Devil Dogs

Hi, folks. This week I’m going to tell you a heartbreaking tale of how two best friends will forever (for a while anyway) be separated from one another (no more sleepovers).

Meet Remy, a playful and talkative German shepherd who will have a conversation with you even before you have your coffee in the morning. She is quite well behaved for being just a little over a year old. Her only “bad dog” moments involve chewing the feet off of some of Story’s stuffed animals. And I’m sure they deserved it.

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This is sweet Savannah, a Rottweiler. She belongs to Ali’s pack and has so much love for the family that her little bobbed tail never stops wiggling. At six years old, she still has some of the puppy playfulness with the responsible nature of an older dog. Her “bad dog” moments involve giving too many kisses and slobbering all over people.

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When Remy and Savannah met, it was not BFF at first sight. The clusterlove had gathered together at my house for a picnic. The usual sniffing and circling took place, of course. But the kids added another element. Each time Remy would get close to Riley or Maddie, Savannah would jump in to guard them. Remy did the same when Savannah came close to Story. It took a while, but once they finally realized that they both had the same goal—keep the children safe—a friendship was born.

 

Recently, Ali has had to travel a bit, and I volunteered to watch Savannah, knowing it would be a special treat for Remy. Savannah seemed to be at ease rather quickly. Playing with Remy distracted her from missing her pack too much. The two had a blast together. I swear they were smiling the whole time. I would soon find out, however, that their grins were not of pure happiness; there was a big dose of mischievousness—nay, devilishness—as well.

Savannah does not handle being confined very well. Her crate is a metal heap somewhere in Ali’s garage. Remy is used to being crated. Because I was going to be gone during the days, I had to figure out what to do with the two of them. I couldn’t crate or confine Savannah to a room, and it wasn’t fair to Remy to crate her in her own house while her guest ran free, so I let them have run of the house. What could go wrong? Savannah would drool on things and Remy would de-foot a stuffed animal left out? Not a big deal.

I was wrong. Our two angel dogs become the hounds of hell when together. Over the course of the week, their sins moved from understandable to unbelievable. It was as if they spent the day double dog daring each other. Story found excitement in running into the house before me to report on what the dogs did this time. Let me give you a few examples.

  • They scattered the bathroom trash into each room.20150619_181039
  • They smeared coffee grounds all over the kitchen.
  • They used the den as their toilet.
  • They shredded all the cardboard from the recycle bin.
  • They chewed holes in some of my clothes.
  • They pulled down several hangers from Story’s closet.
  • The chewed a hole in the padded part of my lap desk and shook out the thousands of tiny Styrofoam balls, making it look like it had snowed in the living room.20150619_180943
  • They pulled pictures off the walls and chewed on the frames.
  • They quartered a doll and chewed up her bits.
  • They pulled books down from the shelves and attempted to eat them.
  • They ate the still-packaged pasta and sauce before I had a chance to cook it for dinner.
  • They played tug-of-war with my computer cord, while I was using my computer.

These are just a few things the demons got into. If I dared clean up their mess, they would retaliate by upping the victims: Story’s school papers, her artwork, my books, my favorite pillow. By midweek, I understood that I was dealing with pure insanity and left things as they lay. By the end of the week, in the living room alone, I collected an entire trash bag full of destruction.

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After being separated, their demons were somehow exorcised. They have gone back to their good-dog selves, acting like nothing ever happened. It did happen. I know it. But I can’t help but wonder sometimes if I am not the insane one.