I’m not intending this blog to become some kind of shrine to Henson, my miniature dachshund. I admit I’ve been writing about him more than usual lately. I don’t intend to, it’s just that he’s so dang naughty! Someone has to tell you these stories, and I figure that someone is me.
Tonight we moved the kitty litter box outside onto the patio in the back of our house, under an awning. The cat knows how to use the little pet door we installed, and she is perfectly capable of going out whenever she likes, so that shouldn’t be an obstacle for her getting kitty business done. We moved it there because we needed somewhere to keep Henson’s kennel, now that we’re going to begin using it again. Henson is just uncontrollable when he’s at home alone. We’ll come back to find food gotten into and ripped apart, things from our bags strewn about the living room (thankfully unmauled) in the hopes of finding gum or some other treasure, and occasionally there will be an accident in the house. When we bought a little gate to put between the kitchen and the rest of the house so we could limit Henson’s “damage zone” Henson figured out how to escape. We’re still not sure how he does it. So the kennel will be the end of that. We tried to give him freedom, he didn’t take it well, and he won’t have it again.
Tonight Henson made his way outside and found the litterbox. Steph and I didn’t notice he’d been gone for half an hour, and when we found him, he was trapped inside the litterbox, unable to get out. We usually push it up against a wall so that only the cat can get in there, but he once again figured a way around it and got in, and trapped himself. He was covered in cat nastiness. He was immediately brought inside and given a bath, and you can see the result of that bath above. Truly, a more repentant face has never been seen.