Dang. Just when I thought we had it all under control.
A couple of days ago I decreed that Bartlett was finally housebroken. She had learned to find a way to tell us when she needed to relieve herself. (Wriggling, scratching, a sharp intelligent look if we asked if she wanted to go outside.)
We thought she was empty this morning and gave her a bit of unsupervised floor time.
I was way down at one end of the house (see, this isn't MY fault) and Cranky was doing something in the kitchen. He heard Bartlett barking at the door.
Bartlett doesn't know how to bark at the door! Whatever could it have meant? Nothing, right?
Shortly afterward, she came to tell me she had to pee. So I took her out, and *jackpot.* I even rewarded her with a treat. Jeez, peeing for cookies.
When we went back inside, Bartlett walked over to a suspicious brown lump on the rug near the door. A poop! In the house!
To her credit, two things: She tried to get somebody to open the door when it was necessary. And she made sure I found the fresh, quivering mass before somebody stepped in it.
What a good girl!