Nearly three years ago during a night of drinking, Ryan thought it would be a great idea to bring home Bella - a seemingly cute little kitten who was destined for a life of fleas, street rape, and fights with hungry raccoons. So small she could fit into the palm of my hand, I couldn't exactly say no (although I readily rejected the name he and some of his drunken friends thought would be ideal for her - - "Love" - so they could call out "Come 'ere Love!" with an accent best described as 'drunken Canadian impersonating an Aussie'. Once the booze wore off we determined that Bella would be a much more suitable (and might I add, less ridiculous) name being that she was just so damn adorable.
A matter of months later and I wrote Bella a little letter on my previous blog that read the following:
You are Satan. Everyday you bring me closer to wanting to make you an outdoor kitten. I don't know that you realize how lucky you are to have a daddy that loves you so much despite the fact that you try to eat him limb by limb, you hiss at him as if you're a snake pit, and it appears as though you flinch sometimes when he tries to pet you. You try to play cute and come nestle on my lap and purr in my face, and you kiss my nose like it's your religion...but I know better. You can't fool me. You think I don't know that cats have ears on the TOPS of their head to hide the horns?
Your stunt last week was not funny. Knocking a nearly-full bottle of red wine onto the kitchen floor at 6:30am is not a good way to wake up your humans. Eating the last of the toilet paper roll is also not recommended, and yet you seem to continue to enjoy yourself. One of these days when you are back behind the entertainment unit chewing on cords like I've told you NOT to do time and time again, you will bite down a little too hard into the wrong cord, my dear Bella. I'll try my hardest not to say "I told you so", but I make no promises.
Shape up, or ship out you bratty little feline.
It was also around this time that Ryan and I took this quiz which promptly informed us that there was a 91% chance Bella was in fact trying to kill us.
Knowing this there's no reasonable explanation for why we've made one of our most recent decisions, aside from the fact that we are gluttons for punishment. Two weeks ago, we brought home this:
His name is Toby and just like his feline sister, he is deceptively cute. When we went to 'pick him out' from his litter mates, he was the quiet, docile one who was happy playing with the pack, but even more content on his own with a toy. He climbed into each of our laps and lavished the attention and affection he received from us both. We knew this was our little guy. A week later we went to pick him up and thought that just about every little thing he did was just so damn cute, regardless of whether it was his crying in the car, flattening out on all attempts to take him for a walk, his clumsy attempt to prompt the evil cat to play, and even when we noticed that our dog is a carpet muncher (not the lesbian variety). It didn't take long before these things were no longer considered cute - and the dog actually made me cry. Most recently, was the night before last when he was completely insane for five hours. You are probably thinking "What did he do?" - the answer? What didn't he do?! Working a full day then coming home and having to keep an eye on this 28 pound, 11 week old German Shepherd ball of energy with teeth and a burning desire to use them is exhausting. If he wasn't trying to eat the carpet he was trying to snack on the furniture or the cat, completely forgetting that he's house broken I'd watch him run in the opposite direction of the door and pee on the floor - all the while I'm confident he was giving me this mischievous grin as if to say "this is all for you Mommy!". Over the last week his newest fixation has become his own poop (or, when available, the cats). He practically lives for the stuff. It's no sooner out of his back end then he is trying to eat it, and I'm almost positive I caught him trying to turn back mid-stream to ingest the draft-version of his own pee. Even worse, he comes in after ingesting his waste (and quite seriously, he'll try and fight us for it when we try to beat him to the punch), and then he decides now would be the time that he wants to lick or mouth us, leaving behind residual poop and a very, very angry human.
What really has me concerned is how cunning he is. Every time we have company over, they are visiting the cute and cuddly version of Toby. When we talk about some of the not-so-cute things he does, they have a hard time believing it since this is what they're seeing:
This is not meant to be doggy porn. If you are aroused by this, seek help.
They find it next to impossible to believe us when we tell them that no, our puppy is not a Saint. Sometimes I think Ryan doesn't even fully understand what he's like when I'm alone with him. This dog? Knows how to play the game. Unfortunately, the people who we got this not-so-little guy from didn't get his first shots done and out of the way before we took him home, so that means we have to wait a few extra weeks before we can bring him into obedience classes or even socialize him with other dogs in the park. So essentially, we are his play toys. Being a Shepherd, this dog is smart(as evidenced by his 'act' when others are around) and he's going to be BIG....and he's already had a hefty influence in how I/we function day-to-day. Our discussions almost always include successful poops outside ("It was solid!", or "He didn't eat it!"), cute things he did ("He was running for the frisbee, went into a nose dive and his back end flipped up and over his head!"), or naughty things he did ("THIS DOG IS MORE EVIL THAN THE CAT!"). Most recently, he's actually kicked me out of the house. I have been reduced to one of those pretentious people that are ridiculed for bringing their laptops to their local Starbucks to write their book/screenplay/blog - as I'm currently sitting in the coffee shop down the street from the house writing this post.
Toby? You win this round....