Extreme Makeover: Pit Bull Edition

So this morning, while enjoying (read: going-through-the-motions-oh-my-gosh-can-I-PLEASE-just-miraculously-get-skinny-in-my-sleeep!!!) a little yoga I was reminded of a story I felt y'all might enjoy. Please keep in mind that downward dog is an especially difficult position to maintain while, at the same time, trying to aviod the ACTUAL dogs who have deemed 5:30 an appropriate time to play London bridges beneath ME. Awesome. Anyway, while getting my nameste on, I glanced over to our bedroom door and noticed the sweet spot where hubs and I got to play Ty Pennington in our own bizzare eddition of an Extreme Makeover...via pit bull.

Let me set the stage for you. We own one of the DUMBEST dogs on the planet. She's sweet, overly affection, afraid of her own shadow, and blah, blah, blah but Lord have mercy is she DETERMINED. The dog only has one setting: go. So, if she sets her mind on something, and someone isn't there to assist in her new endeavor....well, bless.your.heart. It's going to get ugly.

On this particular day, she decided she needed her red kong ball. Which, just so happened to be located behind our CLOSED bedroom door. However, the space underneath said door was just big enough for her to be able to see and smell the ball. No big deal right? W-R-O-N-G. She still wants the ball. Needs the ball. Oh-my-gosh-someone-please-give-me-the-damn-ball-or-my-tiny-brain-might-explode!!! So what does she do? I give you, exhibit A:

Let me give you a few moments to digest that lovely image. You good? You feel like committing mass genocide on all the dogs in your house? No? Just me? Ok then. Here's a little sample of the dialouge from this glorious afternoon. *Phone Rings*

Me: Hello?
Hubs: *heavy breathing reminiscent of a serial killer calling to taunt his latest victim*
Me: Hello? Nate? What's going on?
Hubs: I'm. going. to. kill. her. (spoken in the calmest/eeriest voice you've ever heard)
Me: Who? The dogs? Lady? *sinking pit in my stomach* Ohmygosh what did she do now?
Hubs: I can't. I. I'm going to send you a picture. I just. This dog. ARGHHHHH!
Me: ok, I think it just came...through. Kill her. Or I will as soon as I get home. Your choice.
Hubs: I would if I could find her.

Cut to my 70 lb idiot mutt "hiding" under the bed. With her crooked tail and back legs sticking out praying to the dog gods that we show her mercy. And give her the ball.

Oh the joys of doggy parenting. Anyway, we cooled our jets until the weekend and then managed to whip up this sweet little repair.

Ta-da! Good as...well...as its gonna get. Not to bad though, right? Moral of the story: We are the only house in the hood who has to dog proof the house before we go anywhere. Because not even wood paneling, carpet, padding, CONCRETE, or siding will keep our dog from her precious.

Well, that about wraps up this segement of "and you thought your dogs were bad..." Stay tuned for more stories about how my husband and I are the absolute worst grown ups on the planet and if-dogs-are-a-reflection-of-our-child-rearing-abilities-then-we-are-screweddddd with a capital F (for fail...or, you know, that other four letter word).

Always,

L

Ps. Please don't call the SPCA or Humaine Society. We didn't actually hurt the dog. And if you've ever met any of our animals, you know they are spoiled beyond repair. Just thought I'd throw that out there...