Some days it's an effort not to beat them to death...

Ah, the joys of dog (and equine) ownership.

Lately, the horses have been pretty decent. Sure, Elmo looks like the swamp thing due to the fact that it rained EVERY SINGLE DAY in March and nothing has had a chance to dry out. But I gave him a bath last week and he seems to be fine under all that mud. He does have dry spots to be on (and in), but both he and Bella have to wade through knee-deep mud to get from island to island.  

So ready for the rain to be done. So. Ready...

Anywho...

The dogs, however, are on my shit list. Oops... sorry mom, er Flip Flop. They are on my poop list. Big time. Big. Time. Big...

The last few days when I've gotten home from a long day at work, I've walked into a situation that looks something like this:

What the?!?! Where are those damn dogs? I'm gonna kill them...

Garbage all over the floor. Or a decimated chocolate wrapper with none of the contents anywhere to be found. Or the wrapper for a loaf of French bread... minus the loaf. 

Once I see the destruction I start screaming for the dogs to get their butts in to whatever room has just been raided. Of course, they don't come. Instead they hide...

It wasn't me, Mom (lick, burp, lick)...

At least Daisy has the decency not to lie.

Well, Mom... it was already on the ground thanks to the Marshmallow so I just helped myself.

What's the problem?

At this point, my voice starts to get screechy and much fist-pumping ensues. Noelle typically scruntches down into her bed farther, and Daisy just ignores me.

Marshmallow: She won't really kill me, right?

Daisy: Just pretend she's not there. Works for me...

By this time, Daisy has wandered off and Noelle is ready to pee the bed. I, on the other hand, am envisioning throttling both dogs with my bare hands and trying to remember about deep breathing and counting backwards from 10.

Meh. I don't see what the big deal is. We saved you from all of those calories...

As I am in the throws of hyperventilating, the Marshmallow decides that if I'm not going to beat her than everything must be dandy.

Hahaha... that was good bread...

What did you say, dog?

Um, right... What bread?

At this point, I stalk off to clean up the mess... still having visions of dog-beatings and such. Usually by now RR has walked in to the mess and tries to muffle the laughs. Which only makes me include him in the beatings visions. And since I can't actually beat any of them to death, I have to be content with that.

(grumble, grumble, grumble)

And as if that is not bad enough... now I have to contend with nature gobbling up my flowers.

What the?!?!? Stop eating my damn flowers!!

I'm sorry... did you say something? We're busy eating here...

I swear... some days it's just not worth coming home.