IT HAPPENED TO ME: My Dog Peed on My Boyfriend's Couch and I Thought I'd Go to Jail for It

I heard the police officer ask him when it happened, and I texted my sister, crying, "I'm going to get arrested!"
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I heard the police officer ask him when it happened, and I texted my sister, crying, "I'm going to get arrested!"

I love my dogs so much that I will literally do anything for them. I will especially protect them from their embarrassing moments. (Them, myself — same thing.) This proved true the day I was leaving my boyfriend's house and one of my normally perfectly behaved dogs peed on his couch.

I don't know what happened. I put them both on the couch to get their leashes on and she just started peeing. A morning pee. Seeping into the microfiber and foam of his couch. 

She had never done this before. I panicked. He was at work, and I needed to get going. I blotted and cleaned as much as I could with the cleaning spray in my car and prayed it would dry before he got home.

At work, I couldn't stop thinking about what I was going to do if it wasn't dry or if it still smelled like urine. What would he think if he knew the truth? I decided I would go over after work and keep him away from that spot of the couch until I knew the status. 

I called him, and we planned to meet back at his place for dinner, although he had to go back into work for an hour shortly after. Perfect — this would give me just enough time to check the couch and too little time for him to figure it out before me.

I got to his house and sat by the spot. The couch was dry — that was good. But the second he went to the bathroom, I got closer to the cushion, and it reeked. Great. Should I spill my drink on the couch right now and clean it again without him realizing? No, water won't fix this. I knew I needed the spot cleaner from my house and decided I would sneak back over when he left for work. I felt a little guilty about my plan, but decided to go for it. He had given me a key and told me I could come over whenever I wanted. It still didn't feel like the best idea, but I had to clean up this mess.

We said goodbye at our cars and I raced home to my sister's house, where I lived. I filled her in and she agreed to come back to his apartment with me. She suggested we flip the cushions because the spot wouldn't have time to dry. Genius! 

We drove over and ran inside, giggling. We assessed the cushion situation. Velcro on the underside — we couldn't flip them. I switched the soiled cushion with the least likely place he would sit and decided I would stay over and spot-clean it good in the morning. I realized this was getting a bit ridiculous, but I really didn't want to tell him what my pup did.

I went home for dinner, confident this would work, and awaited his call. When he called, he was upset, and my paranoia instantly set in.

"Somebody broke into my house."

Oh my god he noticed the cushions. "What do you mean?"

"The glass of my back door is broken."

Wait, that definitely wasn't me. "Oh my god. Is anything missing?"

"No, but come over. I need to take this call coming in to figure out what I should do, but I'll see you soon."

I hung up the phone, nervous. I knew that this wasn't the first time someone tried to break in. What if someone saw me go into his house? It had been daylight. I didn't tell him I was going back. I suddenly felt like a criminal. 

The real criminal.

The real criminal.

I reluctantly drove over and found him on the phone in his living room. I brought one of my dogs (not the offender) to hide behind if I cracked. Maybe I just need to tell him. What if he breaks up with me? My heart pounding, I prepared the words to tell him that my dog peed on his couch and I sneaked in to clean it. Before I could say anything, the doorbell rang.

I jumped. "Who is that?"

"It's the police. I called them over."

Police?! The color drained from my face as I ran upstairs with my dog to his room. I was going to puke. I was going to die. I was going to puke and die. 

I heard the officer ask him when it happened, and my boyfriend described the only short time frame it could have happened — when I was in the house. The officer asked if anyone else could have been home. My boyfriend, figuring I hadn't been there, said no. I hear the police tell him he's going to question the neighbors to see if they saw anything. 

I started to cry hysterically into my dog's fluff, texting the play-by-play to my sister in complete disbelief that this movie scene is my reality. He's going to think I'm sneaky. He's going to hate my dogs. He's going to hate me. I'm going to get arrested!

He came upstairs to check on me and was surprised to see me crying. As he tried to console me, I choked out the confession that I was there earlier. I told him all about the embarrassment of the dog pee and trying to clean it then, but it wasn't clean so I tried to come back and do it before he found out, and that I must have just missed whoever smashed the glass, but I didn't see anything.

"Why didn't you just tell me?"

"I didn't want you to be mad at my dogs. I mean, she peed on the couch! I thought I could fix it and it obviously got out of control, I'm sorry."

"Well, that's okay. Are you okay?"

What? Didn't you hear what I said? "Aren't you mad?"

"I gave you a key. You can be here whenever you need to be. I trust you. I appreciate you trying to clean the mess. You actually probably scared them off."

And just like that, it was over. I was able to properly clean his couch. In my guilt, I, of course, kept apologizing and vowed I'd never come over again without telling him, but he didn't care. He trusted me and he still loved my dogs. I realized how much grief a little sneakiness could cause. All of this trouble could have been avoided if I fessed up at the beginning.

I went home to my pee pup that night and hugged her tight. 

"See what I would do for you? The lengths I'll go to hide your accident? I could've been in big trouble tonight!" 

She looked at me as if she was laughing.