Brenda has not refused to come out of her crate in two weeks. She also hasn't ran out of her crate and directly under the bed before I could get her outside for her morning walk causing me to wake Ben up and quickly shuffle him out of the room with any articles of clothing he may need during the day.
The imprint of those times is deeply ingrained in memory, however.
Life seems so easy now. Brenda's far from perfect, but (knock on wood) gone are the days when I had left the apartment in a bad mood, and then spent the ensuing hours worrying about her well-being while locked in the bedroom. Gone are the days (knock on wood) when I sheepishly open the bedroom door to an overwhelming stench of urine and feces and spy Brenda sleeping on my bed in a fortress or her own waste.
I don't miss those days at all.
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