Sometimes I Hate Them!

Dogs, that is. Why did early man decide that domesticating these unappreciative, food-grubbing, mud-sopping beasts was a good idea? We have two. They seemed like a nice thing when we got them.

Until last night, all of our dumb animals slept somewhere in the bedroom. Cora decided she might get a better night's sleep if we kicked them all out (I think she forgot that I sometimes snore). Toby slept at the end of the hallway...until 2AM. When he had apparently gone outside and gotten cold. He stood in the center of the living room whining. I got up and put his blanket on him. Then he settled down...we thought.

Fast forward to 530AM. Cora wakes me up from a wonderful dream where I was the only man on a Pacific island full of beautiful, partially-clothed, FRIENDLY women. She said she thought the dogs were gone...Shit. They escaped (The dogs, not the women, though they were long gone, too).

Sure enough. Sometime during the early morning, Toby had convinced Gypsy to dig a hole so they could escape. I think he was trying to get even with us for kicking him out of the bedroom. When they walked back in the house, quite proud of themselves, they were both FILTHY!!!! We took Gypsy to be groomed on Sunday!!!!!!! Needless to say, I busied myself filling said hole with dog poo, sticks, rocks, 2X4s, and bricks.

While I was attempting to rake some of the dirt back in the hole, my rake broke. The HANDLE BROKE!!!! I was already mad at the dogs and the weather (I was struggling through mud, thanks to our recent over-exuberant thaw), and then the rake broke! I should probably go around to the neighbors and apologize for all the cussing, screaming, and rake handle throwing. On the other hand, maybe I should go around and accuse them of the cussing, screaming, and rake handle throwing to keep the heat off of me!

Stupid dogs.