That damn dog… (edited!)

We’ve decided that Deogi is smart. But… he’s book smart, not street smart. We’ve come to this astounding conclusion because he loves to do tricks. Sit, stay (…sometimes – he gets excited!), hide and seek, up, down, catch it, so on and so forth. He will preform, as long as you have a ‘cookie’. He’s generally a good dog.

But at the normal everyday things? The dog is as dumb as a rock. Case in point, and given to you in steps.

Step one: Dog discovers a love of chewing in puppyhood and goes after it like a junkie begs for crack. Everything. Plastic, stuffed animals, bones, cats, whatever. chew chew chew gnaw gnaw gnaw.

Step two: Dog finds plastic hanger on the children’s floor. Plastic = yummy! Chew Chew Chew Gnaw Gnaw Gnaw.

Step three: Dog comes to the front room, digging like CRAZY at his mouth. He can breathe, but he’s hacking and digging and freaking the fuck out.

Step four: Blood. There’s blood from his mouth. Situation classified as NOT GOOD and CALL AUNT LADYBUG NOW for help, because the kids are freaked out and can’t calm down enough to help me hold said stupid dog, and get a closer look at what the hell is going on.

Step five: get a look at a length of white plastic, stuck crosswise in his throat, just behind his jaw.

Step six: Enter Auntie Ladybug, and commence dog wrestling 101 to get him to calm down so we can hold him still.

Step seven: Get clawed to fuck by the dew claws and nails of a scrabbling dog who wants UP RIGHT NOW LET ME UP OMG WHAT IS IN MAH THROAT GET IT OUT BUT DON’T TOUCH ME!

Step eight: Tackle dog, pry open jaw, Auntie Ladybug grabs the length of plastic and gets it free from the throat.

Step nine: Try to catch breath, and assure Stupid Fucking Dog he’s a good puppy, good dog, commere, who’s a good boy, that’s right you stupid fucking mutt, you’re a good boy.

Step ten: Catch breath. Examine plastic object. Send children to make sure there are no more hangers on the floor.

Step eleven: Thank Auntie Ladybug, and let her go home again.

Step twelve: Smack self on forehead because DAMMIT an EXCELLENT BLOGGER would have gotten the pictures DURING the chaos. Instead, you get the aftermath. The offending piece of plastic, and the damage done to my arm. Too bad you can’t hear the wheezing of the asthma attack too. That’s SUPER sexy.

Everyone’s fine, the kids have calmed down, the dog is fine and eating and drinking and seems no worse for wear. He’s just… book smart. Not street smart. Obviously.

Sigh.

Update: The Morning After

Look! Two more bruises! And the original ones? TWICE AS PRETTY.

Nice, huh?