Jumping the gun

For the last two nights, Rosie has slept through the night. It's been great. We put her down about 8:30 or 9 p.m. and she's so zonked we don't hear a peep out of her until 5 a.m.

This might be because she was so busy on the weekend--playing with Gunther, playing with Riley, romping in the park, meeting new people at the lake, taking leash-walks through the neighborhood, awake and active most of the day.  She might not sleep all night on, say, a Tuesday or a Wednesday night when she's had more time to nap. But still, it was a great gift--the gift of rest--and it made me overly confident.

This morning I put her out, brought her in, fed her, put her out again, brought her in, played ball with her in the hallway, and then forgot the cardinal rule of housebreaking: put her out again after playtime. Instead, I sat down on the porch with the newspaper and a mug of coffee, and Rosie did what Rosie had to do: She darted into the house and peed on the hallway rug.

Note to self: Sleeping through the night in her crate does not equal being housebroken. Being housebroken means knowing she shouldn't pee in the house.  She's not there yet. This was operator failure, not dog failure, and she wasn't a bit sorry.