RE: the incident from last week
Well, little man, I’m sure you’ve noticed by now that you’ve been spending quite a bit more time in your crate these last few days. You don’t seem to mind. In fact, more than once you’ve crawled in on your own, turned around, and looked at us as though to ask, “please, just shut this door and give me some peace.”
What you might not have realized, however, is the connection between this new imprisonment and the incident from last week.
The incident, as you may remember, involved you and your brudder Finn destroying a good portion of our house while your papa and I were out earning money to pay for your grain-free food and ridiculous veterinary bills.
You remember, right?
You have to see this from our prospective, B. Imagine, if you will, what it’s like to work all day long…wait, you can’t imagine that, can you? Hmm…imagine spending all day, all day, trying to get the plastic squeaker out of one of those stuffed birds I bought you a few weeks ago. Okay, you’re there? You have the mental picture? Imagine wrapping up that task after eight hours and heading into your crate for a nap only to find that Finn had pooped all over your blankets and eaten all your W-2s.
The thing I don’t get is why it was only our tax information. You couldn’t have taken care of the junk mail or the alumni magazines, or better yet our bills, because heaven knows they would have sent us another copy. It had to be the one thing on the table that was going to get us more money. We are, of course, grateful that you avoided the computer reimbursement check from Papa’s employer.
We are also grateful that when you overturned the remote control basket on the coffee table you neglected to use any of them as a chew toy.
We are less grateful that you found the ink pen in that same basket and used it as a chew toy instead.
Which reminds me: how did all of that ink end up in our carpet and none of it on your face, paws, mouth, or teeth?
The cherry on the top of this mess of a sundae had to be the four little presents you and brudder left throughout the house. We’ve come to expect that from Finn, of course. He’s still trying to figure out this relatively huge “dog house” he’s found himself in, but you…you know better. And don’t try to tell me it was all him, because 1) he doesn’t have that many piles in him, and 2) by now, quite unfortunately, we can tell the difference between your poops.
Finn seems to have taught you several bad habits, Little Rooster. Let me take this opportunity to remind you that you should not be jumping onto the dining room table, kitchen counters, living room end tables, middle seats of the Land Rover, or hallway chairs.
Until all this went down, I was hesitant to leave you crated up all day. I know, it’s silly, because you would just sleep all day anyway if Finn wasn’t there to harass you. I know this because I spent a month setting up the puppy cam each morning before I decided there was no need to watch your hourly ritual of standing up and turning in a circle before going back to your napping.
I’ll admit that you and Finn both seem a little happier now that you’re getting a daily six-hour nap. I think neither of you can resist the lure of playtime when you’re left alone together, and it was wearing you out. You both seemed cranky by the time we got home, and I think if you could talk you would have spent the first 45-minutes of our arrival tattling on Finn for stealing your sock or hogging the green ball. And not only are you getting your beauty sleep, but you also get a Kong and a bone each morning, which probably puts your perpetually-empty Beagle tummy over the moon, right?
And we’re no longer cleaning up pooh every evening, which puts us over the moon, too.