*I have to forewarn you (and by “you” I mean my mom). There is excessive and repetitive use of a bad word in this post. Personally, I feel it is warranted and I am hopeful you will too by the end*
For those of you who follow me on Facebook, tonight’s post will come as no surprise. For those of you who do not follow me on Facebook, what the hell is wrong with you? Do you have any idea the hilarity that ensues over there? I’m a veritable laugh riot on the Bookyface. Seriously, your boring workday will fly by when you pass the time reading my comedy-laden posts about the wacky things my kids say. Don’t even get me started with the professional-like shots of my lunch. Truly worthy of an award or two. I’d like to thank Instagram for that.
I kid. And do you think I could add another link to my Facebook page? Maybe. Let’s see. Oh look! Here’s one now. Facebook!
Do I seem a little whack-a-doo tonight? Sorry, I can’t help it. You see 48 hours ago Spike almost burned down my house. Yup, you read that correctly. My goofball, crazy, abandonment issue burdened dog almost burned down my house. With the BBQ.
|No Gordon, I don’t think Spike needs some BBQ Tough Love
|I don’t think your gentle smile and non-threatening BBQ tools
would have made a difference, Bobby.
No, not even Gordon Ramsay or Bobby Flay could have prevented the almost-fire in our backyard Saturday night. There might only be one man who can help us with Spike’s issues and he is not in the kitchen…
|Spike, you seem to look for trouble when your mama isn’t home.
How’s that workn’ for ya?
Oh, Dr. Phil. What’s an Lab Rescue Mom to do? I’m just at my wits end with this dog. Most of the time he’s fine- great in fact! He spends all day sleeping on the couch or the window bench. He doesn’t knock the kids over or jump on people when they arrive. He rarely barks and doesn’t steal food from our plates- yes, my last dog did that. No, I don’t feel I need any parenting help, thank you very much. For the 85% of the day that we are home, Spike is the perfect child, I mean dog. Excessive shedding notwithstanding, of course.
But when we leave the house… Well, there’s a 30-70 chance I’m going to come home to my toaster in the living room or the the breakfast dishes in the yard. Dr. Phil, I think I can identify part of the problem- I am an enabler. I’m ashamed to admit it, but it’s true. I have lots of reasonable explanations for this dog’s wacky behavior. He was abandoned, he doesn’t like to be alone, he didn’t get enough exercise yesterday, I forgot to do the dishes before I left. See? Excuses. Enabling. It’s not workn’ for me.
The truth is, my snuggle 103 pound puppy is naughty. Sneaky and naughty. Whew! It feels so good to finally admit it. I may give him credit for his stellar behavior when I arrive home from picking up the kids from school, but the truth is he was well-behaved because I prepped the house before I left; thereby making it impossible for him to commit a crime of the culinary kind. But if he were truly a trained pup, I wouldn’t have to do that, would I? I think the events of Saturday make this alarmingly clear.
You see, while attending my son’s t-ball game Saturday morning, Spike took it upon himself to unpack my latest order from Melaleuca. This order was comprised of 2 boxes of exercise bars, 2 bars of soap, 2 packs of bathroom counter wipes and a package of meal replacement powder. I’ll give you 3 guess as to which items he busted into… Yeah, the bars Karmel Krunch exercise bars which are covered in chocolate and my milk chocolate flavored shake powder. He’s such an asshole.
Unfortunately, “busting into” these items was not the whole story. He proceeded to eat BOTH boxes of bars (6 bars per box). For you those of you in the slow math class, that’s 12 bars. With wrappers. Again, he’s such an asshole. It seems that eating shake powder is beyond Spike’s current skill set, however, because all he managed to do was spread that all over the carpet and make a nice, thick crusted layer all around his muzzle. Please note that my entire downstairs is hardwood. Well, hardwood-esque. I own one rug, much to the chagrin of my mother and father. It’s a simple, Target 5X7 rug. And THAT’S where the dog spewed shake powder. Asshole.
When I arrived home to discover the molestation of my Melaleuca it was around 1:00 in the afternoon. This was not my first time at Spike Ate a Bunch of Crap Rodeo, so I knew better than to worry about the reappearance of anything he ingested. No, the asshole would wait ’til somewhere around 2:45 a.m. to drag himself away from any easily cleaned surface like wood or tile and heave his guts on my carpet somewhere. However, as much trouble as this dog has caused in the past, he’d never finished off 12 chocolate-covered exercise bars. Plus wrappers. So when it was time to take the boys and my nephew to the movies a few hours later, I was not real comfortable with leaving him in the house alone in case there was an explosion of the colon kind.
Unfortunately, “putting him in the yard” is easier said than done. We’ve tried it twice. Once the neighbors requested we never do it again. Like we haven’t heard their dogs bark themselves hoarse before. The second time, well, this happened…
|4 inch hole in hole in the fence? No sweat!
I can squeeze throught anything!
Yes, that’s a hole in my gate that spans a mere 4 inches but somehow Spike the Wonder Dog was able to squeeze his bowling ball-sized head through there along with his 103 pound body and he ended up about half a mile from our house.
But what’s a movie going mom to do? The kids were promised a movie and I would not be stopped by my conniving canine. So out to the yard he went. And just to add a little extra level of protection, I rolled our BBQ in front of the vinyl gate that separated the side yard from the aforementioned, ghetto gate that he already busted through last year. Off we drove. Don’t think I wasn’t preoccupied during my viewing of “Croods”. I was. I was praying he was still in the yard when I returned.
Lo and behold, he was. Success! When I pulled up to the house and heard his annoying bark resonating through the neighborhood I knew we were safe. Spike didn’t get out, all neighbors were home and not standing at my door with pitchforks, all was right with the world.
But what in God’s name was that smell? I know I’m overdue for my oil change, but I don’t think it’s coming from under the hood. It’s lacking in boy stench to be emanating from one of my charges. It almost smells like… gas? WTW?
So I searched, and I searched and I used my sniffer to sniff out the perpetrator only to find myself in the backyard. Now that’s odd, don’t you think? Not if you live with Spike, whose an asshole. It was, in fact gas. Not the kind of gas that a mother of two boys under 10 is used to. No, this was the bad kind of gas. The flammable kind of gas. The kind of gas that comes from a FREAKING BBQ when it is turned on and left running for God knows how long!!
|To quote a friend who saw it in person today:
“Wow! That is waaaaay worse than it looked in the picture!”
Yes, my nose led me right over to the BBQ I strategically placed in front of the vinyl fence to prevent StA (Spike the Asshole) form escaping. But Spike will not go down without a fight. No, he’ll show me who’s boss. You wanna block me from my only escape route, woman? Fine! I will use my freakishly excessive height and two front paws to bat at the burner switches until I turn them on! All 3 of them! And then I will use my better-than-some-humans dexterity to hit the igniter as well. Take that MOM!
No, I’m not kidding. StA turned on and ignited all 3 burners to our BBQ. The BBQ that was under a plastic cover, wedged against our vinyl gate. When I arrived home the cover was had melted and stuck to the fence which was in the process of melting!
Needless to say I totally lost my shit. I’m not going to lie. I’d like to say my first thought was to pray, but I’d be lying. My first thoughts were, “Can I turn on the oven in the house? How am I going to make the kids a pizza if I can’t turn on the oven? Am I going to be on the news for blowing up my house and my neighbors because of this stupid dog!?”
Eventually I knew it was time to take action. Fast. Working backwards I realized the first thing I needed to do was shut off the burners. So I slowly lifted the side of the cover and turned each one off. Step 1: Check. Next I needed to turn off the gas. Step 2: Check. Now it was time to lift the lid of the BBQ since it was currently registering at 575 degrees, and cool that bad boy off. Step 3: Check. And lastly, prise the BBQ from the melted ruins of my vinyl gate. Step 4: Check. Oh wait, that wasn’t the last step. Step 5 was calling my dad because I always call my dad in any emergency situation because that’s what daughters do. Dad’s know everything. Take note, fathers of the world. We have high expectations of you.
Needless to say, all potential crises were averted. There was no fire and no major damage. Aside from my vinyl fence that looks a little like the back entrance to a meth lab, everything pretty much survived without harm. Even Spike.
I will say, however, that Spike received what I felt was the proper amount of punishment for his actions. He was shunned for almost 24 hours. In fact, the only words I spoke to him came late Sunday afternoon as I passed him lazily sleeping on the living room couch. “You’re dead to me,” I stated as I walked by. It was Monday morning before he got more than that. Asshole.
At this point I’ve heard it all. “Crate him!” “Return him!” “Next time leave the gate open and let him run away!” But the truth is, just like a wayward child, I love the big hairy dude and he knows not what he does. He may be cute, but he is not the sharpest tool in the shed. He doesn’t realize that if you go in the pantry, the door closes behind you. He still can’t figure out that when I pour crackers into a clear Ziploc bag, they aren’t going to end up on the floor. (Seriously, how hard is it to understand this? Every morning he’s scouring the floor looking for Cheez-Itz. I poured them IN the bag, you dumb ass! They are NOT on the floor!)
So I guess we’ll continue to be vigilant about making sure the pantry door is shut when we leave and the dirty dishes are in the dishwasher and all the bedroom doors are closed. That’s life with Spike, I guess. It could be worse, though. He could’ve barfed all over the carpet… oh wait, The Hubs just came down and told me Spike just had diarrhea in our bedroom. On my side of the bed, of course. What an asshole.
But don’t worry, I got my revenge. Here is what I submitted to dogshaming.com It hasn’t been posted yet, but I’m pretty sure Spike will be famous very soon. If you haven’t gone to this side. Go now. Like right now. It is hy-sterical!
My dog’s an asshole.
That’s just my normal.