Crate Love

For Ali's shower I moved Gideon's crate to the garage (it lives in the kitchen in the doorway to the study). It was so nice to have that passway open again. To get that eyesore out of my kitchen. But someone was missing it big time . . .

Gideon was a crate-trained puppy. By far, in my opinion, the best way to train a dog. He was housebroken within weeks of us bringing him home. He responded within weeks of training to "Get in your crate" — an obedience much appreciated when I needed to mop the floor, was entertaining a non-dog-lover houseguest, or had a contractor doing repairs and didn't need a puppy at his feet.

When Giddy earned full run of the house, he still would choose to sleep in his crate, curling up in a ball in its cramped space. It is his safe haven, his home. And so when I relegated it to the garage, he felt homeless, lost. I put a blanket in the spot where the crate had been, thinking he might sleep there, but he missed the walls, the roof over his head. So now it is back. Gideon is happy, and I have a big cage in my kitchen that attracts dust bunnies at its base and makes maneuvering around my tiny kitchen even more of a challenge.