Naughty Dog
I was angry at the chihuahua this morning.
I was out and about when I received a phone call from my ex:
"You know Adora's eye medication?"
"Yes."
It costs me $25 a tube; I know it, all right.
"Uh, Tiki ripped it to pieces."
Great.
Apparently, my ex walked out of the bathroom to find Tiki sitting among the remains of the metal ointment tubes, with an "oh shit" expression on her face. Agile little beast that she is, she had jumped on the coffee table to retrieve the plastic bag containing the medication. She obviously enjoyed herself, judging by the now-unrecognizable shredded containers.
I was pissed. I was REALLY pissed.
It was a new tube of the ridiculously expensive eye ointment, having only been used a couple times. It wasn't a mostly-empty tube, or even half-empty. And why the tubes?! They do not look, smell, or taste remotely like any kind of tasty dog treat. Then again, neither does cat poop, but the chihuahua considers it a prized delicacy, so what do I know?
I fumed for a while, then went about my grocery shopping. When I came home, hands full of plastic bags, as I was fumbling with my key in the lock, I heard strange squealing, whining sounds emanating from within. Then - click! click! click! - and the sounds were right behind the door. I opened the door, and was greeted, as usual, by the source of the weird sounds: eight pounds of tan fur and enormous ears, tail -no, back end - wagging so ferociously her hind feet took turns coming off the floor.
Of course, all was forgiven.
I believe dogs are probably one of the few creatures capable of unconditional love. Tiki has gotten into trouble before, and she always acts like she's on the chopping block. Given her past abuse, she may very well believe she is. But she always comes back, tail wagging, supplicating, loving. I consider myself blessed to be the object of such adoration and affection.
I was out and about when I received a phone call from my ex:
"You know Adora's eye medication?"
"Yes."
It costs me $25 a tube; I know it, all right.
"Uh, Tiki ripped it to pieces."
Great.
Apparently, my ex walked out of the bathroom to find Tiki sitting among the remains of the metal ointment tubes, with an "oh shit" expression on her face. Agile little beast that she is, she had jumped on the coffee table to retrieve the plastic bag containing the medication. She obviously enjoyed herself, judging by the now-unrecognizable shredded containers.
I was pissed. I was REALLY pissed.
It was a new tube of the ridiculously expensive eye ointment, having only been used a couple times. It wasn't a mostly-empty tube, or even half-empty. And why the tubes?! They do not look, smell, or taste remotely like any kind of tasty dog treat. Then again, neither does cat poop, but the chihuahua considers it a prized delicacy, so what do I know?
I fumed for a while, then went about my grocery shopping. When I came home, hands full of plastic bags, as I was fumbling with my key in the lock, I heard strange squealing, whining sounds emanating from within. Then - click! click! click! - and the sounds were right behind the door. I opened the door, and was greeted, as usual, by the source of the weird sounds: eight pounds of tan fur and enormous ears, tail -no, back end - wagging so ferociously her hind feet took turns coming off the floor.
Of course, all was forgiven.
I believe dogs are probably one of the few creatures capable of unconditional love. Tiki has gotten into trouble before, and she always acts like she's on the chopping block. Given her past abuse, she may very well believe she is. But she always comes back, tail wagging, supplicating, loving. I consider myself blessed to be the object of such adoration and affection.
Comments