Back in Diapers

I thought I was done with diapers for good. Now I’m changing them daily.

At least this time they’re on a dog and not a human. In a way, this is a good news story. My carpets are protected, and my beloved/maligned mutt, Niko, gets to stay alive. His accidents were becoming frequent enough that friends and family members were starting to subtly (and sometimes not so subtly) suggest it was his time to shuffle off this mortal coil. Saturday, he turned sixteen, which, in dog years, is twice as old as dirt. Everyone knows dirt is eight. He’s outlived his brother from the same litter by most of a decade. If I’m not careful, he’ll outlast the rest of us, too. He’s making a good attempt at it, even as his body is showing some signs of wear and tear. He’s mostly deaf and extremely lazy, not that he was a working dog in the first place. He doesn’t bark to scare away intruders. He can’t hear himself, so he gave up on trying to make sounds. He also doesn’t cuddle. For most of his life, we’ve been polite but distant acquaintances. Once a day, he whines at me to feed him, and I oblige. Then he goes back to napping. Were that the extent of his activities, we never would have had a problem. Over the last year or so, however, he’s managed to squeeze in multiple accidents a day. That nearly brought our cohabitation arrangement—and his life—to an abrupt end. Those doggy Pampers saved us all.

I tried everything to change his regressing bathroom habits. He’s supposed to address his bodily needs at his leisure by letting himself in and out through the doggy door. For nearly fifteen years, he stuck to that plan. In the last several months, however, he had a change of heart. Now, the inside of my house is his toilet. At first, I thought maybe he was too old and tired to walk out to the yard. I carried him out there like a princess on a luxurious sedan chair. Niko refused to do his business. Instead, he would simply hold it until he got back to his preferred pee spot, which was my entire house. I tried deep cleaning the carpet to get rid of familiar smells that might be drawing him back, but that just made him defile new areas. He wasn’t picky as long as it was indoors. He’d urine-ify hardwood floors and cold tile with equal abandon. After multiple recommendations from people who’ve dealt with old dogs, I put out puppy pee pads. Those were the one thing in my house he specifically wouldn’t go to the bathroom on. If I would have lined my entire floor with them, I could have solved the problem. I have to admit his behavior seemed malicious. Nevertheless, I didn’t want to be the one to put him down. He wasn’t suffering; he was just a jerk. I wasn’t sure if my kids would ever forgive me if I killed their dog because I was tired of cleaning up after him. More importantly, I didn’t think I could forgive myself. My Catholic guilt extends to the animal kingdom, even the parts of it that are a direct threat to my happiness and sanity. I was determined to keep giving him food and shelter for as long as he wanted to stick around. In return, I merely wanted him to stop desecrating every square inch of floor in my house. Clearly that was one request too far.

Then death paid a visit. When we went to Missouri a few weeks ago, we lined up a friend to check on our animals. That would work for the pigs and guinea pig, but we couldn’t trust Niko in that situation. By the time my buddy got over here to verify the animals were still alive, my house would be destroyed from the worst kind of water damage. Instead, we made a half-hour detour to drop off Niko at my parents’ house in Illinois. At the end of the trip, I called my mom to check on the dog. I was moderately afraid he might pass away while he was there. It’s a dick move to send your beloved pet to your parents’ house to die. A dog did die, but it wasn’t Niko. My parents’ Yorkie, Moose, had a sudden and unexpected medical emergency. After paying a ton of money at an overnight veterinary hospital in another city, my parents made the heartbreaking decision to put him down. He was only seven. My parents adored that dog. I don’t want to say where he would rank among their seven children, but it wouldn’t have been last. Niko, meanwhile, kept on trucking, happily peeing on my parents’ rugs while they were gone. My best guess is that the doggy grim reaper showed up for Niko and took Moose by mistake. Who knows what shenanigans Niko pulled to throw death off his trail? I should be nicer to him. When death shows up next time, Niko might redirect him to one of us.

My dog was unphased by Moose’s death. Likely, he didn’t even notice. He wasn’t bred for situational awareness or emotional empathy. His only job is to look cute, and he does it well. He would be similarly nonplussed if I disappeared. We’re long-term roommates, but the bond isn’t much stronger than that. Pets really do take after their owners. He learned that aloof attitude from me. Maybe it’s that protective layer of Zen-like serenity that’s kept him in one piece for all these years in our extremely stressful household surrounded by kids and pigs. It’s probably why I’ll still be writing newsletters like this when he’s twenty.

Niko resumed his old habits soon as he got back to our house. Out of ideas, I confined him to a hallway near the doggy door. That seemed to work. He never, ever peed on that narrow stretch of tile, despite being exactly the same flooring material that’s in the kitchen next door, which is among his favorite bathrooms. If we left the kitchen door open a crack, he would slip in there and do his business. It was like he waited all day for the chance. The hallway tile must have had some magical protection over it that I didn’t notice. I wish I could find whatever wizard cursed it so he could extend that protection to the rest of the house. Lola theorized that Niko’s bathroom struggles were due to the pigs, whose room is on the way out of the house. He’s afraid of them these days. When he was younger, he used to push them around, even though they’re many times his size. In confrontations, he’d remember he’s descended from wolves and they’d remember they’re descended from bacon. Now, he can’t hear, and his eyesight is questionable. Sometimes, he seems to see fine, and other times, he appears functionally blind. It’s selective depending on what he’s trying to get away with. His sensory issues make him reluctant to approach the pigs, which is understandable. I wouldn’t want to scuffle with a ham bulldozer I couldn’t see or hear either. That doesn’t explain why Niko continued to have accidents at my parents house or why he doesn’t pee when I take him outside. I think Niko uses the pigs as a convenient excuse. The kids do the same thing. No, I don’t believe Gilly used a marker to write your initials on the wall. I’m not dusting for hoof prints.

Niko didn’t like hallway jail, even though he could escape it and go outside through the doggy door any time he wanted. He didn’t want fresh air. He wanted the great indoors and all the forbidden bathroom opportunities it offered. It was a shame because, besides going potty, his only other activity is sleeping. He could do that just as well in the hallway since I moved his dog bed there, but apparently it wasn’t the same. He wanted the ambiance of being surrounded by a bunch of screaming children he couldn’t hear. There really is no replacing silent chaos. It’s like being entertained by your own private troop of mimes. Niko wanted out so badly that he scratched at the ancient, eight-foot-tall swinging door that kept him confined. It now looks like it was attacked by an infuriated wolverine. Our house was built a hundred years ago by the treasurer of a bank and has all sorts of fancy rich person flourishes, like a back staircase so you don’t have to see the help and inlaid floors so you can see art when you look at your feet. If that guy knew what would one day become of his architectural masterpiece, he wouldn’t have splurged on any of those features. If he’s in hell, he probably has a live video feed of exactly what his house looks like now. Niko could be a key part of his eternal punishment. No wonder that dog has lived so long.

My brother-in-law suggested that I should tape tin foil to the back of the swinging door to discourage Niko from damaging it. His claws sliced right through that thin metal armor. That’s when I finally broke down and bought doggy diapers. It’s the second time in Niko’s life that he’s worn them. We had them on him and his brother Spencer when we first brought them home. (Yes, that name was the original inspiration for the character Spenser in The Chosen Twelve.) I call Niko a mutt, but really he’s a designer breed made by a single person in Missouri, who mixed together every kind of little yappy dog she could get her hands on. The resulting hybrid was supposed to seldom bark and also be litter box trainable. Basically, we thought we were buying cats. When we got Niko and Spencer home, we learned the truth. They never used the makeshift litter box we set up. We ended up putting them in diapers until we could install a doggy door and build a fence around the yard. The diapers were fabric scraps attached by Velcro that my mom had used when training her own dogs. For absorbency, we slapped on a maxi pad, which we threw away after each use. After we got the fence installed, the dogs used the yard and our problems were over. We threw away all the diapers. Flash forward fifteen years and we’re right back where we started. Time is a flat circle, and it looks a lot like a pee spot on my carpet.

Unlike the ones we used last time, these new diapers are professionally made, no maxi pads required. The technological advances of the last fifteen years really are amazing. I bought two three-packs of diapers from Amazon. After the first two days, it was clear that wouldn’t be enough. I ordered three more packs. I put the diapers on Niko as soon as he leaves his hallway home. He’s now free to nap in his old spot, which is all he wants from life. I can accommodate that, as long as the rest of his life isn’t unreasonably long. I’ll give it another year or two. Beyond that, the extra cost of running the washing machine so much might break me. Niko, of course, hasn’t offered to chip in for the water bill. He’s a simple dog. He just wants to water the carpet.

Anyway, that’s all I’ve got for now. Catch you next time.

James