I want to defenestrate my puppy.

Countless times I reassured Jeremy, “He won’t pee on the bed! Dogs don’t like to pee where they sleep.”

Since returning from Maine and bringing the Pol-tard home, he hasn’t had a single accident on the floor. We don’t have puppy pads tucked into corners anymore in case he has an accident. He simply hasn’t seemed to need it. He rings his bell, and we take him out, and it has been wonderful.

I collapsed into bed last night, exhausted. I hadn’t slept well the night before because I am not used to Jeremy’s absence. Last night, Apollo was strangely energetic, bolting though the apartment, and performing air assaults on his green rubber ball. (Our neighbors downstairs do not appreciate his acrobatic maneuvers and have, on more than one occasion, pounded on their ceiling as if they were trying to bust through to strangle me.) I tried to ignore Apollo’s absurd influx of energy, being that it was 1:30 in the morning. He finally jumped up into bed, nested around by my feet…

And then the little bastard peed on me.

And in doing so, he peed on the beautiful afghan Gram had crocheted, the comforter under that, the blanket under that, and it soaked through my sheets. Fortunately it didn’t have time to seep through to the mattress, because upon hearing the stream of piss and feeling it on my leg, I was screaming at Apollo and throwing him off the bed. I had no extra sheets, no extra blankets, and I sure as hell was not sleeping in his pee. So I was up until 3 doing laundry, just waiting for my angry neighbors to come scream at me as my over loaded laundry machine thudded around as if in some kind of unbalanced washing machine tap dance. I ended up sleeping on sheets and under a blanket that hadn’t had time to dry.

Oblivious to the trauma he had caused, Apollo nestled down beside me, his face pressed up against mine on the pillow. If he had known how murderous I felt at the moment, he probably would have preferred to sleep outside.