I'm so in the doghouse. But don't worry. I'm not alone. Read on.
See, Daniel was out, Mama was upstairs doing the wash and Papa had fallen asleep watching TV (big mistake). What dog could pass up an opportunity like that? I mean really. No one was paying attention to me. My next walk was a couple of hours away. My chewy toys suddenly seemed boring. What's a dog supposed to do?
So I pulled a cushion off the couch and swung it around in the air for a while. Then I stomped all over it with the bronco/Boxer jump, and chewed at it til it ripped wide open. I pulled the stuffing out of it and tossed it and chased it and kicked it around. There was fluff and foam everywhere. Geez, it was fun.
But I think the jingle of my tags woke Papa up. That's always a sign to Mama and Papa that I'm doing mischief - jingling plus my baritone growl - dead giveaways.
Giving Mama the wonky eye - "Beauty ate the couch, Mama."
Anyway, was Papa ever MAD. He came barrelling into the livingroom and his eyes bugged right out of his head. Then he started to whisper-yell at me. You know - that voice humans use when they're disciplining you but they don't want someone else to hear? Guess he didn't want Mama to walk in on this scene because she'd get all witchy on me. Anyway, how seriously can you take someone who's whisper-yelling? So when Papa buuurp. Excuse me - must be the foam. When Papa came out with the broom to sweep up the mess, I yanked it right out of his hands and started to pull the bristles out of it. Whoa, I was a bad Boxer! Buuurp. Excuse me.
That's when I heard Mama's footsteps on the stairs.... and I'm thinking, "I'm in trouble real deep. And so is Papa." Read on.
The truth is, I didn't start this wierd behavior yesterday. Eating the upholstery has been an ongoing thing with me. It started with the slipcovers...oh, I'd say about two or three months ago. I got into the habit of chewing on them and there were these big ugly holes everywhere. So Mama removed the slipcovers and threw them out. She wasn't too happy about that. They were there to protect the couch. Ironic, eh? Anyway, that was that. Then I proceeded to buuurp. Excuse me ... eat the throw pillows. I mean, they were just so appealing. Every other day or so, I yanked one of those cute chubby things off the couch and trotted it around the house like it was prize game. I'd fling them around the livingroom and pounce on them, and pretty near skinned them. So those disappeared too. Then it was on to the couch. And that brings me to yesterday.
Mama's worried that if she doesn't take control of this situation now, she'll come home one day and the couch will have been whittled down to a chair, and then it'll disappear altogether.
But like I said, I may be in the doghouse but I'm not alone. That's because Mama taught me from the beginning not to sleep on that couch, but Papa always let me. Before long it became my couch and nothing Mama would do could change that.
So now Papa's in the dog house with me!