Some days are better than others

Some days are slippy, other days sloppy
Some days you can't stand the sight of a puppy ...

Tuesday night, I went to the U2 concert in Hyattsville, Maryland. It was a fantastic occasion and it was good to be reunited with so many of my loves all at the same time. I knew crating Eska for an evening (in the interest of having her NOT get into my roommates' things) and feeding her an hour early would put her off schedule, but I had no idea to what extent she'd react.

Yesterday morning, we woke up early and took a long, lovely walk, during which she was exceptionally well-behaved.

Suspicious.

She whined as soon as I crated her - unprecedented behaviour (unless you count the first week, when she was still getting used to her new surroundings) - and continued doing so as I got ready for class, tidied up the living room, and went about my daily business. I let her out to pee (maybe she has to pee, I thought): no dice. I put on Penguin Cafe Orchestra, her favourite CD; it appeased her only temporarily. Finally, fifteen minutes before my lesson, I had no choice but to leave.

I came home an hour later than usual to a crate turned upside down (though not literally): Eska had managed to push her tray almost completely out of its position, had flipped over, tangled up, and knotted every blanket, sheet, and cover in what was meant to be her own personal cavern of comfortable exploration, and had chewed through the fluffy duvet covering her lair.

Lovely.

I took her out for a walk later that day: exceptionally good behaviour again.

Some days are honest, some days are not
Some days you're thankful for what you've got
Some days you wake up in the army
And some days it's the enemy ...