“Muffers” is officially on restriction.
Jim came over last night and brought some groceries so that he could cook us some dinner. He also brought his little dog, too. And by the end of the evening, I was fully prepared to send that little dog back to the Daisy Hill Puppy Farm. Or give it to Ms. Gulch to take to the county sheriff on the back of her bike.
“Muffers” is the dog that yakked up on my bed about a month ago. Oh, and two weeks ago she carpet bombed the lobby of my apartment building. Yeah, we had JUST taken her to the park across the street where she tinkled, and then as soon as we got in the main door to my building she cops a squat and leaves a couple ‘prezzies’.
Thank Buddha that my building is completely quiet and nobody was around. It was cleaned up with minimal fuss and nobody was the wiser.
I chalked the vomit episode up to being upset by a new environment, and the poo episode I attributed to the fact that my building has a LOT of dogs in it, and undoubtedly some other mutt has left a log in that very spot. Eh, its industrial apartment carpet.
Anyway- Jim cooked a very good pasta dinner and we watched Ugly Betty and Grey’s Anatomy. I played with Muffers and cuddled with her and pet her and generally treated her very well while he cooked. She IS a cute dog, after all… plus she had been freshly bathed. However, her cute factor disappeared about 3/4 of the way through Grey’s when she starts yipping and standing by the door. Ah- time to go out. Smart doggie! Jim gets up and takes her to the park.
Ten minutes later, they’re back and Muffers has successfully peed. Jim and I have settled in to watch the end of Grey’s when Muffers comes into the living room and starts doing that doggy “foot wipe” thingy. I instantly know what that means and say, “Uh oh.”
Sure enough- Muffers has decided to shit on my carpet.
Jim and I get up to clean it. While grabbing cleaning supplies we notice that she has gotten into my bathroom garbage and strewn tissue paper all over the place. Touche, little bitch.
Jim’s all apologetic about his dog, and I reassure him its no big deal. Once again, thank heaven for little turds. Easy cleanup and minimal mess. And remarkably I’m not too upset. Its just carpet, its not mine, and there’s no stain.
We all settle back down to watch Big Shots. Not the best show, but Michael Vartan is still smoking hot. We play some more with Muffers, and I chase her around a bit. Then we clean up the kitchen and watch some Red Sox and news.
And that’s when Muffers goes for the coup de grace.
One of her favorite perches is the arm of my eggplant-y/mocha-y, Ethan Allen couch. She sits on it, much like Snoopy does when he’s imitating an eagle. Unfortnately this places her directly in front of the TV screen. So I had to forcibly remove her from the couch– twice.
Evidently this pissed her off. Literally.
It was about time to go, Jim’s getting ready to leave, I’m picking up a few items when suddenly I hear Jim YELL “Muffers! NOOOOO!” I look up just in time to see her…
PEEING ON THE ARM OF MY SOFA!
What everyone needs to realize is that this couch is my favorite piece of furniture that I own. Its deep and comfy and I fell in love with the design of it the moment that I saw it. Its a perfect “nap couch”. I also saved up enough money to be able to afford to buy it, and it wasn’t cheap.
The couch is contemporary design, so the arms are wide, rounded, and sort of exploded outward. Its casual and fancy all at once. The main fabric is a wide-wale corduroy of sorts, while the pillows are brocade. So imagine, if you will, this absolute DELUGE of dog piss STREAMING down the little corduroy ‘gutters’- pouring off each side of the arm. Onto the floor. Spattering onto the couch cushion and beading on the pillows.
cb was NOT amused.
I had never seen Jim get upset with his dog to date. I did last night. However, I don’t think he beat her (as was probably warranted). Believe me, it took a great amount of restraint for ME not to beat her ass and rub her nose in it.
Jim SWOOPS in and grabs her- and I dash off to grab paper towels, kitchen towels, anything I can find to soak up her mess. Jim’s yelling at his dog, apologizing profusely, and mopping up pee. I’m sopping up fluids and scrubbing down cushions and reassuring Jim that its ok.
And then I was a bit harsh.
I said, very calmly and matter of factly, “I don’t think Muffers is coming over again.”
The way it came out wasn’t so much of a question as it was a directive. Ouch, right?
As they were leaving he was still yelling at her, and telling her that from now on she’ll just be left all alone at the house. I know Jim was embarassed by his dog’s behavior. And I feel terrible now about what I said, but at the same time I really don’t want her defiling any more of my things. I’m sure she’ll come over again at some point, but perhaps not until she is fitted for one of these: