Marking My Territory: By Gertrude B. Ewers, Dog Extraordinaire

On the 2nd of October, my parents (who, I should mention, are incredibly good-looking) moved me. Well, they moved US, but really it felt like just me.

Ever since I was rescued from the mean streets of Harlem, I’ve been living in the lap of luxury (and in the laps of anyone who will have me). After 6 months at 90 West, I knew my way home like the back of my paw. When the elevator doors opened on the 18th floor, I hung a right until I hit the door that smelled like me. That was home. Then, all of a sudden, we didn't go right anymore. They made me go left, down two hallways to a door that smelled like fresh paint.

Confused.

I used to be able to chase a ball from one end of my home to the other in one, quick sprint. But now, there are corners, and doors and umbrella holders in the way, making it a virtual obstacle course on slippery hardwood. I didn't know my way around, and found it totally unacceptable that I couldn't “play ball” in the house now that it might ruin the paint job.

Frustrated.

Not to mention the fact that there was now a blond parent-type lurking about. "Aunt Robin". She’s pretty awesome, but she smells like a boy dog. I think the boy dog’s name is Gus, and from what I could tell, it seemed as though the blond one and my parents were planning an “arranged marriage” between Gus and I, which I found unsettling. I mean, I haven’t even sniffed this Dude's butt yet, and they’re already wedding dress shopping?

Appalled.

Something had to be done.

With all of this change, I started to feel like less of the boss – more like my life was living me. New digs, new faces, new routines – I felt misplaced and overwhelmed. I’d lost all control. So what did I do? I did what any logical canine would do…

I peed.

I peed on the blond's stuff. I peed on my parent’s stuff. Heck, I even peed on the carpet in front of my old place – just to prove that I was there.

Be disgusted all you want, but you know you do it, too. It’s impossible to make sense of change, or a new place, or a new routine without peeing on it a bit. This behavior is true across the species board. Whether it’s hanging a picture, finding “your” local coffee joint, or lifting a leg – the best way to make a house/a city/a life your home is to mark it.

18W? Officially marked. Officially home.