America is a good place, a friendly place, never mind the screaming coming from the basement

Koya, the briefly mentioned dog, should really have a story of his own. I owe him at least that much. This story is full of shame and some minor drug use (What is that an NC17 rating?).

So now my Portland roommate had a dog.
When I first got the owner to rent me the house I had to lie a little. He did not want pets and we had 2 cats. One seemed to be okay but two... I told him the cat I had was temporary as it was my sister's and was in the army (this was after the Gulf War and the beginning of Kosovo "Military Action") who could say no after sad faced eyelash batting. These days we'd call him unpatriotic if he had, but back then we thought it was okay for someone to be master to their own opinion, property, and decisions. In truth, she was in the Army and the cat was mine. Dogs had been specifically forbidden. But Kristen (my roommate) was young and (though I knew she made a lot of bad decisions) I felt they were hers to make. If you save someone from themselves they never learn anything. Besides he was homeless and she swore she'd take care of him. Koya was a cute (looked like a chow Shepard mix) puppy. He was a great joy to Kristen and we both enjoyed taking him for walks: up Mt. Tabor, to the beach, in the wilderness. We spent all of my off-work time hanging out with eachother and with him. He was a puppy and liked to chew things, lots of things. He also had lots of accidents. I worked double shifts almost everyday. Came home and cleaned up the house, the shit, fed everyone, paid bills and didn't have much time to train Koya.
What, like I'm not gonna try not to look like an asshole in this story?
I was able to train him to pull me on the rope swing in the backyard. He would grab the dangley bit below the plank seat and play tug of war flinging me forward and waiting till I returned then dragging me back. It was so cute the neighbors wished they could get their dog to do it. I was almost able to get him to heal (a handful of times), and got him to sit and (kind of) stay, but I wasn't there enough to train him to ask to go outside. Things got worse and worse. Kristen tried putting him in the basement (where he barked non stop) when she was out during the day. I have a feeling that she was gone too many hours but at least the shit wasn't in the house. He was always being reprimanded and when he was bad upstairs he got sent to the basement, more barking, with us yelling for him to be quiet. That is not good training. His "you've been bad" place shouldn't be where he gets left all day. I felt bad for Koya, even though he had eaten several things I valued and he wasn't my dog, I felt I needed to do something. I tried talking to Kristen, without good results. I tried tying Koya up outside, without good results. Our landlord contacted me about the holes in the yard?
Holes, REALLY? A dog? Noooo. We have 2 cats. How could we have a dog?
Back inside Koya came with a promise from Kristen she would work with him.

We had been street kid central for a while. Housing up to 6 a night. It started with one now and again. I liked talking to them, they were interesting and, for the most part, respectful. We had 2 regulars, then 3, then word just spread. Though I often longed for the seclusion of my room I usually relented to share the stories and joint that the street kids rolled in half truths and split cigar skins sealed with honey. They sometimes used the pad for bulk deals. I had never seen so much weed in my life, and somebody invariably packed a bowl or two. Or pleased with a new piece, came there to see the sweet fluffy buds dissolve into ash changing the color of the new glass. I have seen them come in as high rollers and leave punked out. They wandered in and out as it suited them, but when it was up to me they had to go.
Your a guest, and guests leave.
But you let THEM stay.
I have let HIM set up a tent on the back deck until he agrees to take a bath, I know them but I don't know you.
Standing squared in the body sprawled living room, I flashed my eyes and threw the bums out. I never pretended and never changed. Sulking, they tucked their tail and left poorer being kicked to the streets by a chick. I guess they liked being kicked out because they kept coming back, bringing their buds Kristen couldn't turn them away if they puffed her. I'd still kick them out. In the end neither of us could deal. My roommates solution was to move in a third roommate to make rent because she still didn't have a job, and reasoning the people would leave if someone slept in the central room. I preferred to just continue to kick them out when they overstayed their welcome most shaking their heads, as they walked down the steps, trying to figure out why they were leaving. There were a couple of people willing to take the spot. Between the final 2: one, although had no current means, was a good worker as guest and had a good work history. The other had a stipend from her dad. The roommate Kristen chose (which I told her was a bad idea) did nothing to help with Koya. I came home to her sitting on the couch with a pile of dog shit in front of her.
Oh, god!
What?
(Me calling Koya and showing him his mess (bad dog)
The pile! Don't you see it in front of you?
Yeah
When did it happen?
A couple hours ago.
Did he ask to go out?
Well he was whining at me before he squatted.
You Saw him do it?
Yeah
I felt like rubbing her nose it. He had done everything right and I just punished him. I felt like the biggest pile in the house. No wonder this dog was getting more violent. He was confused. He was abused. This was no way for an animal to live.
I told Kristen she had to find another home for him. I explained why. I told her what was happening here was the same as training a good dog to be bad and perhaps if we got rid of him now maybe he wouldn't be ruined for life. She argued, begged, and cried but the next day she took Koya to a no kill shelter.

*disclaimer: I have such guilt over this I have to say I am a good dog owner. I have grown up with animals. I have trained dogs and my dog is one of the most loving well trained dogs in the (non-professional) world. My dog is from a shelter, as are all of my mothers (who runs a foster home for dogs). See...Feeling very guilty.