You remember I posted a week or so ago about once upon a time there was a cute, cute, cute widdle doggy named Barley, who was tall enough to stand on her hind legs and reach the kitchen counter, and once there she ate seventeen chocolate chip cookies? And how once we realized she would be ok (because she then promptly proceeded to throw up all seventeen cookies on my bed) that we had to admit that despite her mischevious ways, she was really all about the cuteness? Do you remember that?
Well, fast forward to Saturday morning. One of my nephews had spent the night and being the dutiful aunt and mother that I am (snort) I got up and made chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast. I always make a triple batch so we have some to freeze and re-heat on school mornings ................. this time, not only did Barley stand up on the counter in order to eat some of the chocolate chip pancakes, but she somehow knocked one of my ceramic plates onto the ceramic floor and CRASH!!! Plate shards everywhere. Hmmmm. That really wasn't so cute.
Now, fast forward to last night. I had taken Brayden to an afternoon matinee of Twilight, and ate my weight in Milk Duds, so didn't feel like cooking. Actually, what I felt like doing was barfing. Definitely not cooking. So I stopped by Papa Murphys on the way home ...... put the pizzas on the counter after they were done cooking so everyone could help themselves ..... (you see where this is going, don't you?) Freaking dog ate HALF A CHEESE PIZZA before we realized what had happened. I swear, we really do feed her, and I swear even more that one of these days I will clue in and start pushing the food to the back of the counter. Or maybe on top of the refrigerator, since that might be the one place left on earth she can't reach. The cuteness? Not so much anymore.
Neither of our other dogs, both of whom were taller than Barely is now and could have easily reached the kitchen counter, ever did. I'm just not accustomed to having my dinner snatched right out from under us like that. Begging? Accustomed to. Digging stuff out of trashcans? Accustomed to. Eating the crotch out of dirty underwear??? TOTALLY accustomed to. But we've never had food taken right off the counter.
But still, even despite those things, despite the fact the cuteness was wearing thin, I still was not as angry with her as I was at 11:30 last night, when I blearily and wearily climbed in bed, relieved to have finished paying bills, and licking all the Christmas envelopes and thinking of the busy day ahead, only to discover that at some point during the evening, Barley had apparently jumped up and urinated all over my side of the bed. Through the comforter, through both sheets, through the mattress protector, and left a big wet puddle on the mattress.
It was, in all honesty, the first time in the four months that we've had her that I regretted getting her at all. And in fact, I might have said something along those lines to Blaine, raising my voice and flailing my arms about wildly. Well, or as wildly as you can flail your arms when you're stripping the (#*$*(& sheets off the #($*#&(*& bed. And then I started talking about how this was total passive-agressive behavior on her part, in retaliation for the scolding she got from me after the pizza. Notice whose side of the bed she pee'd on???
I know. It was irrational and grumpy and rude. But in my defense, I was tired, and perhaps suffering from Milk Dud poisoning.