He missed again

The vet informs me that there is nothing obviously medically wrong with The Dog. We had a lovely conversation where she mentioned his white bloodcell count was slightly elevated, signalling slight allergies, or a parasite. I will pick up some de-worming medications today during lunch hour.

I have been worried that the problem is behavioral. Perhaps while he was at the kennel, he learned that any impervious surface will do, and thus finds the floor to be as good a drop zone as anywhere else. To head off this possibility, we tied walking him until he pooped, theory being he'd need to wait awhile before he was ready to go again. That seemed like it was working, but it wasn't.

Today was strike three. I found a stinking pile of mutt offal accompanied by a large yellow puddle, leading to another bathroom floor cleaning extravaganza. The floor isn't level, so liquids find all kinds of fun places to hide relative to the start point in the middle of the room.

Strike three also means escalation of the corrective procedures:
The Box is back.

It's been 18 months since you've seen it. You thought it was gone. It was collapsed, hiding in the basement, with the zip-lock baggy holding the small parts labeled "your loose screws." Now, it's back, it's in the living room, and it wants something.

I called The Dog.

"Box!" I yelled, and pointed to the door.

I don't like to believe the anthropomorphizations I create for him, but I'm pretty sure the his body language was expressing shock and disbelief. The Box is not the doggy happy-fun time. (That's the couch, for those who've been watching.) He did not want to go into The Box. He pretended to walk in, but started to veer around in the entrance. No missing this time! "IN!" I yelled, and nudged him towards the door. There he will spend free time until we get this sorted out.