On the weekends, my boyfriend's teenagers came and stayed with us and the daughter would bring along her Yorkshire Terrier. At first I thought he was cute, then after a couple of months of living there, I noticed a pattern -  there was dog excrement and urine in the house and no one ever put a leash on the dog and walked him. I've never owned a dog - on purpose, because one thing I know about dogs is that they need to be walked. A couple of weeks before I started my chemotherapy treatments I asked for change. My boyfriend was only willing to go as far as rolling up the Asian rug splattered with dog stains and throwing it out. Every time I mentioned the canine being walked or trained, he'd reply with "Yorkshires are just hard to train!" I wasn't satisfied with that answer and suggested we get a dog trainer, which was met with hostility. It was difficult for me to understand how it was acceptable to live this way; I felt like I was living in trailer trash, although the house was very nice. The chemotherapy started and my veins were being pumped with poison and steroids. More arguments ensued over this little yipper. My boyfriend didn't want to ask his teenage daughter to get off the couch and be accountable for her pet. I became more stressed when the weekends approached because it seemed that it was me against the un-housebroken dog, so I left on a few chemo weekends - I could not bear another quarrel about dog shit. I had a tumor in my breast, and the last thing I wanted to waste my energy on was trying to convince my boyfriend to maintain a sanitary environment. I soon realized it wasn't about the dog, it was about the girlfriend moving in and asking for a dynamic to change. This is where the red flag started waving, but I've been too busy trying to save my life to make any drastic changes.