Life With Whodunit

Start to sigh and yawn, and my ears get nibbled, ugh.

Pull the bedsheets over my head.

Repeat of same nosing under my hands, ugh.

Can’t even get a 10-minute snooze.  I don’t even need an alarm clock.

Start pulling on the clothes, the bra strap gets snapped before I can hook it closed and my underpants gets pulled ’round before I can pull ’em up.

Fight with the damn socks, then the shoes.  The shoes are a real wrassle, especially those with shoelaces.

Make the bed and I no more than turn around, and the bed’s undone…again.

The kleenex from the wastebasket in shreds on the rugs, a chewed tube of hand lotion oozing from several holes on the blankets, more shredded kleenex from a nightstand on the blankets…like some kind of white nest or something.

Put on my hearing aid, and hear loud thumping on the wood floor.

My 2-pound weights for weight-lifting exercises are being thrown around.

Hubby hollers from downstairs, The elephant stomping around up there?!  Me??? yeah, right.

In the time I go to pee and wash my face awake, the earpieces of my new glasses are chewed off and the frame is bent out to the point of no return.

OUTSIDE, you, yeah, YOU!!! *slam of back door*  Boil hot water for my morning tea and hubby’s filtered coffee.  Whew.

*loud tear of howling noise from outside, waking up the neighborhood*  SHADDUP, you!  NO, NO, and what part of NO do you not understand?

More noise, drat.

Open the back door to see the potted plants dug up, dirt churned up in every direction on the back patio.   The back yard already an obstacle course of holes deeper than putt-putt holes.

The rocket is inside before you can say jackrabbit…

…and already there in my favorite chair before I seat my ‘arse.

And on my lap before I get the chance to put the coffeecup down and scald myself instead.

And after wiping myself down with shredded kleenex and before I can even sip my tea,  my face gets slobbered and slicked down.  DOWN, you, yeah, YOU!!!

NO, you do not pull up the (8 x 10′) rug and chew on the damn fringe.  Puts a heavy chair on each corner of the rug.

NO, you do not chew on the remote control.  Bags the remote inside the lounger chair’s pocket.

NO, you do not chew on the sofa pillows.  Throws out the shredded tassels and puts the pillows up high on the piano.

Here now, play with your toys.  Gazillion squeak toys all over and  I trip on them throughout the day.

Hubby kisses me goodbye and goes out the door to work.

Yiiii-ii-i, shot out like a rocket again and down the street before you can say…well, you know by now.

Hubby clenches his teeth and lets out an expletive-loaded tirade as he goes down the street in search.  Neighbors walking their dogs go “tsk, tsk”.

Back in the doghouse (outside).

Couple of hours go by and I prepare lunch.  Open the back door and the rocket is inside before I can even whistle.

While fixing a sandwich I hear furious wanking of some paper, uh-oh.  *spinning my head around, first in one direction, then the other*

Two telephone directories shredded all over the office floor.

The gas meter guy enters the back yard gate to check the meter, and the rocket is ricocheting off furniture and window sills, furiously sounding off for a good thirty minutes.  SHADDUP, you, yeah, YOU!!!

I turn to my freelance job on the computer, and realize a couple of hours gone by and it’s TOO quiet.  Which means trouble.

I go upstairs and find the laundry basket of dirty clothes turned over and the clothes strewn all over the hall floor.

A photo album is shredded.

Go back downstairs.  The morning mail is yesterday’s mail on the doormat.

After another potty outing, the rocket shoots inside with something in her mouth, and I’m thinking, Is that a stick?  Aaaagh, a  steak knife? Where the hell did she find that?

The Artful Dodger game starts, she with the knife handle in her mouth and trying to avoid a muzzle wrassle, and me with a chewbone and trying to avoid getting sliced.  Back and forth and ’round a coffee table several times first, then under the dining room table amongst the chair legs, then ’round the living room furniture and counter-clockwise several times over.

Finally corner the rocket under the coffee table and gingerly remove the knife and do a fast switcheroo with the chewbone before she nips at the knife.

Think I’ve gotten enough exercise…a walk? forget it, girl.

The rocket hasn’t taken a nap yet since she arrived in the house.

I’m thinking,  How much more trash before the day is over?

Dump all the chewing fodder into the kitchen trashbag, draw up the strings, start for the back door without realizing the rocket is just underfoot.

I get to the trashcan just in time to see out of the corner of my eye the rocket speeding down the street…again.

This time I just stand in the front yard and wait.

The rocket shoots off in all directions here and there.

Finally she slunkers to my feet.

Looks at her with folded arms and says, If you don’t behave, you’re going in the trash can yourself.

At which point, she stood stock-still and looked at me with those brown eyes with black Cleopatra eyeliner and a worried frown of black eyebrows.  Then she cocked her head.  Like, Really? You’d do that?

Silence.

We walk back to the house together.  I sit down in my favorite chair and she WAITS for me to sit first.

And then I pat my lap, and she hops up onto my lap into my arms.  I lever the lounger chair so that the footrest comes up and the seat back goes backward.

I rock the chair gently, and the rocket puts her head on my chest like a baby.

In the evening she greets Poppy at the front door with a tail that waggles her whole body and she jumps up and down on his legs.  Hubby protects his jewels *roll of eyes, ahem*, but he grins at the transformation.

I eyeball with a no-nonsense glare at him and mutter, You’re the one who’s gonna take her out for her walk.

Yup, him and Whodunit.  People walking their dogs oooh-and-aaah over how cute she is.

Cute, my ass.

Footnote:

The dog had been dumped twice at the same dog shelter before we adopted her.

At least she’s housebroken…whew.

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4 Responses to “Life With Whodunit”

  1. Candy Says:

    LOL!

    Your dog is some catch!

    I had never had a dog like yours. And then…. my son had me care for his the past two months and that dog was almost just like that. I found my glasses with the ear piece chewed off among other things. Oh, btw, I just dropped that damn dog off last weekend at my son’s place. Told him, I’d visit and play with the pooch, but, no way am I caring for it again. I miss that damn dog too.

    At least your life is FULL of surprises which is more than anyone can say about theirs.

    😉

  2. White Ghost Says:

    Give your dog some love since she was in the shelter twice! Don’t let your dog suffering.

    What’s next for you? Get many kids! I wanna see you getting insane! (psst….let your kids to get some troubles so that way you can be insane! 🙂 )

  3. J.J. Says:

    I hate a-holes that dump animals at the shelters….annoys me to no end…

  4. ireflections09 Says:

    Candy, never a dull moment. I’m always muttering, Where did she get that? about every five minutes. But the whodunit has her *roll of eyes* cute moments. This morning it was another tube of hand lotion all over the bedsheets while I was brushing my hair in the bathroom and then another old telephone directory (she loves the ripping sound those things make) in the living room while I was fixing morning tea. She’s napping, believe it or not, at the moment by my feet under the desk kneehole– her “cubicle” while I’m working at the computer.

    WG, the rocket is in more than one way a kid…a perpetual one. Human kids at least grow up and eventually move out of the nest sooner or later. I’m trying to discipline the rocket, as apparently she didn’t get much from her previous owners. She has to learn that hubby and I are the alphas in the dog pack, and I’m #1 alpha over her as I’m the one at home with her most of the time. Rewards and loving attention are what dogs live for with good owners, they don’t like spending a lot of time in the “doghouse”.

    JJ, shelters are now past capacity because due to the economy, many people are dropping off pets they cannot keep. They’re out of a house, moving to an apt. or living with relatives where pets aren’t allowed. That was the case with our dog’s previous owners.

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