Whew, I’m back. If I ever hint that I am thinking about getting another puppy, hit me….hard. My friend’s dog, The Virus (Mr. Pavlov’s affectionate nick name) was a trip and turned our home upside down for a while. Toys that managed to survive the puppy stages of our (now mellow) Lab, were destroyed within seconds after meeting The Virus.
One time during our dog sitting, I left our daughter with The Virus while I ran an errand. She texted me A LOT during my brief time away. The child has over 3,000 texts a month but seldom sends any my way. I am text deprived and become a little too excited when I receive one. If I had a tail it would wag uncontrollably and I just might slobber at the sound of a text. When her number popped up on my phone I was about to wag and slobber but I knew something was up. The first one read “When are you coming home?”
I had just left. She never requests me to return so soon. Thankfully I wasn’t driving when the text came through. I don’t text and drive – I’m old school and not that coordinated. Texting aside, my phone really isn’t that car safe considering it is all touch screen and I can’t “feel” the numbers when I attempt to dial. I embody Helen Keller as I guess the location of the numbers and have been known to dial many wrong numbers. It is most embarrassing at times especially when, after hearing a brief hello, I immediately begin the conversation with something like “Hey sexy, what time will you be home tonight?” Awkward.
After the initial satisfaction of receiving a text from my cool girl dissipated, I replied, “I’m barely gone – why is everything ok?”
Her: “Yea, he’s just crazy. Come home soon!”
I was about to tell her to crate him when I got distracted by the bread that was on sale for .99cents. We go through loaves and loaves of bread each week so .99cents was excitable. It doesn’t take much to excite me people but you know you’re borderline pathetic when you palpitate over the price of bread.
Another text came through and before I could mount any excitement – which is actually a good thing because the endorphins from .99cent bread and a text would probably kill me on the spot – I noticed the single word “MOM!”
Then in rapid fire an avalanche of texts bombarded my technically advanced phone causing it to glitch and freeze momentarily. Pictures followed. My heart missed several beats. My fingers cramped. Beads of sweat broke out on my forehead. I couldn’t keep up with queen text and I needed more bread!
The texts read “He dug up your potted plant to get a hidden toy lizard. Dirt is everywhere!” Wow, the toy lizard? He saw it? Tres, our youngest, buried that sucker a few years ago and no one ventured to remove it….until now. The picture that followed contained the lizard and a pile of dirt all over my floor. I wish I had the photos to post but in my haste, I deleted them.
“He ripped open a ton of stuffed animals, their stuffing is all over the floor and he is raping another.” Stuffed animals? I thought I had put those in places where he couldn’t reach. Raping? It was these next few pictures that caused my armpits to spring forth fountains of living water.
“He chewed the corner off of your woodwork.” Really? The entire corner? I had never had a dog chew off my woodwork corners…until now.
“He destroyed a baseball hat.” I hope it wasn’t this year’s baseball hat! I am cheap enough to make my dear son wear a mangled hat if it is at all functional. The photo quickly followed and it resembled the left overs from a flesh-eating beast . It was ripped apart and had several teeth marks indentations. Near one of the indentations I made out the marking “2005″ Ahhh, I exhaled – until this time I had been unknowingly holding my breath. It was a ball cap from our older son’s Dos, 2005 baseball season. Younger Tres had been wearing the cap and left it in an accessible place for doggie teeth and death.
“He chewed the leashes.” All of them? Now how were we going to walk these furry beasts? I’d venture to say that our fatty helped him destroy the key item that made her physical activity possible.
“He shredded some of the boy’s toys.” Hopefully it was the cheap, plastic McDonalds type! The photos confirmed that most of the debris was from el’cheapo toys. I never had a dog help with cleaning out toys…until now.
“He snacked on the bathroom garbage and you know what’s in that can!” Oh noooooo, that garbage can contains the remnants of Mother Nature’s monthly gift. I bet he dined on my carpet. He did. I had the photos to prove it.
“He ripped apart my Abercrombie flipflops…we need to go shopping!” Hmmm, as traumatized, palpitating and sweaty as I was, I smelled an opportunistic rat. By this time I was caught up in the sequential texts. I waited for the photo. I even began to talk to my phone. Show me the photo, show me the photo. I waited. People took my bread. I waited. People asked me to hand them some bread (I was defensively blocking the bread shelf). I waited. The bread supply dwindled. I waited. No photo. No photo. No photo….ever.
Texting paused, my mental faculties returned and seizing the moment, I texted “CRATE HIM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” Then, I scarfed up more bread and bolted for home.
All was in order. The tornado pathway of destruction? Cleaned. The virus? Peacefully sleeping in his crate. My daughter? Looking haggard. Taking a deep breath she said “I didn’t know a dog could tear it up so much – until now. But you can reward me with shopping.”
I gave her a loaf of bread.