I have lived through chewed rugs (several destroyed). Curtains torn out of the wall. Peeing on the floor. Pooping on the floor – somewhat regularly. Constant whining. Jumping onto the table and stealing food. Climbing on countertops. Jumping at food on counters. Dragging the cage around. Busting out of cages. Trying so hard to bust out of cages that teeth are torn out and blood is left all over my (brand new) cork floor. Barking endlessly at anything that moves. Preventing naps. Preventing sleeping in. Disrupting the girls’ sleep. Peeing on the new couch. I’ve put up with a lot. In the past. Way past tense.
Because then there was this week. And I’m not sure what to do now.
This week, last Saturday in fact, Bam the Destroyer, the sucker of souls, He Who Shall Not Be Cast Out In The Streets – but only because I’d probably get in trouble for that – he bit me. We were leaving to go to the museum and were gathering up all of the animals. Fenway had merrily trotted into the front room where we shut her up. (Fenway would honestly stay loose, but if Bam gets out, there could be trouble. So…) And Bam had run his usual maneuver – he backed into the corner behind the desk and tray tables where he could dart in between the wall and couch if we were serious. He’s done it a hundred times and I’ve collected him out of the corner a hundred times. Except Saturday Bam all of a sudden went ferocious, started growling and barking and before I could even process that he had gone all Death Hound on me, he bit me. He bit me hard. Hard enough that I dropped him, screamed (though, that really, was more out of surprise), and then slapped my right hand over the back of my left hand, sure there were puncture wounds at the very least. There were several angry red dimples and two teeth did break the skin. Mostly it was a giant bruise that still hurts. Not that I’m holding it against him or anything. So that was Saturday.
Tuesday morning Jeff had to go back to his house early because he left something there that he needed for work. Bam whined the entire morning because his papa had left early. That was fun. And then once I got Bam into his cage (sans any further injuries), I stepped into the bathroom really quick and stepped in poop. POOP. On my foot.
Wednesday night Bam came flying into the bedroom and into the closet – despite the fact that he hasn’t been allowed in the bedroom ever. Sometimes he forgets (and only ever when Jeff is there), but he always gets yelled at. Another straw balancing on the poor camel’s back.
And then last night. I was getting my pajamas on. I heard a mild crash from the other room, but thought it was just Jeff getting ice from the fridge. The walls are thin, ya know? Except then I saw Jeff pushing back the blankets and going out to investigate. Bam the Destroyer had climbed on the chair to the bar in the kitchen and was trying to navigate to the counter where I had left dinner plates. Because I wanted for one night to not have to clean. But oh no. Not in a house with a soul-sucking weiner dog. I slammed about the kitchen picking up dishes and throwing out garlicky green bean leftovers. I yelled at the dog as I went and then penned the perpetrator in his kennel. With the lights off. (Heaven forbid.) Bam made it all the way until 11:30 before he started barking – I guess he knew I was pretty upset. Jeff went and let him out because I certainly wasn’t moving.
And that was that. Until this morning when I went out to the kitchen and saw that Bam had peed all over the carpet where the chair used to be. I handed Jeff the paper towels and cleaning stuff when he came out. I didn’t say a word.
Because I’m done. So done.
Send help you guys. Tips. Tricks. Wine. Tranquilizers (for me or the dog). Anything. Because I have a feeling demanding the dog goes to live on a farm somewhere will not be the best next step for this relationship.