The Pomeranian in My Shower and Other Mysteries

Some things defy explanation.

I walk around here and often scratch my head, trying to figure out why things are the way they are.

For instance, there's a Pomeranian in my shower.

Seriously. Our little dog has an odd tendency to hang out in the shower stall in our master bathroom. On most mornings, she'll hop as soon as my husband steps out and before the tile has a chance to dry.

She'll hang out in there all morning, often needing to be shooed out when it's time for her to eat. I find it very odd.

And at times, disconcerting.

She often takes me off guard as I pull back the curtain and catch a glimpse of something small, dark and furry curled up in there. You'd think I'd be used to seeing her in there by now, but she almost always makes my heart jump a little.

Bandit, our Pomeranian-poodle mix -- the most neurotic dog you'll ever meet. And love.

I think its a particularly weird habit because A) the damp tile shower stall isn't particularly comfy. And B), she hates smooth surfaces -- which brings me to mystery #2:

Why won't the Pomeranian step foot in the kitchen?

There's something about the kitchen floor that freaks out this dog. And while I regularly shove the big dog out while I'm making dinner or clearing out the dishwasher, I can't get the little dog to willingly go in there.

I coax and I coo. I wave doggie biscuits and the leash, but to no avail. She simply won't step foot on the kitchen floor.

She's clearly got a hang-up with the linoleum -- which I agree is atrocious. It's a hideous 1960s-era fake brick pattern that's simply screaming to be replaced. (In time, dear, in time.)

One time, as an experiment, I stretched out a long winter scarf into the kitchen and placed a dog treat at the other end. The little dog hesitated, circled several times and then proceeded -- very carefully -- to walk to scarf-plank across the sea of linoleum to claim the treat. She took it, nervously turned tail (literally) and scrambled as fast as she could back to the safety of the carpet.

I vowed never to do the scarf-plank again. It was far to traumatic for her.

We keep both dogs' food bowls in the kitchen, but keep hers on the very edge so she can stand on the carpet while she eats.

No matter how hungry she may be, she approaches the bowl with great trepidation, gingerly nabbing a nugget of kibble and taking it to the middle of the living room to eat it. She'll make 20 or 30 trips, back and forth from the bowl to the living room, to eat her dinner.

I've given up trying to explain it. I've thrown in the towel to try to rehabilitate her. It's an exercise in futility.

She will not change. She cannot change.

And I love that weird-ass little dog just the same.