The Protest Peefeatured

Every time one of us says “Oh good, I think the dachshunds have finally stopped marking inside, they are learning and I’m glad we’re past this” we don’t realize that said dachshunds are hiding around the corner rubbing their paws together and whispering “We’ve lulled them into a false sense of security, there is no way they will suspect us now.”

In the beginning I was sure that it was Protest Peeing as a result of starting a new life, then because they just wanted to make Jeremy’s life unpleasant, and then because they just didn’t care and wanted to.  I have now realized it’s a mix of all of these things.

It was an unfortunate situation all around since Jeremy is the most fastidious person I have ever seen.  His house had been impeccably laid out, everything curated down to the molecule, everything clean and sparkling.  Then dachshunds and I moved in and all of that went straight to hell.  It didn’t help that the finish on the hardwood floors were original to the  home and whatever was still clinging to the wood after sixty years was quickly obliterated by dachshund protest pee–especially the area where Jeremy’s favourite chair sat.  I could see his jaw clench every time the bleached wood around his chair legs caught his eye and I quickly ran out of ways to arrange the chair in a way that covered all the spots.

It took over a year to broker some kind of fragile peace between Jeremy, Gustav and Johann Sebastian with the weakest of accords.  But it still didn’t really work and flare ups happened frequently.  Jeremy started to grumble that he preferred being at work because it was the only place where he had any control and I could see the reasoning in this argument–he goes from his office where he has an entourage of staff to jump at his every command to his (formerly pristine) home where absolutely no one (me, Gustav, Johann, Hoku) in the household obeys him except for his loyal Bowie who, it must be said, pees outside where she’s supposed to.

One evening he took Johann Sebastian outside on a patrol around our neighborhood, figuring that he always took Gustav and Johann was always left behind, so tonight Johann got the preferential treatment.  Gustav was dancing around with rage.  “I’m the one who goes on patrol, and I always go first!  It’s always MY idea!!!” he fumed.  I sighed and went back to my sewing room to work because it was their own fault they have to go out one at a time.

Gustav took this opportunity to protest pee on Jeremy’s chair.

Once Jeremy returned with Johann he took Gustav.  Left to his own devices in the kitchen Johann peed on the trash can.  Once done he examined his work with satisfaction.  “I haven’t been able to get away with this in forever,” he thought proudly.  “This is a victory for Freedom of Speech.”

Later that night Jeremy woke me up with his snoring.  I sighed, got my pillow and headed to the couch in the dark (it’s not his fault I practically have to have a sensory deprivation chamber to not get woken up in the middle of the night) but kept tossing and turning.  Then I had to pee.  Thinking that I couldn’t go to the one in our bedroom because I’d wake Jeremy, and I couldn’t go to the hallway bathroom because it would wake dachshunds (who would howl once they figured out I was awake) I stumbled to the toilet in the laundry room.

I was still really drowsy from all the melatonin I had taken before bed and I didn’t remember until I reached around for the handle to flush and it went straight down with nothing happening–that particular toilet leaked, the noise (and imagining our water bill climbing higher) drove Jeremy crazy and instead of actually fixing the toilet he had simply shut off the water supply to the tank and given me orders to not use it.

Well there’s nothing I can do about it now, I thought.  The die has been cast.  Sure, I could have turned the valve back on to flush it but I wanted to get back to the couch and to sleep.  So I let it mellow, thinking irritably that when he finds it maybe that will encourage him to fix the darn toilet.

Morning rolled around, I crawled back to bed while Jeremy was in the shower and he started his day by going to start his coffee and hit the lights.  He noticed Gustav’s protest pee spot from the night before.  He charged after the offender and Gustav snarled like a goblin when Jeremy dispensed swift discipline.  Johann Sebastian decided to get ahead of the game and hurriedly beat Gustav out the back door; when he saw this he decided there was no honour amongst thieves (or peeing dachshunds for that matter) and shrieked “JOHANN PEED ON THE TRASH CAN AGAIN” before he made a fast exit.

Jeremy was really annoyed that he had two spots to clean up now and to add to the bad start to his morning his spray bottle of cleaner was mostly empty.  Muttering “Dachshunds!” sourly under his breath he went to the laundry room to get another bottle.

The litter box is also in the laundry room and at some point in the morning after I had gotten up Hoku decided that she was morally opposed to peeing in litter boxes with lids.  The rug in front of the laundry room toilet I had used earlier was deemed an appropriate substitute and the unmistakable reek of cat pee assaulted his nostrils the moment he slid back the door.  His bellow of rage (“DAMN IT HOKU“) shook me awake from across the house but the ancient cat didn’t even twitch on her cushion.

His summer wasn’t getting off to a good start at all and he reached to grab the rug and wash it.

Then he noticed the inside of the toilet bowl.

I heard his footsteps stomping across the house at a great rate of speed and he flung open the door with, I thought, unnecessary vigour.  I couldn’t make out what he was saying exactly as I squinted at him–his mouth was moving a lot and there was plenty of noise–and I responded by pulling the covers up over my head.  He yanked them off and kept yelling about how the only people who peed where they were supposed to in this house were himself and Bowie; this was unacceptable.

Bowie herself was hiding under the bed and her voice floated up from the floor.  “Wait, am I a people?  I thought I was a Bowie.”  A beat of silence, then: “….I’m confused.”

Jeremy immediately called a family council where all the offenders (Gustav, JS, Hoku, me) had to defend our personal urinary habits.  Gustav nominated Johann to defend us as a group; he refused.  “Why not?” demanded Gustav.  “I haven’t yet passed the Bar Exam,” whispered Johann as he promptly slithered under his favourite blanket, “and I don’t want to be swatted by our judge.”

“We are on our own, Gustav,” I said.  Hoku blinked at us, kneaded my thigh for a few minutes and then went to sleep as Jeremy presented his case as to why the rest of us were wrong and needed to be corrected.  “If you’d fixed the toilet, I’d’ve been able to flush,” I stoutly countered.  “This is all your fault.”

“Why didn’t you just turn the valve and wait ten minutes for the tank to fill?!!?!” he demanded.

I crossed my arms defiantly.  “I didn’t want to.”

Jeremy rolled his eyes at me and rounded in on Gustav.  “It’s not my fault,” protested the dachshund.  “Going on patrol is our special thing.  Just you and me.  And not only did you take HIM, that usurper Johann Sebastian, you took him first!”  Gustav’s eyes pooled with tears.  “I was upset!”

Hoku got a pass from the opening arguments because she was asleep; she didn’t appear to care even when she was awake.  I wasn’t sure how Johann Sebastian was going to excuse his actions but the redheaded dachshund as always found a way.

“This is all Freedom of Speech,” said Johann, poking his snoot out from under his blanket.

“How,” asked Jeremy, struggling to keep his temper under check, “is this considered Freedom of Speech?”

“You can’t spell ‘speech’ without ‘pee’.”

Gustav fielded Johann’s fly ball with his eyes closed.  “By this reasoning, protest peeing is the same as protest speech.  It’s protected in our rights as citizens.”

I pled the fifth.  Hoku snored.

We all still got in trouble.