Spoke too soon...

I made it to Friday and it turns out Friday was to be the worst day of all. I'm literally too tired and irritated to go into all the ugly details, but just think of a day spent doing everything at least twice because nothing is as easy or "normal" as it should be and then think of cleaning up copious amounts of pee in between each of those difficult tasks, then top it off with a raging bucket-o-hormones. Suck. I have learned over the years that you have to have a dog at least a week, seven days, to see their true colors come out and lo and behold here we are... day 8.

Jack is testing me big time and today I'm not sure I won the battle. That little jerk is so bull-headed and despite the fact that he's supposedly emaciated he can totally throw his weight around. On top of peeing inside this morning, right after Hans had taken him out, he managed to get loose from his crate this afternoon and I came home to yet another river of rank urine and various assaulted objects strewn about. I had worked my butt off getting the house "ready" for strangers to come around this evening to meet Jack and hopefully take Jack home, but instead of coming home to a smelly-good presentable house I arrived to a totally devastating scene. Thank GOD for having cement floors here!!! I don't think I could have anything else, but cement or tile in any house I ever own. My mop gets so much millage these day, but at least I know when the floor is clean unlike carpet.

Can you say broken spirit? That's pretty much where I'm at this evening and it's just because I'm trying to do too much, it's no body's fault but my own. The only consolation (which wasn't one when I first got the call) is that the strangers didn't come. The woman I mentioned before who was pretty jazzed about Jack and who was supposed to come down tonight with her daughter, had run into an emergency with her mom and had to drop everything and go to be with her family. I do hope everything will be alright for her, but at the moment I'm bummed for all of us. Jack cannot be loose around Miles and Rocko and it's just so taxing to segregate. I had talked to my rescue mentor about this type of situation and she said she once had to do it for about six or eight months I think until the difficult dog was adopted. Ugh. I can't last that long. I'm not going to worry myself that far out though. I suppose the deal is that I'm in need of a little rest for starters and then some support. I'll hit the ground running tomorrow and keep searching for someone to take over in caring for this big boy so, I can once again devote myself to my three permanent angels.

Anyway, I'll be trying to turn things around over the weekend, I know I can. Again, pictures to come if I can just get a break from the pee-fest.