Open Season on Rocky

I'm gonna kill me some dog. Yes I am. The next time Rocky tears up one of my Christmas angels or starts playing with the toilet paper. Rocky is our 6 month old rompin' stompin' bundle of dynamite. Everything is fair game to her and now she's started to teach Tucker some bad habits.

When the two of them get together, nothing is off-limits. And I caught them. Today. Rocky had the ribbon from one of my angels and Tucker had the angel itself, wedged between his front paws, and he was gently gnawing at the angel's clothing. The head was already long gone. This was not the first casualty this holiday season, nor do I expect it to be the last. The first poor soul lost was another angel. Then came a tapestry ball. Yarn. Oh, and the pedal kit for my sewing machine. What, is it open season on everything in the house? No, it's gonna be open season on dogs. I'm gonna kill me some dog. Yes I am.

Rocky has been a royal pain ever since she wandered, unbidden, into our lives last June. She has torn up just about everything, and uses the furniture as chew toys. And now that she is teaching Tucker to do the same thing (and he thinks it's just fine, thank you very much), it's time to think about what kind of restraints can be used. We have already employed the child gate at the door to our study, so that our computers are safe. It's only a matter of time before she figures out that she could probably climb over the gate by putting her front paws on the crossbar and then heaving herself over. If my computer ends up on the floor or with toothmarks on the mouse, I'm gonna kill me some dog. Yes I am.

We have used a muzzle on Rocky. When we weren't looking, she chewed it up. She has torn up my wicker furniture, and destroyed the backyard. I have given her toys that she has my permission to tear up, but does she want to chew on those? Noooooooo! She wants whatever is in the trash, my underwear and whatever candles she can find. She has taken plants apart, broken their clay pots and used them as toothpicks. She terrorizes the cats, the chihuahuas, and takes flying leaps at my ponytail when I'm relaxing or writing. Oh yes, I'm gonna kill me some dog.

Maybe someday she'll grow out of it. Maybe she'll stop chewing on the fence and digging in the yard. Maybe she'll stop hanging on Tucker's collar and stop trying to eat Gidget's tail. Maybe I'll live to see it. Or maybe I'll just kill me some dog.

Nazdrovie'

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