So I woke up this morning like I have the past 4- to ground zero of a war zone in my house. The one question I ask myself every morning is this: Where does he find all this crap?!
Today I woke up to shattered vases, splintered CD cases, empty Coke bottles, rocks-yes, rocks- all over the kitchen, cardboard box bits, make-up, picture frames, and feathers. Have you ever tried to get glass and tiny bits of a CD case out of the carpet? It's easier to find a man who doesn't lie, cheat, or sneak than it is to perform this act. Three consecutive mornings I have had to pick pieces of glass out of my hands and feet as Titan just lies on the floor watching my every move with those big brown eyes. It would seem almost impossible to be mad at that face. Almost. I am affected by those sweet eyes until I look down at the mess surrounding him and me and then I remember why I'm pissed in the first place. I always say that I won't bring him inside again, that he can sit outside on the patio with his massive paws (and other appendages) stuck to the concrete because I'm extremely tired of picking pieces of glass out of my hands and feet. And I always cave. I bring him inside and let him sleep on the couch where it is warm and toasty and his massive paws (and other appendages) aren't frozen to the concrete. Yet he repays that act of kindness by destroying everything within reach, and even some things that aren't.
I'm considering obedience school. Possibly doggy day camp. Or maybe just a new home. Let's hope he grows out of this behavior because his life span may be reduced drastically if he doesn't.
Now I must go back to tweezing glass out of the carpet. Until next time...
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