LJ Idol Week 10: Open Topic

[flipflop_diva]

There’s a beat of silence as our footsteps falter and our eyes take in the sight. A golden tail wags happily.

I see the range of emotions across my husband’s face. The disbelief. The realization. The anger.

“Alexa!” he says, in the most stern voice he ever uses, and the golden tail stops wagging. “What did you do?!?!?”

She sits, looking at us, head cocked. Next to her, the fabric of the couch arm hangs down to the floor. Around her, the stuffing from one of the pillows looks a little like snow.

“What are we going to do with her?” he asks me later, after we’ve strategically arranged the undamaged pillows to hide any evidence of Alexa’s wrongdoing. “Fenway was such a good dog.”

I don’t reply. Fenway was a good dog, especially the few years David had known her. When she was eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen. He hadn’t been there when she was a puppy.

He definitely hadn’t been there for the Week of Hell.

--

It was a perfectly good idea. Really. What could go wrong? Take two three-year-old labs (in people years, not dog years) and let them stay together in an eight hundred square-foot townhouse for ten days with a backyard that was the size of a postage stamp and with me at work for eight to ten hours a day.

“They love each other,” I told my sister when she asked if I’d mind keeping Brandy while she and her new husband were on their honeymoon. “They’ll be fine.”

Nothing about that statement turned out to be false. They did love each other. They, themselves, were quite fine.

The first couple days, in fact, were quite fine. The three of us cuddled on the couch. We went for walks. We snuggled up in bed, even if they did insist on taking up most of the room. They chased the cat, who decided she was just going to live underneath the guest room bed until Brandy went home. They ate their dog food, sniffed each other’s bowls to make sure no one was getting any special treats, and sometimes even played together while I made dinner or did laundry or was otherwise occupied.

Everything was good.

And then I got home from work on Monday.

Nothing was amiss at first. The dogs greeted me by the door, tails wagging, butts wiggling. I walked down the hall to the living room. A pillow was in the middle of the floor, but otherwise, things looked fine.

I turned the corner into the kitchen. And froze in horror.

It looked like a crime scene. Pots and pans lay all over the floor. The walls and the parts of the floor that were visible were covered with red specks. Something had been shredded into little tiny pieces and was scattered everywhere.

The dogs wagged their tails, obviously very proud.

And then I realized. The cake box — with the top layer of my sister’s wedding cake, which fortunately was now in the freezer — had been in the sink, because I had been too lazy to clean off the frosting. Red frosting that had covered the sides of the box now covered the walls.

I stared at the dogs and then at the sink — the very deep sink that I was one hundred percent sure the dogs couldn’t reach into on their own. Had they stood on each other’s backs? They did not answer when I asked them, nor did they offer to help me clean.

(On Tuesday, I returned home to find yet another pan on the ground and eggs on the wall. After that, I learned to not leave my breakfast dishes in the sink, no matter how late I was running.)

Wednesday morning, I got smart. I put up a baby gate to block off the kitchen and headed to work safe in the knowledge that the kitchen would be untouched. That evening, when I opened the door, I was greeted by two dogs, tails wagging, and a stick by the door.

I picked it up and walked down the hall.

In the living room were more sticks. And leaves. And dirt. It looked like they were trying to start a bonfire but got bored in the middle of it.

They wagged their tails, looking proud. I got out the vacuum. And then checked the tiny backyard to make sure all sticks and leaves were picked up.

Thursday evening, I opened the door once more to two dogs and two wagging tails. I walked with them down the hall into the living room. And stared, speechless, at the giant pile of sticks and leaves and dirt that covered half the room. Some had even made it on to the couch this time.

“How?” I finally managed. “I cleaned it all up!”

Two tails wagged. I’m pretty sure they were smirking at me.

“You girls!” I groaned, and got out the vacuum again.

Finally, Friday arrived. I went to work and came home, my stomach full of dread. Would the house even still be standing?

I opened the door to the two excited dogs. The three of us walked down the hall to the living room, which was still as spotless as it had been that morning. We walked into the kitchen. The baby gate was still up. All dishes were still where they belonged.

I let out a sigh of relief and headed upstairs. The doors to the bedrooms were still closed, but the bathroom door was open a crack.

Uh oh.

I pushed open the bathroom door. Nothing looked out of place. The dogs stood behind me, wagging their tails.

I bent down to open the cabinet under the sink. When was the last time I had fed the cat anyway? Her bowl (kept on the sink and out of reach of the dogs) was empty.

I opened the cabinet and reached in for the new bag of cat food I had just bought. I expected to pick up something weighing five pounds. Instead, my hand came away with a ripped up bag with just a few kernels left.

Oh, no.

I looked at the dogs, looked at how pleased they looked. I looked around, and now I could see it — a kernel of food here, a kernel of food there, a little piece of bag over there behind the toilet.

“What did you do???” I asked the dogs. “You ate an entire bag of cat food?!?!”

They just continued looking pleased with themselves.

A quick internet search told me they would be fine, but they might have stomach issues. Oh, boy, did they have stomach issues. I’d say it was so bad, it taught them a lesson, but they were dogs, and it did not.

My sister and her new husband knocked on my door on Sunday night.

“How were the girls?” my sister asked. “Did they behave?”

“Yeah,” I said. “About that …”


True story. Very true. If you would like to see what all these Good Dogs look like, here is Alexa on the couch she tried to eat. This is Fenway in her favorite spot. And this is Brandy with a black blob named Fenway, when they were a lot older than in this story.



This was written for Week 10 of therealljidol. I hope you enjoyed it! If you would like to read more entries, you can head over here. If you would like to vote for any of the entries, voting should be up Sunday night at therealljidol.

Comments

[kittenboo.livejournal.com]

Oh my goodness! That is wild!

[brkfastatholly.livejournal.com]

I LOVE this entry! Omg. You totally captured the dogs' personalities and how pleased they were with their work each time as well as your own dread at each disaster. And I think you absolutely brought some humor into it as well, the contrast between your attitude and the dogs' totally had me giggling. Plus the image of Fenway and Brandy doing some sort of cheerleading pyramid balancing act to get stuff out of the sink is priceless :'D

[tsuki-no-bara.livejournal.com]

omg. this is both exceptionally cute (and funny!) and totally exasperating. i love the image of one dog standing on the other's back to get to the cake box in the sink. where there's frosting, there's a way.

[marlawentmad.livejournal.com]

I love the tone. This is such a slice of life story expertly told.

[karmasoup.livejournal.com]

I giggled all the way through this -- been there! XD

[nikkiii-brown.livejournal.com]

Absolute cuties! I think most dog owners can relate to this totally adorable, yet frustrating experience!

[millysdaughter.livejournal.com]

Puppies!!!!!!

[halfshellvenus.livejournal.com]

Oh, boy. It's amazing what destruction dogs can wreak, and yes-- two very young ones together? Chaos. :O

I’d say it was so bad, it taught them a lesson, but they were dogs, and it did not.
Hahahaha! But also "ouch," since you're the one that had to clean that up. :(

[estelle.livejournal.com]

So funny. Little beasts!

[brienneofsnark.livejournal.com]

I LOVED this story. I love dogs so much and they have such amazing personalities. Even if they can be a bit mischievous at times. :laughs: I thought you captured that spirit really well. Great job.

[alycewilson.livejournal.com]

Too funny! It reminds me of the time my late dog, Una, was a puppy. I came home from work and my living room looked like the house in REM's "It's the End of the World as We Know It" video, including a hair dryer that she had chewed through while it was still plugged into the wall, throwing sparks!

[ellison.livejournal.com]

HAHA! Oh, dogs. This was very entertaining to read!