Where I Present the Continuing Adventures of the Bad Dog

I’m still working my way through Pretty Girls, so there won’t be a Friday Reads post — the book has me hooked . . . the story seems to be getting away with itself, with each plot twist being a bit more unbelievable than the last, but I’m loving the ride on which the story is taking me.

That out of the way, I’d like to present the latest in the tales of Blondie, the bad dog. Blondie typically knows no shame. The dogs are not to go into the basement. And while sneaking into the basement is something each dog will do, Benji, when he does it, even if I didn’t catch him, will act guilty for hours afterward. Blondie will run up the basement stairs and wiggle her butt at me before running to the pantry to see if the doors were left open (meaning she might be able to steal something) or to the trash can, which we have had to lock behind a baby gate to keep her from knocking it over and feasting on the marvels of our trash.

Then we head to this morning. I’m toweling off after masturbating showering, and I heard a crash from downstairs. Now, when I hear a crash in my home, the list of suspects for causing said crash are, in order:

1. Me. I am quite clumsy and irresponsible. But I couldn’t be the cause of the crash, because the crash was downstairs and I was upstairs.
2. Coltrane, the boy. 8 year old boys are dervishes. But Duffy had already left, with both children, for school.
3. Leila, the girl. She inherited my grace. But see above.
4. Benji, the slightly-less-bad-dog. He is big, with unparalleled leaping ability. But he was cuddled up, with the cat, on the bed.
5. Luna, the cat. The best argument against the flat-earth conspiracy¹ is that the earth cannot be flat – if it were, there would be a edge somewhere. And by now, cats would have pushed everything on the earth off of it. But see previous item – the cat was napping, with the slightly-less-bad-dog, on the bed. Which was decidedly not downstairs.
6. Blondie, the bad dog, of whom I am writing this post. I head downstairs to investigate. Blondie, who typically shows no shame, is in her crate², trying to make herself invisible. Seriously, she’s a hard-core cuddler³, so we keep several blankets in her crate with her, and she’s nosed under them – I only knew she was in her crate because her tail was sticking out.

So, the dog who, to date, has never known shame, and may be the most social animal in existence, is voluntarily hanging out in her crate, under a pile of blankets. Nothing uncouth here.

Now, I’m left trying to figure out how she broke a bowl. The bowl was on a table in the den – the table in the den is a tall “pub-style” table. There are four chairs around it – I’d classify each chair as a barstool. Blondie is, I think, 14 pounds. She hops about on three legs. I guess I’m just greatly underestimating the jumping ability (combined with determination) of small, three-legged dogs.

Anyway, Duffy, we lost one of the fiestaware bowls today⁴.