Tuesday, October 4, 2011

Pet Rage Post

I really hadn't intended to whine about my pets in two, consecutive blog posts, but I have to. I'm so incredibly enraged by my dog right now, that I absolutely have to blow off some steam with a rage blog post so that I don't lie in bed and fume about him all night long. I tried walking several blocks right after this particular incident (of which the description is forthcoming, by the way) initially to try and cool down, but I'm still coming down off it.

Side note: this is probably too much information, but once I returned from my rage walk, I nursed my baby and made some comment like, "Gee. I hope rage doesn't transfer through breast milk."

I don't think it did.

Without further ado, here are three, recent offenses that have honked me off royally with this dog. (And, I have a daily offense that he does that I intend to blog about at a later date, but this will have to do for now.)

Any time I forget to wipe off the table after the kids eat, or if, gasp, the cat decides to hurl on the dining room table (that honks me off, too, by the way), I get to discover this, little gem. One day, I have grand designs of refinishing (buffing) that table when my kids get older and when that dog/cat combo croaks on us one day.

Ah, yes. Who could forget the infamous birthday cake scarfage? Yep. The dog freaking ate half of my kid's birthday cake whilst it was cooling. I about flipped a biscuit that day, too.

You know what he did tonight, though? I baked six awesome, round loaves (for bread bowls for a broccoli cheddar soup I made over the weekend), and I had three of them left. Do you see where this is going?

That punk freaking lifted off that covering and scarfed ALL THREE LOAVES without leaving a single crumblet behind. I was so furious, I actually had to go for rage walk at 8 p.m. I've never needed a rage walk before, and you know what? It wasn't quite long enough. Thus, the rage blogging.

He has never lifted the cover off of anything and eaten it off the counter, and I am just nuts with fury. I feel like every time I bake, the jackelope has to eat half of it. I can't stand it. He never used to be this crafty . . . or hungry.

He also left some scratches on my new stove that I'm hoping will buff off with time. Nay, he's hoping.

And, do you know what he does every single time he does these things—even if I don't catch him in the act (which, by the way, of these there incidents, I only caught him finishing off the last of the bread)?

Yes. It's huge (the picture) for a reason.

He knows it's wrong. He knows he did something bad. But you know what? The jerk just can't help himself.


1 comment:

  1. My dog knocks over the trash almost EVERY STINKING DAY! She does this even when we haven't thrown anything new in it and she's licked the same damned soup can at least twice. She does this even when she eats things that make her sick. This afternoon I found the trash knocked over and thus the contents of the vacuum cannister were back on the flipping floor then tracked all over the kitchen, dining room, living room, and bathroom (it's a small apartment). There are days I want to kill her too.