Thursday, January 6, 2011

I miss my shoes.

To say that Manfriend's 130 pound English Mastiff isn't well trained is a VAST understatement.

Luckily for her, she is a lover. She wouldn't so much as nip a soul. She'll bark, she'll act whackadoo chasing her tail around the living room, she'll slime you with an amount of digusting slobber that doesn't even really seem possible to be coming from a single mouth, but, to her credit, she is not by any stretch of the imagination mean or vicious.

Unluckily for her, she's earned the nickname "Monster." And she's now, officially, on my shit list- And for the moment, she's the only one on it.

I'm currently in mourning. I like to think of myself as a particularly non-materialistic person. I guess I had the pleasure of fancying myself that way when I still had material possessions of value that I could choose not to place at high value. That plan, my friends, has gone to shit.

   I'm about to fucking kill a dog.

   Let me explain.

  I am a dog person, I love dogs. I love big dogs. Dogs always have the right attitude. I love the dopiness, the codependency, the walks, the snuggling. I love the way their faces and ears are so soft and you just sink your nose into their fur and it smells so doggy. They sense your moods and know when you need comfort and they can be taught to do just about anything. I love coming home to a wagging tail. I'm into animals as a whole, but I love dogs the most.

However, right now, my already low patience threshhold is being pulled and stretched to its outermost boundaries and I'm SOOOOO very close to totally losing my fucking cool.

I may have met a dog that even I, the eternal dog lover, cannot handle. And she's mine.
Last night, by means no short of supernatural, Hally managed to fenagle her way out of the safety of her crate. We only keep her in a crate at night when we're at my house and the thing, quite frankly, is massive, as is everything we have to buy for her. Seeing as how she's a 130 pound mastiff. That I'm deathly allergic to. Neat.

Hally, the little angel, managed to weazel her way out of said nightime domecile and proceed to fucking GO TO TOWN on everything in sight.

And my my my, does she have expensive taste.

Not only has The Monster chewed to the point of near irrecognizability multiple articles of my clothing, the majority of the furniture in Manfriend's house,  a pair of Rainbow sandals, a pair of Nine West flats, a pair of Steve Madden Pumps, a pair of Michael Kors heels, and a very nice coffee table; she's also now torn a hole in the wall of my RENTAL home, trashed numerous keepsakes, scratched excessively an original wood door from when my RENTAL home was built in 1895, eaten a shelf right off a wall, and destroyed a DVD that belonged to my roomate. As if that's not enough, she's also managed to find a way to bust herself out of the secure cage in which Manfriend and I put her on the rare occasion we stay the night at my house.

The pairs of shoes she defiled of mine were just that, only shoes. I didn't wear the heels that much. But, they were dizzyingly expensive, luxuries from a past life that I can no longer afford, and don't know when I will again be able to do so.

I've tried to take deep breathes all morning and focus on the task at hand, hurrying home to deal with the disheveled remains and acting happy to see her.

But, I.... just....can't deny it. I am fucking livid.

Manfriend reminds me sometimes that she's really our dog. That I only refer to her as his dog when she does something really distructive, and as our dog when she's being cute and calm. Maybe that's true. But I sure as shit didn't get to take my go-around at training her when she was a puppy, so I think I deserve to be able to call her his dog when she's bad.

Animals, man.... they're ANIMALS.

I wrote that little ditty yesterday when I was still seething. I spent last night with Hal and we cuddled and essentially made up. As much as you can make up with a 130 pount lump of pure muscle that hogs the bed and doesn't have foggiest idea you were even upset with her.

But I still duct taped her cage door shut last night.

Just in case.

XO Sare

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