before 7 on a Saturday morning and watched her trot down the deck stairs to explore her yard. She looked at me beeseachingly when she returned to the door, so I sighed and obediently went back upstairs to find shoes and socks.

We set off along the trail near my house - a lovely trip through a patch of forest - and said good morning to the other puppies. I shook my head over the runners, smiled at the bikers zipping by ("Passing on the left," they call. "OK," I agree, keeping the dog from flipping them over.) and enjoyed the cool air and pretty trees.

It was lovely, I decided, peeking through the trees to see the water bounce reflections off its still surface. We made it to a nearby park after about a mile, then wandered the paths there before turning to arrive home.

"Our door is here!" I cried when we neared the house. So I put Chienne inside (which startled Sprout into a sprint up the stairs) and dragged the heavy box through the gate and onto the deck. I let the dog out to join me and she decided to let me deal with opening the huge box while she watched neighbors and dogs go by. After wrestling the top off, I withdrew the patio dog door that would easily slip into place.

"Step 1," I read after opening the last box and pouncing on the booklet I found, "decide if your door fits on the right or left." I frowned at the booklet and looked at the door. "Well, it depends on if I'm outside or in. Book? Do you want me to be outside or in?" I finally decided that it should be on the right (I was supposed to be inside) and that the weather stripping should be removed and swapped out. (The door was made to fit on the left.)

"Well, that's not coming off," I said to myself as I sat on my deck. I tugged once more on the rubber attached to the bottom of the door and glared when I was soundly defeated. It wouldn't budge. Then I smiled when I decided to outsmart it. So I put the door on backwards - what should be outside faces in and vice versa. "Screw it - who'll notice?" I decided and set about my installation.

"Awesome," I praised myself when I had it in place. Though I fumbled trying to put in the dog flap and had to read directions more than once to figure out a couple steps, I had it in place. And was quite proud.

Until I made my way inside and saw all the gaps between the patio pet door and my sliding door. "Huh," I said, looking suspiciously at the bees flying around outside. "I wonder if it's because I put it on backward." I stared at it for a moment before shrugging. I could probably fix it, but I'll wait until Brother arrives next weekend. So I stuck duct tape to the top of the door and attached it all the way down the door, temporarily (and not-so-elegantly) fixing my problem.

Chienne has spent the day barking at neighbors, basking in the sunshine and sleeping on couches and beds. I think - much money and considerable time later - she's all set in her new home. I'll keep you updated on Sprout's escape attempts.