This is my youngest, the one responsible for the recent Come to Jesus Meeting. I had hoped our little talk would have changed her behavior, but she just took crappy attitude to an entirely new level.
World, meet Charlotte. She is 11-months-old, and she is either an evil genius or lucky idiot.
She learned how to open cabinets by scratching the door edge with her paws and then slipping her nose into the opening. Her favorite cabinet, until yesterday, was the one that held the feminine hygiene products. Her new skill yielded new maxi-pad chew toys for her, and it was rather difficult to pry an Always-With-Wings from her fur after she managed to tear off the tape strip.
Yesterday she discovered a new favorite cabinet in our laundry room. It’s the one that holds the dog treats.
Yesterday was a very, very crappy day in my personal life. I had to deal with a lawyer who could have benefited from his own Come to Jesus Meeting – or exorcism – or one of those “we gotta hold this one down a bit longer” kind of church baptisms. (Please, a human soul is at risk here!)
When it was over, I needed to lower my blood pressure, and research shows that stroking a pet can bring the heart rate and stress hormones back down to a normal level. I called Charlotte. No response. I looked in her bed. Not there. I then began to hear her whimper, and I hit panic mode as I followed the sound throughout the house. It led me to the laundry room, but Charlotte was nowhere to be seen. I called her again, and then I realized the sound was coming from behind the closed cabinet door. As I opened the door, I found her sitting in the dark cabinet with a very distended belly and Milkbone crumbs all over the floor.
Her binge eating didn’t bother me at the time. I needed to cuddle with a furry baby or else I was going to explode. The puppy time worked, and I was soon able to take my son trick-or-treating. We returned home a few hours later and went straight to bed.
I got the kids to school in the morning and then returned home to grade student papers. I was greeted by an unbelievable stench that smelled like yesterday felt. It didn’t take long to find the source — Charlotte had exploded Milkbones all over my dining room floor. There were big piles and little piles and a thin brown trail that led to even more surprises in the hallway.
I grabbed a box of tissues and began to clean up the digestive carnage. I know you shouldn’t discipline a dog for accidents unless you catch them doing it, so I growled under my breath. Charlotte followed me from pile to pile, her tail wagging the entire time. It was almost as if she was proud of her accomplishment. When I finished, she brought me her favorite toy, crawled up in my lap and licked my face.
I have got to do something about this crappy attitude.