Gone in 5, 4, 3, 2 --
I can't keep it a secret anymore. I'm so giddy I could explode. In fact, I'm pretty sure I will explode if I don't tell you - and that would be quite the mess, and you know how lazy I can be. I sure don't want to be cleaning that mess up. So, at the risk of jinxing everything, I've got to tell you -----
BIG V IS GETTING RID OF THE DOG ON THE 20th!
Yes. That's right. Gone. Adios. Good bye. Send her packing! Don't let the door hit you on the way out!
In just five more days! Gone!
As in, no longer in our house.
As in, no longer destroying furniture or running out in traffic or barking and whining at midnight. And 2am. And 5am.
As in, no more getting knocked over by dirty dog stench the second you walk into our house because the thing goes manic when you try to bathe it.
As in, no more splinters of wood from whatever piece of wood she chewed up. (Like baseboards, pantry doors, book shelves - you get the idea.)
As in, no more urine soaked pillows. And blankets. And carpets. And towels.
I can hardly stand it!
I don't care where she's going. All I care is that she doesn't find her way back into this house. The thing is crazy. Trust me when I say it is only a matter of time before she starts gnawing on the children. Actually, she has nipped at the children. Once, Dotter was crawling across the floor and the dog freaked, nipped and caught her on the top of her head. Another time Dotter was eating a popsicle and the dog jumped up and snapped the treat away from her. It was in her mouth. And another time she bit some guy in the dog park bad enough to draw blood. Lucky for us the guy didn't sue because he, too, had a pit bull. So he tied a makeshift tourniquet around his knee and hobbled home. (And you wonder why I've never let Satan play with the baby. Really? Use your own baby as the example. Really. I won't mind.)
Big V has his own version of events; they center on the Pollyanna "she was just playing" theme. Just like all the urine all over the house is simply "happy pee." (Happy pee, sad pee, aggressive pee - dude, it's still pee!)
I may have a Dog Gone Party to celebrate. (Yes, I have parties. I just don't have 1-year old birthday parties.)
BIG V IS GETTING RID OF THE DOG ON THE 20th!
Yes. That's right. Gone. Adios. Good bye. Send her packing! Don't let the door hit you on the way out!
In just five more days! Gone!
As in, no longer in our house.
As in, no longer destroying furniture or running out in traffic or barking and whining at midnight. And 2am. And 5am.
As in, no more getting knocked over by dirty dog stench the second you walk into our house because the thing goes manic when you try to bathe it.
As in, no more splinters of wood from whatever piece of wood she chewed up. (Like baseboards, pantry doors, book shelves - you get the idea.)
As in, no more urine soaked pillows. And blankets. And carpets. And towels.
I can hardly stand it!
I don't care where she's going. All I care is that she doesn't find her way back into this house. The thing is crazy. Trust me when I say it is only a matter of time before she starts gnawing on the children. Actually, she has nipped at the children. Once, Dotter was crawling across the floor and the dog freaked, nipped and caught her on the top of her head. Another time Dotter was eating a popsicle and the dog jumped up and snapped the treat away from her. It was in her mouth. And another time she bit some guy in the dog park bad enough to draw blood. Lucky for us the guy didn't sue because he, too, had a pit bull. So he tied a makeshift tourniquet around his knee and hobbled home. (And you wonder why I've never let Satan play with the baby. Really? Use your own baby as the example. Really. I won't mind.)
Big V has his own version of events; they center on the Pollyanna "she was just playing" theme. Just like all the urine all over the house is simply "happy pee." (Happy pee, sad pee, aggressive pee - dude, it's still pee!)
I may have a Dog Gone Party to celebrate. (Yes, I have parties. I just don't have 1-year old birthday parties.)
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