"Get Busy, Get Busy!" You ought to hear me. Over and over. Waiting, and not so patiently. You see, we're on the top floor of a condo building and have to take our little sweet pooch Mason out for each crap and to take a doggy leak. My hubby says it's just the way it is and it's good exercise for us. He's trying to embrace it. Me, on the other hand....well, I'm ready to strangle something. Soon! I hate it. I stand out there. Saying, "get busy" repeatedly. Mason usually goes to the door and stands there when he needs to go out. But he's figured the whole gig out...and does it just for kicks now. And as the weather starts turning, I'm not looking forward to false alarms in the rain and winter weather. I get totally frustrated. I feel like I'm doing nothing but participating in silliness. Wasting my time and my life. I just get something started and have to get up. Just start working on dinner and have to go downstairs. Just start writing or working on the laptop and, whammo, he's at the door. And then we just stand out there. Him sniffing, me huffing. It's not pretty. I'm afraid that this tired old goat isn't cut out for the nurturing and patience required for this fatherly crap. I hate it.