Let me begin by saying we have been quite fortunate in the dog department. Both of our dogs are quite easy to get along with. Neither of them are yappy and they both are darn good looking. Toby? He is our Golden Retriever and the gentlest of souls. He's Eeyore-like in his demeanour but can smile like a son of a gun with the right amount of attention. He's also relatively intelligent. Training him was a breeze.
Chuy? Is our Yorkie/Shitzu cross. He has a Yorkie face. He couldn't be cuter if he tried. He is Robin Williams-like in his demeanour but seriously, that face! He's smart too. He's sneaky. What he isn't? Is fully trained.
Case in point: last night all six of us (my husband, I and our four children) were watching a movie together. And we were all actually watching it. Reese & Rhett weren't wrestling. I wasn't doing laundry. The kids were barely texting, if at all. We were mesmerized in a family movie called 'The Sandlot'. It's old. Like maybe early '90s old. The boys got it from the library.
About maybe halfway through the movie Justine started making exclamations that Toby had farted. Steven then noticed as well and went so far as to move. I didn't know what all the fuss was about. At first. Then the smell hit me and I thought maybe Rhett had pooped his pants as the smell hit at the same time he came to snuggle with me. So I was groping the poor kid because it wasn't Toby fart-stink. It was the unmistakable stench of shit.
And then I saw it. Right in front of the TV stand. Not more than four or five feet away from any family member at that given time. Chuy had pooped in front of the TV stand. While we all sat obliviously enjoying the tale of early 1960s era boys playing baseball. This speaks to a couple of things:
1. It's a decent movie and everyone really was paying attention.
2. Chuy clearly realizes his ridiculous good looks and devilish charm will take him very far in this house and that being said, he'll shit where he wants.
So I got up and cleaned it up because it's not like I'm going to leave it there. Chuy was put outside, and this time it was he who was oblivious. He had to go. He went. Where's the problem?
If Toby could speak I imagine there would be the sort of sibling rivalry that takes place among human offspring. "If I would've pooped on the floor you would've lost your mind!! Isn't he even going to get in trouble for that?! He gets away with everything."
And he wouldn't be wrong. What is it about 'babies' of the family, fur-covered or not? Is there some secret authority sucking power about them that's yet to have been discovered? I believe I answered my own question with this post. Don't even get me started about my youngest child...who knows what he'll have me believing by the time he's 16. And the one who is 16 right now? Will shake his head, complain and mock me. And rightfully so.
Until then I'll busy myself with picking out the perfect Halloween costume for Chuy, continuing to shiver outside in the early morning while he does his business (because if I'm not out there with him he does it on the step) and chase him around the house while he attempts to eat every one's food but his own and chew up every last pencil crayon, marker and crayon we have while shouting "Chuy Alejandro!!" Because, you know, that really gets his attention.
I need help.
And here he is...would you be able to say no?
This? Is a good dog and an even better 'big brother'. As such he gets a ridiculous amount of cheese (his heroin) on occasion.