Archive for the ‘Pup goes my sanity!’ Category

How I made it through my week.

April 18, 2017

It’s been a tough week. Losing a pet is always difficult, but losing one so suddenly, and under such suspicious circumstances is even worse.

I feel like I’ve done it all. I’ve lost a pup-pup to old age; I’ve lost one to divorce; I’ve lost a dog suddenly to an accident; I’ve lost a dog to a sudden medical issue; and I’ve lost a dog who’s run away. And having been through that, this one seems worse. Maybe because the kids are old enough to have invested everything in their dog, and now she’s gone. Maybe because she was the good luck token we got days before the Red Sox won their most recent championship. (Okay, not really that. But maybe.) Maybe every single loss feels like the worst one.

You know, I’m kinda leaning towards that theory.

My friends and family, though – they’re awesome. I think they get it. I know they do. I am surrounded by dog people, and even though who aren’t devoted to pup-pups, they got how devastated I was. And so this happened:

Sympathy cards, encouragement cards, wine, chocolate, extra time with the girls, all kinds of flowers (!) [and thank god no one pranked me with hydrangeas because this just wasn’t the time], and then that photo. My cousin Kene (who, by the way, was the one who came up with the suggestion to name her Fenway) sent me a print of the red seat at Fenway Park. It marks the spot in the Lower Bleachers section in Right Field where the longest homerun – hit by Ted Williams, naturally – landed, clocking in at 502 feet. It was an incredibly thoughtful and personal gift. The girls and I are going to frame it and hang it up, making my home a little more like home Boston, and a great way to remember my pup-pup.

All of it has been very much appreciated. You all have been so sweet and so patient. Fenway was a very good dog, and she will not be forgotten.


Still nope.

April 12, 2017

Last night I came home to an empty house. No spazz-monkey waiting for me when I walked in the door. Quiet. Just quiet.

Last night as I was shutting down the house, I moved around the kitchen on autopilot, filling Fenway’s bowls with water and food for the morning. And then it hit me that I wasn’t supposed to. I didn’t have to. No one was going to be impatient for their breakfast.

One of these days the loss won’t hit me like a soccer punch to the gut. But not today.


Fenway and Julie. This pic is all sunshine and love!

A good, good dog.

April 10, 2017

I don’t know how to write about it. Probably because I’m stewing in so much guilt still.

Someone – I think the neighbor kids, while retrieving their dog, but I can’t be sure – left the gate open. When I let Fenway out, not knowing, my sweet, mischievous pup-pup found the open gate, and then escaped. Fenway loves a good adventure.

I tried finding Fenway, driving along the streets, hoping I could tempt her into the car because my goofy dog thinks every car goes to the vet. But I didn’t find her until it was too late. She was hit by a car.

And telling the girls… well…let’s just say we’re never getting a dog again so I never have to go through the particular heartache with them. So many tears! It broke my heart. I can’t even handle my babies with that much grief.

She was a good dog. Yes, you were, Fenway! Who’s a good dog?! She loved hearing that; I can guarantee you her tail is wagging, wherever she is. (And probably there’s a little pee on the carpet.)


Oh, trust me – it would be justifiable homicide.

March 15, 2017

I was thinking of how many people would be mad at me – my cousins, my friends, my siblings (well, one of them), my girls, myself (…eh)… And so I didn’t open the gate. I grabbed that dog by the collar and I started the trek across the grass, through the mud, flung open the gate (with my hand very firmly on the dog’s collar), and marched him over to the neighbor’s house. For the fifth time in three days.

Everyone on Facebook has heard the complaints already. My neighbor means well. He does. He tries to be a good neighbor, a good father, and an honorable man. The problem is… well, there are a few of them. There’s a language barrier, which makes any interaction with him a struggle. He works two or three jobs to provide for his large, extended family who live with him. He spoils his two sons (ages 7 & 9 maybe?) rotten so that they’re absolute brats when he’s not around (uh, which is any time between 6a and 10p, because two jobs). So, yeah, a few problems. The latest of which is that they have too many dogs and not enough f*@)s to give.

The first dog the family has is not a favorite in our end of the neighborhood. It’s allowed to roam freely and it will charge and nip you (or just plain terrorize you) if my neighbor isn’t out. And the boys? I mentioned how terrible they are; they don’t care to make the beagle/Jack Russel terrier mix stay in their yard while they play. So I was a little leery when I found out about the second dog, a pit bull/rhinoceros mix who is so sweet, but so huge! and likes to jump on you from behind and smother you in puppy kisses.

I found out about the second puppy, Brownie, the last time I had to go yell at the neighbor for leaving the dog(s) out all night and letting them whine under my bedroom window for two hours at 2 a.m. [That’s also when I saw my neighbor hit his son for leaving the gate open and letting the dog get out at night. Which, uh, no thanks.] I really got to know Brownie, though, when neighbor caught me one day when I came home from work. Sidestory! I had just put down the garage and heard someone banging on the garage door just before it finished sliding all the way down. Who does that?! Creepers and serial killers, that’s who! The “knocking” continued, so I went into the house, stepped around a frenzied Fenway, looked out the front window and didn’t see anyone. Because they were already knocking on my front door. The peephole (god bless peepholes) said it was my neighbor, so I went out and we struggled through a conversation (the man speaks three languages, I’m not knocking him; it’s just painful) about replacing the fence on our shared side of the yard. I knew it was something I was going to have to do after I got my taxes back – that fence is beyond rotten. Slats are missing. We’ve patched the holes as best we can to keep the dogs away from each other. And his kids like to throw things through the missing parts because: brats. So I had unlatched the gate and we were walking back there and talking and Brownie was with him, unleashed, just jumping on the two of us and trying to love on everything. And marking his territory everywhere. Pooping in my yard. You know. Neighbor dude mentioned how the puppy was eating everything in his house and wasn’t training up really well, but his boys loved him. I noted how friendly the dog was cried a little on the inside because all we needed was another problem dog.

And problem dog he was. Thank GOD the sweet pup-pup was as loving as he was. If he was mean, I’d probs be dead or mangled by now. Because that dang thing can wiggle through some pretty small holes, which is a doggy miracle, given the size of the thing. He immediately started busting into our yard, trying to get to Fenway. Or see what there was to see. Or just because – who knows. I just know that half the times I looked up into our yard, there would be Brownie. At first I just coaxed him back through the holes left by the missing fence slats. Neighbor and I kept replacing them, or jimmying together some temporary fix that we thought patched the fence good enough to prevent jailbreaks. But there would be that dang dog again. Brownie would come up to me when I went outside to “fix” it – eventually. He might dance up and dart away a few times, wanting to give me some puppy kisses, but knowing I was going to send him away. If I wasn’t so frustrated, I woulda laughed at how obviously torn the puppy was.

I kinda lost my patience after this weekend, though. Five jailbreaks in three days. FIVE. The dog was tearing my screens trying to see in the house, chewing on my patio furniture, and pooping on the patio! (The poop ended up over the fence on top of the neighbor’s a/c unit. I don’t know how. Honestly. ish.) I was all done being a good neighbor.

I started bringing the dog to their front door, thinking that would emphasize to them how often this was happening. Then I put the dog on a leash to give them an idea that they could let their dog out on a leash. In fact, when the boys answered the door, I started making that suggestion. “You guys need to get this under control, or maybe use a leash.” And then, “Tell your dad that he needs to hurry up and fix the fence, or you’ll have to use a leash for the dog every time because this is getting ridiculous.” That was the time the boys slammed the door in my face as soon as they had the puppy. And I might have yelled through the door exactly what I thought of that response when I was being pretty cool about the dang dog. I thought about telling my neighbor about the door being slammed in my face, but since he had hit the boys before for not listening to him, I didn’t want to be a party to whatever fallout would happen if he knew his kids had disrespected me that way. But I did plenty of fuming.

This is when everyone started telling me to start documenting the problem, or maybe call animal control. But I hated to do that. My neighbor genuinely is a good guy. He’s just not there because he’s trying to live the American Dream and you need a lot of paychecks to do that when you’re making what we’re making. He’s a guy who patched my roof once and has offered 2938209348 times since then to help with it again. He always waves and would help with any problem I had. When I went over to complain about his dog, he thought I was talking about the stray dog that had attacked him, and so he took a butcher knife because he thought he was coming out to rescue me. Neighbor is a good guy – just absent and not able to easily communicate when he is there. So I don’t think he’s manipulating the situation or trying to take advantage of me. The neighbors would judge me if I called the cops on one of us (we’re a tight-knit community and we try to handle our problems inside the family first), even though I’m sure they’d understand once I explained. So I don’t think Neighbor was banking on me not breaking the code, either. I think he just doesn’t know how often it’s happening because he’s not there and his bratty boys aren’t telling him.

I was already past the point of caring how mad anyone got because I was done. I had had a long day at work, I didn’t need to chase down and drag the neighbor’s dog back to his house twice. I wanted to unwind and go to bed in peace. But I couldn’t, because the doorbell rang at 9 p.m. I stared at the door, jaw agape, wondering what the heck. I had just started shutting down the house for the night, but the lights where still on so they could see someone was up. That doesn’t obligate me to answer the door, but I had a sneaky suspicion that it was the neighbors. I had heard a noise outside and did a quick scan, but didn’t see Brownie. Then again, it was pitch black. Which also meant I couldn’t see who was at the door without putting on the porch lights. I couldn’t put on porch lights without them knowing I was up. The doorbell had run again and knocking had started while I tried to decide what to do. Finally I decided that if I didn’t answer and it was the neighbors looking for their dog, they’d probably just open my gate and come on in. Which, after I opened the door, saw it was one of the boys, and let him through the house to go get the dog from the yard, I found out is exactly what happened. But no dog. I hoped that the dog had escaped and was running around the neighborhood, never to be found (yes, I’m a bad person going to hell), but after I ushered the neighbors out of my house and my yard, I heard them out in their front and back yards yelling and shrieking and whistling – but mostly shrieking – for more than thirty minutes. Yes, Spring Break week, but who lets their kids be that loud outside after 9p on a weeknight?!

So I’m done. Done, done, done. I haven’t quite figured out what that means, but for sure there’s going to be a firm discussion with my neighbor. And I’m going to hand him one of my extra leashes, because I’m pretty sure he’ll follow through on that plan. But something has to be done. If the fence can’t be fixed right now, then maybe they need a run for their dog. I’ll tell him that the last thing I want to do is create hard feelings by calling animal control to report the dog when it’s gotten loose, but the situation has gotten out of control.

Like I said – justifiable homicide. The problem is, at this point I’m not sure if I’m more upset with the dog, the neighbor, or those two bratty boys!

Five for Friday.

November 18, 2016

Morning all! It’s Friday – and this week has seemed like it’s been a few years long. But! When you spent so much energy looking for the happy, it starts to peek around corners and spring up in places you maybe would have overlooked if you weren’t trying so hard.

With that – I give you my five things.

1 I turned on the radio on the drive home Wednesday night and as I was flipping through the stations, I gasped. Christmas music! There was Christmas music! Our oldies channel has flipped for the holidays, playing all Christmas music, all the time. It was 85° outside, and I’m still battling depressing in a fairly heavy way, but I can feel my Christmas spirit starting to engage. I can’t quite bring myself to pull out my Christmas CDs yet, but there’s hope were there wasn’t any. I had been wondering how I was going to motivate myself to get some Christmas shopping done next week, but now I have allll the plans!

2 Perhaps inspired by the little bit of hope I found amongst the silver bells and frolicking reindeer, I started a Harry Potter movie marathon last night. We’ve watched the movies a few times recently because the Xman has fallen madly in love with them, but it always seems to be the same few pieces of the same few movies. It’s time for me to watch all of the movies in order. Coincidentally, it’s something I usually do every year as I wrap presents. I told you there was hope for my Christmas spirit. As an added bonus, Harry Potter and his world remind me that there’s hope in combating idiocy and evil – and reminding myself that whatever Trump does to this country can be undone if we work hard enough is something I need to hear. I think I’m ready to start climbing out of my fit of despair.

3 It hasn’t been all hope and rainbows, though. For one, we’ve all been sick. Gracie-girl has had a cough for the past two months. I’ve been blowing it off because it’s small and minor and doesn’t seem to be bothering her. It’s not asthmatic. It’s not bad enough to need a cough drop. I gave her some Mucinex last week, thinking if she could get ahead of it, maybe it would go away. Then she asked for some cough syrup at night because it was starting to bother her at night. So it’s time to bring her into the doctor’s office next week while we’re home on break. Poor pitiful penguin.

4 Not that coughing fits even touch the worst of the junk going around. Fenway is pretty close to getting shot and skinned and becoming a living room rug. For whatever reason, she’s refusing to go outside to potty unless one of the girls goes outside and stands on the patio. When she does go outside, she’s been eating grass. Or maybe it’s not grass, but I’m thinking so because that’s usually the culprit when Fen starts hurling in the middle of the house. It started last Sunday night, when everyone was sick, and so I assumed she just had a touch of what we all had. (Granted, we weren’t leaving dog food stains in the middle of the living room carpet, so…) I shampooed the rug in 23983 places, and kept my fingers crossed. She was fine the next day. Until Tuesday night, when she horked what looked like a giant dirt pile on the throw rug in front of the back door. Okay, whatever – she tried to make it outside. Yesterday I arrived home to find four piles of nasty that I couldn’t even tell from what end it had been ejected – and it was filled with crazy. Apparently Fenway has been eating things (which I knew from a few chewed up Legos), but now she’s eating-eating them, not just chewing. There was one of Bee’s socks, some Legos, a few Barbie outfits, paper, cardboard, and who knows what all else. I don’t know why Fen’s being all weird, but I’m d-o-n-e.

5 I might need an adult to supervise me at Michael’s this weekend. I’m planning out my Advent(ure) Calendar and Kim sent me the cutest owl ornaments for me to schedule for when she’s here.


So I need to get some things to make owls, and then stuff for paper chains, oh! and those tiny glass ball ornaments in a display case thing – yeah, there will be an entire post about Advent(ure) Calendar plans! Because Christmas spirit might be showing up.

So there you go, guys. Five things that were rattling around in my head. If you have some things rattling around – especially holiday crafts! – hit me up. I am going to get crazy festive and hope the cheer rubs off sooner rather than later.

Curtains: Take two.

February 1, 2016

Is it just me, or are curtains a giant pain the ass? There is very little nothing glamorous about curtains. Okay, yes, I can hear you – sometimes they do make or break a room. They can be statement pieces. Or, if you live in my kind of chaos, they end up being something the demondog chews up for a snack and then you have to spend actual time – time you could be spending on so many other things!! figuring out what to get to replace the curtains, and then spit out waytoomuch money paying for the curtains.

Like I said – curtains are a giant pain in the ass.

Which is why I spent most of the winter without any in the kitchen.

While I enjoyed the bright, natural sunlight that flowed into the back of the house, and the clean lines of the box window frames, dealing with the giant sun in your eyes during breakfast and dinner time was not any fun. And so my sister took to the Internets to find me new curtains. Because wasn’t any way I was getting to it any time soon!

Of all the possibilities she found, this one was our winner:


The Zigami Rod Pocket Back in grey, from Bed, Bath & Beyond. They were a tiny pit pricey at $35/panel, but I really liked the chevrons. And I liked that the material wasn’t sheer, but wasn’t too stiff either. I did not like that I had to order them online and couldn’t see what I was getting until I had it, but the store swore I could bring them back. So I ordered them.

They didn’t work.

The pattern seemed like it should work, but it ended up being way too busy in my little kitchen corner, when you added in all the cookbooks and knickknacks on the shelves, and then the painting on the wall, and my gallery art wall across from the window. It was a bit much. And so I was still curtainless. (The store was awesome about taking back the curtains, though, even though one of the packages was opened. And slightly rumpled in my attempts to refold.)

Take two. We had to look for curtains for the front room. The really pretty sheer ones we had in there were mostly torn in half (thanks, dogs), and Jeff’s friend (who owns a carpet cleaning business) is coming to do our rugs this weekend and I wasn’t letting anyone see the state of those miserable curtains. So: curtain shopping. And while we were out, I happened to see some that I thought would work in the kitchen. For only $16/panel.


Not what I would have picked out when facing all of the options, but I think they look pretty good up on the wall. I still need to iron out the wrinkles and fix the end of the curtain rod, but I’m pretty happy with the general flow. And I am wicked excited about not having the sunshine in my eyes every night, thank you.

Now all I have to do is keep all puppies far, far away. Seriously, Fenway – don’t even look at the curtains because I’m done with curtain shopping for the foreseeable future.

The Mondaying started awfully early around here.

January 25, 2016

I am so glad I was so exhausted last night. I, no kidding, was in bed before 8:30 p.m. (Huzzah for co-parents!) I was so tired I didn’t care whether Jeff handled bedtime or the girls put themselves down. I was tired. And so, I went to bed.

I remember waking up a little bit when Jeff came to bed around 11 p.m., but just enough to be upset. I remember sending up a quick prayer to the universe that he fell asleep quickly and didn’t do any of the tossing and turning that’s been happening all weekend. (See earlier comment about how exhausted I’ve been.)

I must have fallen right back asleep because the next thing I know, the neighbor’s dog sounded as if it was being killed right underneath our bedroom windows. It was about 1 a.m.

The dog seriously sounded as if something much larger than it was attacking it, although there wasn’t any snarling or anything. Just very loud, very anguished welping. My first thought was that maybe a person had gotten back there and was beating on it with a pipe. Jeff’s first thought was that it was Fenway, which explains why the first thing out of his mouth (as he processed what was happening) was that the security alarm was on. That was comforting. [Jeff still can’t believe that Fenway never once barked during the entire ordeal. I find it reassuring – Fenway will bark, but only if she’s outside and wants to join in the rumpus, or if someone is no kidding on her territory. Like that one time some idiot walked across our front yard in the middle of the night. The fact that she wasn’t barking was comforting.]

After a minute or two, the dog stopped welping in fear and pain, and started going nuts. I mean, they were pissed off and angry barks. And they weren’t stopping. Jeff and I couldn’t see anything out the windows or the back door. I went and looked out the front windows, and nothing was there either. Jeff (being much taller) was eventually able to see out of our bedroom window, up over the fence. Our neighbor’s car headlights were on – but no one was quieting the dog and not a single set of lights was on in their house.

Which is how we came to call the cops. I felt a little foolish, but the dog had been pissed off and barking at something for a good while now, and no one seemed to care. I just wanted someone to come by and shine their floodlights around the house, maybe get the owners to get the dog to shoosh if it was still going.

Jeff saw a different neighbor walk over at some point before the cops got there. And we did hear our neighbor outside talking to the dog not long after. (Of course.)

Still – what the man?!

It would have been over then, except when the two cop cars showed up, no one seemed in any hurry to leave. The way the houses are situated, we couldn’t see what was going on. We could just tell that their floodlight was pointed at the neighbor’s yard. Something must have been going on that was out of the ordinary, or the cops wouldn’t be hanging out with for more than twenty minutes. Certainly not both of them, not even on the slowest of nights. Not in our major metro area.

Eventually, I remembered that Bee’s bedroom is in front of the fence line. So I crept in there and peeked out of the window. And there stood one of the cops, shining his flashlight down on an animal, waiting for… well, I don’t know. Maybe for it to finish dying so he wouldn’t get attacked by a wounded animal? Who knows. It still seemed weird that two cops would stay put for a dying animal, certainly something small – anyone know if that’s policy? Were they waiting for animal control or something?

In any case, after an hour, hearts still pounding but somewhat convinced a burglar wasn’t going to try to hide in our yard or house, we decided to go back to bed. I was still shaken up, but I figured if two cops wanted to stand guard in front of my house all night, I was just fine with that decision.

Thank god I snuck in an extra hour or two of sleep – because I’m already missing that hour I lost to the neighbor’s stupid hellhound.

And the rain, rain, rain came down, down, down…

October 26, 2015

The rain in Spain falls mostly on the plain, but when it falls in Tejas all at once, it’s a great big pain.

I feel terrible complaining about it. It hasn’t rained since May (the last time it flooded) and we need the rain terribly. But 9 inches of rain in one weekend? That’s a little much.

At least it wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it would be. Yes, the streets flooded on Friday and at one point, all of the highways, even, were closed due to high water. But at least it took me only ten extra minutes to navigate home – not the two hours it took Kim and I back in May. And the back yard never reached ponding levels. We didn’t have to drive through the worst of it, either. Dealing with the dogs, on the other hand…

Ah, the dogs. Fenway is a bit of a spoiled princess and refuses to go outside if it’s raining. But then again, she can hold her drink. Bam the Destroyer, not so much. But that wasn’t (supposed to be) much of an issue this weekend. Thursday night Jeff took the demon-dog outside on his leash every so often, and then toweled off the dog when they came back inside. He grumbled about the toweling-off bit when Fenway doesn’t have to, but then I reminded him that Bam gets on the couches and Fenway doesn’t and I wasn’t going to be sitting anywhere a wet dog had been sitting.

And that should have been the end of it, because Friday morning Bam went to go with a potential new family. Our vet’s assistant was looking for a dachshund and had offered to try it out. I figured it would be perfect! She works part-time and her puppies are with her, so Bam would be alone far less and would be in a much calmer household. So Friday morning I packed up Bam’s stuff and went to introduce the puppies and all went smashingly! They got along well and I expected Bam in the pouring rain to be someone else’s problem!

Except I got a call on the way home that Bam had picked a fight with the other doxie and was being evicted. I was so mad at that dog that I told them to board Bam for the night and Jeff would collect him in the morning. There was no possible way I was going to be able to deal with him that night. I was so furious!

So that is how we came to be dealing with both spoiled dogs during the second flood of the year. Not exactly how I thought I’d be spending my weekend, but I like to think the added burden of being back at Square One with Bam the Destroyer is why the floods let up in the first place. I can only deal with so much at any given time, after all.

Everything’s crossed, right down to my eyeballs.

October 14, 2015

Come a lil closer – I have a secret to share…

We may – possibly – have a solution to our Bam the Destroyer problem. After he bit me three more times in one week while on probation, and then bit the girls for good measure, Jeff and I came to the very difficult and heartbreaking decision to try to re-home the damn dog Bam.

Bam’s acting out, destruction of everything he saw as mine, and peeing in the house just screams how unhappy the poor puppy is. The destruction I could tolerate. Well, to a point, but still. Biting me, the girls, and the girls’ friends? Sorry, not so much. And the fact that it’s escalating cannot be a good sign. Bam isn’t good at sharing Jeff. He isn’t good with all these people around. After talking to several dachshund experts, I’m convinced that Bam needs a quieter, more attentive home.

Even though Jeff reluctantly agreed (and honestly, I don’t know if it was the biting or the fact that Bam started looking at Jeff and peeing on the floor right in front of him that did the poor guy in), I found that he was reluctant to do anything about the problem, other than ask his Ex and his parents if they had any interest in taking the pup. So I started emailing every rescue within a two-hour drive. I had several responses, one who I’m still working with just in cases, and that was how I came to contact our vet, looking for a copy of Bam’s records.

You’ve heard me talk about my awesome vet? The one Fenway loves to visit above all other places – even the park? The assistant there has a dachshund, one she brings to the office with her. When we brought Bam, Bam spent half the week in her lap as she worked. And as I told her why I was asking about Bam’s chart, she hesitantly offered up this magical gift.

She and her husband rescue dachshunds. They have the one I’ve met, and have had up to four at times. They were talking about getting another… and if I wanted, if Bam and her puppy got along, she’d be willing to take Bam.

There were some caveats and hesitations, of course. There’s my worry that Bam doesn’t like any other dogs. But maybe if it was a fellow doxie, he would be okay and put his Napoleon complex away? And when I mentioned the biting, my new best friend was worried because they’re expecting their first grandchild in a few months. I told her how I thought Bam’s stress was stemming from an unwillingness to share Jeff, and that he still slept with Bee every night and was mostly fine. She agreed that the problems sounded fixable – outside of Bam’s current environment. I offered to take Bam back and work on another solution at any time she felt it wasn’t working. And there’s the fact that in four – almost five – years, Bam has never bitten the Xman.

My new bestie is on vacation, beginning today. When she gets back next week, we’re going to set up a puppy introduction, on neutral ground. I have my fingers crossed, my toes crossed – I even have my eyes crossed. Because having two, attentive, doxie-loving people to play with him, and to spend the three days a week when she works with her at work – that’s Bam’s ideal solution. Well, next to getting Jeff all to himself at his old house again.

You guys, seriously, think good thoughts for me. No matter how this turns out, this is going to end up in my permanent record, and for all our sakes, I really need this one to break the right way.

Done. All done. So, so done.

July 24, 2015

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.