I love my dog...

I really do. That leads me to this quandary: While my wonderful canine companion has always been a little…um…free and easy with her bodily functions, as she has grown older, this has become more of a regular thing.

There is now a constant smell of pee emanating from my large, unwieldy-to-clean, underneath-the-heavy-furniture rug. It’s probably not that bad, but my senses have been attuned to it.

Like I said, I love my cuddly little puppy (aw!). But, I have to tell you, when I come home and smell ammonia, and she takes one look at my face and sulks away (because she knows, goddammit) - and this is happening far too often right now - I start channeling Jules from Pulp Fiction

Well I’m a mushroom-cloud-layin’ motherfucker, motherfucker! Every time my fingers touch pee I’m SUPERFLY T.N.T, I’m the GUNS OF THE NAVARONE…

Sigh. It is becoming increasingly obvious that she is quite possibly past the point of being a viable apartment dog. Unless I’m willing to restrict her to the kitchen when I’m not around to watch her. Which, of course, would include when I’m sleeping. What kind of existence is that?