Does It Get Any Worse Than That?

That's what I thought to myself all night long.

Last night my mom and I took Tug with us on a long walk.  My mom needed to drop off some money that she is donating for Sub for Santa at a friend's house that lived pretty close by.  When we finally got to C's house (that's what I'll call this friend), I waited with Tug at the sidewalk while my mom walked to the front door to drop of the money.  C saw me and Tug standing there and invited us in.  At first I held on tight to Tug's leash, nervous about what he may do in this stranger's home, but C told me to let go and let him roam around.  I let go, and Tug started sniffing, exploring, and walking into every room that had an open door.  I followed him for a bit, but then got distracted when C started asking me some questions.  All of a sudden, Tug walked back into the room, walked up to C's beautifully decorated Christmas tree, lifted his leg, and peed.  OH. MY. GOODNESS.  I ran over to him as fast as I could to stop him.  MORTIFIED.  I was speechless, probably as red as Rudolph's nose, and felt physically ill.  This was the first time that I had ever met C.  What a great first impression.  Luckily, and probably just to make my mom and I feel a little better about the situation, C laughed.  C thought it was hilarious.  I asked if I could please clean up the mess, but C politely declined, still laughing.  That was our cue to get the heck out of there as fast as humanly possible.

Now, Tug has not once relieved himself in the house since he was a puppy.  What the heck?!?!  I'm still trying to figure out what must have been going through his head when he decided to lift his leg.

And again I say, does it get any worse than that?