Rocco's family reunion was this past weekend, so we threw him in the car like good parents and took him to the crazed event.
I say "crazed" because there were, oh, 20-something dogs running around like maniacs, sniffing each other's butts, barking loudly and generally spazzing out. There was even a hump or two. For Roc, it was heaven.
With all that stimulation, I guess it's not reasonable to expect your 18-month-old pup to be on his best behavior... and he wasn't. Yes, he almost won the sitting contest, but good lord, does my boy have a mouth on him. He kept barking every time another dog barked and even when everyone was silent.
In fact, during the raffle announcements, they announced the winning ticket for one prize and whose dog decided to bark? Mine. "No, Roc, you didn't win anything," I told him. He slumped down as if he understood English. But I know he doesn't because otherwise he would understand "GET THAT SLOBBERY TOY AWAY FROM MOMMY BECAUSE IT'S GROSS AND I DON'T PLAY."
Anyway, he was a bit of a hellion at the reunion, but so many other dogs were too. Seeing his behavior, we cornered the trainer who was there and bombarded her with questions to help figure out why he is an ass.
"How old is he?" she asked.
"About a year-and-a-half," I told her.
"Oh yikes," she said. "Worst age ever."
"Yeah... Wait, what?"
"Yep, this is a HORRIBLE age for a dog. You're basically raising a 15-year-old."
Oh. My. God. I hate teenagers so much. I don't want one! As I was absorbing this info (and some of her great training tips), I kept an eye on my little monster. Of course, he behaved like an angel when the trainer was near. Go figure.
When we got home, it was a different story. He did something that he has NEVER, EVER done. Something I never thought he would do in his lifetime.
He peed on my bed.
Right in front of me.
Fucking teens! I just know it was a spite-pee. I wouldn't play with him while I was eating dinner and when I went to go fold laundry in the bedroom afterward, he came with. He sat next to the bed, waiting for permission to come up.
What a good boy, I thought. Permission granted!
He got up there, started pawing and kicking the covers to create his own little "bed" and then promptly started peeing. Peeing!
I screeched, startled him enough to make him stop mid-pee and threw him off the bed while shouting obscenities. (My neighbors love me.) Roc knew he was in deep shit. He crawled out of the room with his ears back and his tail between his legs. I continued to rage. I told Dave what happened and he joined in on the rage with me. BAD BOY, ROCCO.
And to top off the evening, he decided he didn't want to go in his crate. Oh, sure, Roc, why don't you just sleep with us, since you've been soooo good. Guess again, jerkface. It was a bit of a battle, but he eventually accepted his fate.
But seriously, where is this behavior coming from?? I will not tolerate it in my house. I used to only have two house rules: No biting and no rapes. He obeys those. But it looks like I'll have to amend the rule to: No biting, no raping, no peeing.
Gah, I thought that was a given, but I guess not.
Welcome to the teenage years. They suck.