As most of you know, I’ve recently acquired a dog. His name is Spartacus, he’s adorable, and I love him, but he can be a little pill sometimes. Last week was particularly bad.
P.S. Pictures will be added to this post, as soon as I can find the cord that connects my camera to my computer. Check back soon.
Spartacus tricked me into thinking he was a good boy by being a good boy. The most he did was show the neighbor Shiatsus his dominance by pooping on their lawn in front of them. I cleaned it up, so the Shiatsus didn’t pay much attention to it.
I left some laundry hanging on various door knobs, and Spartacus got to it before I did. He devoured one bra, but looked very sheepish about it. Later, while playing with Spartacus in the yard, I met some of the BYU students who live in an apartment complex behind my house. My upstairs neighbor (I live in a basement apartment) had introduced me as, “this is the one that lives downstairs. Her name is Kimber”.
Spartacus showed his preference for bra-consumption by finding another one and starting in on it. I got to him in time to stop it, but I fear he’s developed an insatiable taste for expensive under-things. Perhaps I should buy some decoy bras from the dollar store in order to lure him away from the more expensive Victoria’s Secret fare.
I woke up to Spartacus barking madly in the yard, so I went outside to quiet him down. Every time I yelled “Spartacus, no!”, a voice on the other side of the wall would say “yes!”. After three or four rounds of this I gave up, having decided that if my neighbors were going to mock my disciplinary efforts, then they could just deal with the dog barking. Right as I turned away to go back to bed, I heard the voice on the other side of the fence say, “That’s Kimber. She’s the downstairs one”.
When I got home from school, I opened the gate a little too widely, and Spartacus got out. Instead of bouncing up and down around me in a desperate bid for attention, Spartacus shot across the street to where the neighbors’ hound dogs were holding conference. Spartacus sniffed noses with them politely before biting their faces. They sat on him. Spartacus is not dominant with these dogs.
I brought Spartacus to my family’s house to visit, as my younger sister was home for the weekend from college, and she loves Spartacus. Unfortunately, she brought home a lot of her stuff in an attempt to make moving home next week easier. She had boxes and bags of food and clothes on the floor, and Spartacus seemed to be leaving them alone, until we turned our backs on him. That’s when he grabbed a can of hot cocoa powder and ran outside. We didn’t realize what he had done until he came back inside dragging a shredded canister with his face and front paws covered in chocolate. His breath smelled like French Vanilla for the next two days.
The entire family was gathered in our white carpeted living room, watching TV and eating dinner, when Spartacus ran in covered in mud. Apparently we’d left the sprinklers on a little too long outside. Spartacus ran all over the white carpet, jumped on the tan couch, ricocheted off of every member of the family, and pounced in all the food dishes before we caught him and threw him outside, where we could hose him off. We then brought him inside and gave him a proper bath, which he shivered through.
Spartacus had a very busy week.
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