Dog-gone summer

It's come to THIS. Again.

The stairs are gated -- she finagles around/over/through the gate and heads upstairs to pee and poop. Our bedroom and Robbie's seem to be her favorite. This is after she's been outside for plenty of time or recently walked.

When she is good, she is a joy. Brings smiles and laughter. But when you come home to find poop all over the hallway (and not just easy to pick up poop), the smiles and laughter disappear. We've had the carpets cleaned twice by "professionals" and twice by us with a do-it-yourself machine. All to end up back in the same spot.

So now there are tears. And guilt. Maybe we didn't do enough?

It's not her fault, but she's the final straw in a very stressful home right now. Mike is still looking for work (waiting, waiting, waiting to hear about interviews from last week). My mother-in-law's death is still fresh. And our tolerance for shit, literally, is very low.

I wish there were a place to take her where we could go visit her and play with her once in a while. I hope there is a place that she can call home, for good.