Did you know dogs can fart?
Or, rather, that they do, rather freely, in fact, whilst sleeping off all the energy it must have taken to yank the christmas tree right off it’s handy side-table pedestal and onto the ground, breaking several bally-thingys into several million tiny pieces while simultaneously collecting every last bit of paper from the garbage, shredding it, then peeing on it?
I’m bitter. In case you noticed.
We have company. A very friendly, very exuberant, very DESTRUCTIVE puppy visiting us (The Puppy: or, alternatively, the Devil-Pup-That-Growls-From-His-Butt-In-His-Sleep-And-Poops-On-My-Floor) that is both the Dog’s new best friend and the absolute bane of my existence. I have cried over his desecration of my home on six separate occasions. I have wiped up more pee puddles and piles of puppy-shit than I care to count at the moment. I have swept this floor clean of his paper shredding so many times that I think I should probably now go invest in a dustpan, at the very least. I have stepped in more shit in my back yard than you can shake a stick at (at first I typed, “take a shit at”). I have run crying to PVDD after my cowboy hat was mangled nigh unto unrecognizability. I have had mirror chips off my disco-ball ornaments mysteriously disappear and the entire contents of my mah-jong game dumped onto the floor. My photo album was pulled off the shelf and the middle pages nibbled (no, torn) to bits. PVDD’s lovely tooth fairy costume wings and halo were shredded (have you ever seen boa feathers chewed down to the nubbins? It looks, truly, pathetically bedraggled) and one of his origami animals made from a dollar bill and his wood puzzle were summarily digested.
I am a woman at the end of her rope.
Thankfully, he gets picked up on Tuesday. I’ll be out of town, and it will be PVDD’s problem. I sorrow. As you can tell.
All is quiet, deceptively so, in the Casa de 2N and PVDD at the moment. All dogs resting peacefully. He’s sleeping, no doubt plotting his next crusade against the Evil Ones, which I can only assume are us. Don’t be fooled; that smiling face and gently wagging tail are all indicators of his inner glee at the scale of destruction he is about to visit upon our humble abode. He thinks the friendly slurps of his cute pink tongue will mislead me; well, I am on to him, my friends. I am all over his ass like, well, like stink on puppy shit. I’m dialed in. His days in my house are numbered.
But for now, I think I shall just laugh quietly as he growls contentedly from his butt and enjoys his little doggy dreams of destruction. It’s the porch for him, tomorrow. Fo’ dayum sho’.