Remember those dogs that I love(d)? Well, during the day, they are generally either outside or crated. Effie, the golden mix, is still very much a puppy, only now she's a puppy with a big swishy tail and 50+ pounds of force to throw around. She steals stuff off the coffee tables, eats things that are not hers to eat, and when assisted by her little friend PG, can certainly wreak all KINDS of havoc.
We have also learned that PG is a garbage dog. Not a big deal most of the time, as we have a heavy aluminum trash can with a lid, but if we have a bag out of the can and are topping it off before taking it to the curb, watch out!
In general, the dogs prefer to be outside, which I think is great. If it's super rainy and nasty muddy, in the crate they go, but outside they have lovely dog houses lined with straw, a nice big fenced in yard, and lots of toys to play with.
A few days ago, I had left them outside. In the hustle and bustle of the morning, they didn't get fed until just as we were leaving, so the last thing I did as we ran out the door was put their dishes of food out on the deck. I know, beyond a doubt, they were outside.
But the husband came home to this.
Oh. My. Lord.
The carnage went on and on. From one end of the house to the other. There was a pillow destroyed. There was what appeared to be an entire box of crayons chewed up. There were pine cones crushed into some sort of carpet potpourri. Beads were scattered and strewn about the room. It was awful.
And there was no indication of how the dogs got into the house. But in the house they were. Guilt written across their little red fuzzy faces.
was so not cool.