Doggone it, Part Dos

I'm one of those "mean" pet owners who think that dogs actually have a place. And that place is on the floor. In my house, that means, if you want to lie in comfort and luxury, away from the cold, harsh reality of tile or hardwoods, you get to park your paws on one of two rugs or in one of your two cages.*

If you aren't tracking me here, what I'm specifically opposed to is dogs who THINK and ACT like we purchased a bed, mattress, box springs, sheets and bedding JUST FOR THEM.

These two dogs o' ours like to get on top of the master bed and crush, like little tomatoes in a spaghetti-sauce-making-plant, the snot out of my decorative pillows. Every time I see my pillows reduced to the size of pancakes, I know at least one, if not both, of the dogs are to blame. And I remember the astounding amount of money Linens and Things wanted for these throw pillows. And that they wouldn't take my coupon because it was Nautica bedding.** And, reliving that incident just makes me mad.

So today I hear Doug growling and thrashing around. I figure he and Tex are at it again and dismiss this argument as something they'll work out with teeth and noise.***

But then Tex comes around the corner and Doug is still making pissed off sounds. And is growling. And is nowhere to be found.

Now this was not right.

Considering I found a baby squirrel in the bottom of middle son's backpack long about last Fall****, I figure we've got another adventurous animal in the house. And I silently pray our new abode isn't in the 'hood that breeds baby skunks.

When I follow the sound, I find myself in the biggest boy's room. Typically, when a dog has managed to get on a bed without me in sight, when they DO spot me, they jump off the bed with the speed of a cheetah.

Not Doug. Not this time.

He had managed to get himself tangled underneath not only the sheets, but also the white blanket. And he was thrashing around like a blue marlin being reeled into the tourist boat by the guy who is five shades too red and three beers past drunk.

Incidentally, if you've ever watched a baby move in a very pregnant belly, it also looked like that.

I get within about 3 inches of his thrashing body and I just wait for him to stop. Then I yell "What are you doing on the bed?"

This only caused him to momentarily thrash harder then stop completely. He realized, in that very moment, "I am so in trouble".

And in the very same space of time I realized "I'm the world's stupidest pet owner. If I scare the poo out of Doug, he'll probably release it right here, in the middle of the bed!"

Thank goodness, for once, Doug had good bowel control.

I untangled the covers from around him, he sprang off the bed, and ran like a bull released from its cage at the Mesquite Rodeo. Just without a rider.

I remade the bed, threw Doug outside to, hopefully, use the grass, and ventured back to my bedroom. As I rounded the corner, I heard the thud of whippet feet hitting the hardwoods and beginning to run.

You guessed it. Tex had been assaulting the throw pillows on the bed.

For shame, dog boys. For shame.


*Each cage comes equipped with a special doggy bed. One even smells like cedar. Spoiled, I tell you.

**Well, ladeeda. Exclude the designer stuff, huh? Well, I complained high and low about this travesty and look what happened: you closed down! Good riddance, LNT. Truth is, I always liked Bed, Bath and Beyond better and they ALWAYS accept my coupons.

***Kind of like my kids do sometimes.....

****I touched the bottom of his pack and it MOVED. And there wasn't, according to the owner of the backpack, a stuffed animal in there for show and tell. I don't know who was more traumatized: me or the squirrel.