This takes a little explaining.

We had four dogs.

The mother and the father lived to a ripe old age and are in whatever passes for doggie heaven.
Waiting for me, I hope.

I would prefer to go wherever they are.
My dogs are much better behaved than most people I know.

Of the five puppies she had, three are with other people and we have two.

All are almost 14 and that’s really, really old for a Maltese.
Older than me if you count them in doggie years and I’m really, really old.

One of our two has developed back problems and doesn’t walk well.
Actually, he walks a lot like I do – lurching down the hall on rubbery legs.

I have a better sense of humor about it than he does but he’s adjusting.
People and dogs are amazingly adaptable.

He can’t walk on our slippery floors because he has little strength in his legs and ends up doing the splits and falling down.
It’s really painful to see.

So the wife, never at a loss for being a good mother, has lined the house with various size and color throw rugs making paths from here to there for him.

Whatever was on sale at the time she went shopping.

It works well but the house now looks like something out of Saudi Arabia and I spend all day tripping over the damn things.

As long as we’re home the two dogs are okay together.
When we’re gone they either play or fight and that’s not good for the one with the bad back.

So my bride buys this humongous cage to put him in when we’re out.

It’s one of these, “I know you don’t like it but someday you’ll thank me”, kind of thing.

And like it he doesn’t – barking almost non-stop all day.
The wife checks one of the surveillance cameras multiple times during the day and I get these text messages at work about the poor dog being unhappy.

Now we get to the story.

This is a very big cage.

The dog weighs 6 pounds and a 120 pound Saint Bernard would be comfortable inside it with room to invite over some friends for poker.

We made sure his vacation house has plenty of space so he can lurch from one end to the other.

It’s big – with water, a nice soft bed and a toy he ignores.

This picture is not my house but the cage looks like this, but a bit larger.

I could be happy staying there.
The next time she sends me to the dog house I know where I can go.

The wife now has an idea she picked up from one of her girlfriends whom she listens to much more than me.

She wants to add a smaller cage at one end so the dog has a place to go shee-shee.

A separate bathroom, if you will.

One room for barking (a lot) and sleeping (a little).
One room for handling #1 and #2.

The next thing is she’ll be making curtains.

I admit it’s an interesting idea because the one time he made #2 in the cage he was covered in it when we got home.

I dragged out my disability excuse so the wife ended up having to clean him and cage.
I stayed out of her way the rest of the night.

But here’s the problem…

The only thing new the dog has learned in the past five years is who is good for nibbles from the dining room table.

Me, of course.
I like to share.

It only took him a couple of meals to get the proper begging look and attitude in place.

Dogs are very smart when it comes to food.

There is no way anyone is going to teach him that this is your bathroom and this is your living room.

I like the little guy.
He’s really sweet but he’s dumb as a rock.

I’m comparing him to his mother who was smarter than some people I know.
That’s another story for a different time.

Anyway, the wife brought it up again a couple of nights ago.

As wonderful as she is, when she gets something in her head it becomes a war of attrition I’m destined to lose.

She keeps mentioning it and I keep losing brain cells each time I explain why it’s a wonderful, creative idea – but won’t work for this reason or that.

After a while I’ll start running low on brain cells and need to keep some in reserve so I can do things like find my way home, use the TV remote, and remember to wash my hands after using the bathroom.

She counts on this.
She knows I’ll eventually give in out of a sense of self-preservation.

That’s how she gets her way.
And that’s how I get grumpy.

Wish me luck.