Long ago, when our sweet Moose was a puppy, he had issues with separation anxiety. The culmination of that was The Day Moose Ate The House. On that one fateful day, while left alone for 6 hours, my dear dog ate 2 sofas down to the frame, the corners off of the end tables and coffee tables, a 3 x 3 area of linoleum in the laundry room, the subfloor under said linoleum, and every piece of paper within reach. Oh, in order to do that, he first ate through the drywall and door frame of the dog enclosure. The story is now legendary, and it’s absolutely true.
It was a rather stressful day, but we got over it. Steve doesn’t cope well with things like this. Accidents on the carpet, a chewed up shoe, running inside with muddy paws, or, worse, after a joyous roll in some other animal’s excrement…..these types of things put Steve in a bad mood. I’m usually a little more philosophical. I tend to focus on how much we’ll laugh about it someday, and how we needed redecorating anyway. You’d think Steve would appreciate being surrounded by such a positive attitude, but it tends to aggravate him more.
With time and attention, Moose got over his affliction, and he now has the title of Best Dog Ever. That’s why we got a new German Shepherd puppy 6 months ago, so that Moose could teach her how to be a dog in our house. The new pup, named Pickle for reasons I don’t really remember, is learning quickly from Moose.
Maybe too much.
We came home tonight after a brief outing to run errands, and were immediately reminded of what it means to have a young dog in the house. Steve was the first one in the door, and when I heard him bellow “What in hell is THIS?!?”, I knew we were in trouble.
The Best Dog Ever was on the couch, looking helpless. My initial thought was “Woo Hoo, there’s still a couch! It could be worse!” but my mind was not quite comprehending what I was seeing.
Towels on the floor.
Some sort of explosion of liquid?
A very happy Pickle.
A label from a 2 liter bottle of…….root beer?
Clear plastic bits strewn about.
Oh my word.
Pickle had become bored with the expensive toys that we’ve littered the house with, and decided to chew on some bath towels. OK, not disastrous.
At some point, she decided to use a bottle of root beer as a chew toy. So it got shaken up as she was playing with it. I’m guessing there was some real pressure built up before that first tooth punctured through the plastic. The ensuing spewage of root beer must have made it more fun as she tossed it all through the living room, dining room, and kitchen.
When I *want* soda to retain its carbonation, it goes flat in a day. Leave a bottle of leftover root beer from Christmas somewhere that a dog can get to it, and it’s as fresh and fizzy as the day it left the factory!
Lines of sticky brown liquid along the oak floor…..making bizarre patterns on the carpet….on the kitchen island cabinets…..the walls……French doors…..bookshelves. I never realized how much liquid 2 liters really is. It was like an indoor water gun fight if the water guns were full of root beer soda.
Tonight Steve is annoyed. Tomorrow we’ll rent a carpet cleaner. By Thanksgiving we’ll be laughing about it. I know it could have been much worse, since I still have a couch to sit on as I type this. Makes me wish we had video surveillance. How much is the grand prize on that funny home video show these days, anyway?
