I have two dogs. A pomeranian and a large, mixed breed who was hit by a car and has had extensive surgeries to reconstruct his back legs.
The pomeranian is perhaps 10 pounds, and suffers horribly from Napoleon complex. I do further damage to his already fragile ego by shaving him to look like a lion in the summer. A large part of his day is spent glaring out the window from his throne on the back of the sofa. From this vantage point he can berate every moving thing outside with his impressive vocal abilities.
This stirring display of canine manliness often compels the bionic dog to express his glee with acts of destruction which are carried out in complete and utter abandon and with what I swear sometimes is a smile.
I can usually stop these shenanegins by walking into the room and glaring at them. Never. Underestimate. The. Stinkeye.
That's only when I'm there to stop them. And I know better than to leave both of them out and leave the house. Admittedly, I am an eternal optimist, and there's always this little voice in the back of my head that says, "They'll be OK, just have a nice, long talk about manners and be sure to pepper it with words like euthanasia and castration, and they will be good." When will I learn not to listen to the voices in my head?
Last night we just had to run to the store, just to get ONE thing. We were gone maybe 20 minutes. We returned to find that Bionic also doubles as one helluva paper shredder. Too bad it was a LIBRARY BOOK! It was very reminiscent of the "doll incident"from a few weeks ago. He cannot be held wholly responsible though. I know that it was incited by the pip squeak pom. I can just picture him barking his dictatorial orders of destruction from high atop his perch of superiority. He was born out of the clippings from Chuck Norris's beard and thus he derives his power from Chuck himself. Resistance on the part of Bionic was a futile endeavour anyway. I realized this as I told Jeremy it was his job to clean the mess up. Bionic is after all, his dog.