When Hanna came home, one of the first things I did was to borrow a mastiff sized crate to keep her in overnight. Thankfully, Hanna was housebroken in a record fast period of time, which is good, because she greatly prefers to sleep on the leather sofa, with her head hanging off the side.
This left the crate free for us to move Billie into, along with her litter box and her collection of stuffed toys and stolen work socks (she likes to grab them out of the laundry room, and bury them underneath her bed).
Every night, I would kiss Billie on the nose, and tuck her into bed with a few cookies for snacks, or maybe a small dish of food (babies need a nosh in the middle of the night, is my reasoning). I’d lock the crate door, of course – a living room holds an entire world of trouble for puppies to get into.
The trouble came to Billie anyways, because almost every morning I was getting up and finding her either wandering around the living room, or sleeping curled up next to her mother, Bunny, in the big dog bed in front of the bookcase. After a week of this, I was starting to think I was either senile, losing my mind or that I had a dog who was some sort of canine prodigy escape artist.
Turns out, it was that last one.