Angry Dog Mom

I was so angry this morning that I screamed at Picasso. It was in the heat of the moment. And I'm not proud. But he made me so ANGRY.

 

I'm trying to phase out his favorite crochet toys (stupid Martha Stewart doesn't make them anymore). So I bought him a few cheap plastic squeaky toys. He removes the squeaker with freakish precision and leaves the rest of the toy unharmed. So I thought to myself, "Hey Self, if you can buy this dog $0.94 toys and he loves them, you should get many." So I did.

 

Notice the cheap plastic fire hydrant he is guarding with his life.

 

Of course there is a catch to this seemingly wonderfully cheap replacement for the crochet toys (why did you stop making them, Martha Stewart? I paid $10.00 per toy without batting an eye!). When Picasso plays with them, since they are mostly solid in shape, they get away from his paws somehow. They erratically roll around and he crazily follows them. Somehow they ALWAYS end up under the bookshelf in the living room or the dresser in the bedroom. ALWAYS.

 

He cannot reach them when they end up under there. It's not his fault he can't reach them. His arms are short. And he doesn't have thumbs for grabbing. But it is his fault that he insists on playing with his new toys beside these two pieces of furniture.

 

When they get lodged under there, out of his reach, he does the only thing he can: claw frantically at the wood and whine like no one can hear him. It's the most annoying behavior he's ever exhibited: and he was a terrible puppy.

 

So this morning when he woke me up to go potty, he got so excited at the sight of me getting out of bed that he grabbed one of his toys and immediately got it stuck under the dresser. I walked to the kitchen to get his leash, waited by the front door to take him out... and no Picasso. He was carrying on hysterically in the bedroom over the lost toy.

 

I called for him. Then I yelled for him. Then I got totally fed up and stalked towards the bedroom and screamed at him. He ran under the bed and assumed the "we're playing" pose: front legs out, butt in the air. Alright, I had been awake less than 3 minutes. I wasn't in the mood. I screamed at him some adult words that he is not old enough to hear, threw the leash on the floor and got back in bed. "Screw that guy, he doesn't really need to go out that badly if his toy is more important," I said to myself. 

 

He was silent under the bed for a half an hour. Then I was reawoken to the sound of him vomiting under the bed. Why? Why does this happen frequently? At least he wasn't asking about the toy. So I got up, took him out, and retrieved his toy, which he happily chewed on under the bed until I was finally ready to be awake for the day.

 

The point of the story is: why, Martha Stewart, did you get rid of the crochet toys??