The Heeler acts out. What a shocker. - October 10, 2006

So daddy's been around a lot lately (not my daddy, Tucker, the sun in Murph's limited universe). He was in Los Angeles doing Hollywood things for almost two months. Murph has been in heaven. Those two have a connection rivaling that of any dog/man combo in the history of domestication.

Tucker left last Sunday for New York, and because of this, things have been a little trying around the house. Murph has been lying in wait by the door for his return. She makes her impressive vertical leaps every time she hears the garage door open. She squeals when men walk by the front door, and if they don't come in the front door, drunk, smelling of vagina and bellyshouting "Where's ma mutts!?" she runs over to the window and shoves her snout between two venetian slats to get a peek at who has walked by.

She's also been nervous chewing. Now, Murph has a habit of making anything bite sized, synthetic or no, into food. Soccer balls, remote controls, tweezers, glass bottles, you name it. I imagine one day soon she'll go out in a blaze of glory, the remnants of a bottle of superglue bunging up her doggy pipes till she implodes. I just hide it all away and hope, hope hope. But nervous chewing is different. Its more about "FUCK EVERYBODY! I'M PISSED MY DADDY'S A DEADBEAT!"

So when I came home from writing this evening to find my Heeler in a pile of chewed laundry, shoes, the toilet deoderizer (eaten), two wooden rudius swords (daddy's) and an explosion of cotton which must have been the bag of cotton balls I just bought, I wasn't surprised.

Posted by The Bunny at 11:19 PM

Print Friendly · Digg it · del.icio.us · StumbleUpon · Netscape

Comment Policy:

Anonymous comments are allowed. All anonymous comments and comments from those not registered with TypeKey are moderated. They WILL NOT appear until they are read and approved by a moderator.

It is strongly encouraged that you sign up and login with a TypeKey account. Once you do that, your comments will be immediately posted.

Comments

Last week my rat terrier ate a bra.

And then puked it up next to my bed. Maybe he needs more attention...or he just has a sick underwear fetish.

Posted by: Paige at October 11, 2006 10:51 PM

Awwwww sounds like separation anxiety. Luckily, that's treatable. Yay!

Posted by: LilaChicaD at October 11, 2006 11:52 PM

My old dog that I grew up with, Jack(so original, I know...shut the fuck up), used to constantly eat my underwear. But not the clean ones...no he would dig down the seven layers of dirty laundry in the bottom of my closet, which he would always somehow menuever open, and chew and eat the crotches of my dirty underwear...it makes me throw up in my mouth a little everytime I think about his sick fetish...crazy dog. So at least be thankful that Murph and Maxie aren't eating your unmentionables.

Posted by: Kshizzle at June 26, 2008 02:46 PM

Post a comment

home