Chloe had an accident. OR: Why? Why? Why?

I rose early this morning and headed straight to the breakfast table, a stack of bills (not my own) in hand, ready to take on the world- in between yawns.  (I am far more productive and responsible when dealing with others' finances then my own, in case you were curious.  Just don't talk to me first thing in the morning.)  Open bill, notice discrepancy, call the company, rectify the snafu, write a check, balance the books, repeat.  Repeatedly.  

Cue Husby waking up and trodding heavily towards the couch, eyes half-closed.

And- sit.

And- expletive.... expletive... expletive,

And- Chloe hiding under the table, between my feet.

And- me, whispering under my breath "why? why? why?"

It is too cold and damp, in Chloe's opinion, to do her business where business is to be had: outside.  Last night, mid-stream, with me shrieking, she was brought outside, off of our carpet.  Obviously, she learned her lesson: you do NOT pee on Mom's carpet.  Seriously.  So, since outside is still obviously out of the question, the next logical spot would be where Husby sits on the couch.  Obviously.

 I am no genius, but I get puppy logic.  I wouldn't want damp icky mud next to my bum when I'm going in the cold and the rain either, and linoleum (such as is in the kitchen) would cause splashes and puddles and that's not acceptable.  The couch is soft and absorbent and not the carpet, which causes Mom to make squirrel noises.  

I must say, I am proud of Husby.  He only slammed one door and didn't go berserk on the pup.  He did growl though- quite gutturally and in a lower octave than I'd ever heard.  If I wasn't distracted by a cowering pup I might have been impressed.  "Call your father and tell him you'll be late."

"Excuse me?"

"We are going to take this couch to the dumps, and we are going to get a new one.  Now."

"Now?"

"Now."

"Oookay." Today, this very morning to be precise, was my "visiting Dad" morning.  I was rushing to take care of his finances so he wouldn't worry about them over the weekend, before heading out to spend the day with him.  I'd yet to shower and I looked somewhat like Medusa at that very moment.  Yet sometimes you have to pick your battles, and seeing as there wasn't any yelling taking place and Husby was standing in front of me in puppy-pee pants, I decided to call Dad.  Husby took this as an opportunity to shower.  Wise choice.  Dad was quite concerned that Husby would want to get rid of Chloe (not a chance) and that I might possibly end my marriage by siding with the dog (slight chance, had it come to that).

In record time Husby showered and found an amazing couch on CraigsList that fit all of his personal couch criteria, and even some of mine- but I wasn't about to be picky.  So, me, styled as Medusa, and Husby, looking quite dapper without even the slightest hint of puppy-pee, drove off to Felton to a lovely commune with an impressive vegetable garden to pick up the couch of his dreams.  His mood was bright, bubbly and cheery.  We lugged the couch into our home;  leaving my attitude anything but bright, bubbly or cheery, and laid down some new ground rules:  "No, Chloe, you may not jump on this couch.  You may not sit on it, lie on it, climb on it, sneak on it, or catapult onto it.  Even when I'm (Husby) at work."  "Babe" (that's what Husby calls me) "Babe, she is not allowed on the couch.  She may not sit on it, lie on it, climb on it, sneak on it, or catapult onto it.  Even when I'm not home.  Understood?"  I mumbled yes, and Chloe's eyebrows said "why don't you love me anymore?" as she plopped at our feet.  Husby is at work and I have dutifully, and sternly exclaimed "Off!" in my most authoritative tone each time Chloe has tried to do any of the aforementioned no-nos.  She is the most dejected looking pupalupagus I have even seen, despite my attempts at bribing her with copious amounts of peanut butter.  I wonder how long this will last?  I give it to Saturday.