I, Pocket Dog, am very proud to announce, that, after five years and two months I am finally getting the hang of this potty training thing.
Way back when I was a puppy, in the early days of Doggyspace, Mommy and Daddy promised me that if I went one week without having an accident in the house I could have my own Doggyspace account. I did, I got my own account, and did not have another week without an accident for five years. In that time we left DS and, since Mommy and Daddy don’t want to have multiple accounts, when we returned, we share one again.
Now Mommy is very particular about keeping a clean house and cannot abide a pup who leaks on frequent occasions. Being such a pup one would expect at best confinement, and, at worse, banishment when these accidents, which soon became inevitabilities, occurred. But Mommy loves me more than she loves a clean house, and Daddy is a very practical man, so I became Pocket the pants wearing dog.
Mommy and Daddy bought blue jeans diapers and, with the help of an adhesive something called a panty liner, put in my pants to absorb the moisture of my discharge, I was a Yorkie on the fly. And we all lived quite happily like this, Mommy with dry rugs, Daddy with peace in the house, me, with a satisfied bladder, (excepting Foley who found my behavior the height of unprofessionalism.)
And so we went on through two Presidential elections, me leaking when I played, got excited, or felt neglected. But lately my parents have noticed that my britches were not spoiled. Daddy delicately brought up two points to Mommy, one, that I was not soiling myself and two, Foley, in her Senior years has either started to lose some control of her bladder, or had just stopped caring. He suggested that I, like Lindsay Lohan on a trip to Bloomingdales, go pants free.
Mommy agreed, as long as I wore my pants when we play ball, because I get so into chasing I let the pee fly. And, except when I’m playing with my ball in pants, I have not had an accident in the house (while Foley has had one so that puts me ahead in the Electpissicol College.)
It has been suggested, and I can not dismiss, that this has to do with the box of fancy dresses that Hattie Mae gave me, which made me a woman. I am not sure, but I like looking pretty, and no matter how well a dress is made, wearing blue jean underwear ruins any look.
So, it has taken me a long time, but I am finally pants free. There is not stopping me now.