I never know what to expect coming home everyday. Will I come home to utter destruction, one wagging tail, and the other sitting at the corner feeling remorse? Or will I return home as I left in the morning, with two wagging tails, plenty of licks and jumps?

My lack of time to write is all thanks to our newest addition, our raven-haired black beauty, Dusty Uzumaki Chong.

The bodily excrement in the pee pen has become a norm. So I’m not even touching that – at least not without protection and an arsenal of cleaning aids.

Once, we came home to three packages of Japanese ramen noodles ravished. To top it off, Dusty hid an unfinished bag of noodles under the sofa – for consumption at a later date. Other than his breath smelling like msg, scattered lids and boxes, and crumbs of dried noodles, there were no after effects of his deed.

Jess, sitting regally atop her bed, wasn’t even tempted by the aroma of the dried noodles.

After that incident, he was good. Temporarily.

Then, he started on a lip balm fetish – in particular, Burt’s Bees – hidden underneath a covering, inside a bowl filled with stones. That bowl has since moved to higher ground. He later burrowed into my new bag to get to my chapstick and ice tea mints. The rest of the content in the bag was discarded like yesterday poop.

A nice swat on the behind and a little chastising did him little good.

Hubs told Jess to keep the boy in line. She blinked.

Once, after returning home from our toilet walk, which he did absolutely nothing but try to attack all moving objects, he promptly went down to his poop pen to release a huge turd. Too lazy to clean up immediately, we let it sit for a bit. I went upstairs, and hubs decided to clean up the mess. The next thing I heard was, “Did you clean up his poop?”

“No… Why?”

“…”

“He ate it…?  !!” we said in unison and in shock.

One would think we are not feeding him. Skinny as a rail, constantly famish, but pooping giant-size tnts and then scarfing it down.

Who’s turn was it to watch him?

Jess.

Then, he took to eating, what looked like, 2-3 cups of uncooked rice. That scarred us. Not him. He had explosive diarrhea soon after: consisting of rice and brownish fluid that later turned yellow. The clean up was a mess, to say the least. It was rank and runny, without form. It was, cruelly, quite hilarious hearing him purge. The most obnoxious farting sound can be heard, miles away, when he erupted. This went on for two days. If we were lucky, we made it outside. Otherwise, it was on the front porch, under the sofa, in the kitchen, where ever he found convenient. And yet, through the ordeal, he was still playing ball by himself, running after his ball, and being the crazy dog that he is. Fever and purging are not deterrents.

We thought THAT was the lesson he needed.

Too quick to jump the gun.

Hubs told Jess to bite him if he’s out of line the next time. She was half awake.

He started taking on the toys.

He maimed the newly bought lamb for Jess. Four legs became naught. And it almost lost an ear too. The little dog toy lost its button nose. The orange dinosaur lost fingers and stuffing. Eeyore lost the ribbon to his pinned tailed. Pooh almost lost his ear. Tigger almost lost his tail. The blue donut frisbee-like toy lost its stuffings.

Jess was a little upset with her legless lamb and torn up toys. But she was otherwise nonchalant.

I mended them all, for Jessie’s sake. But he started on them again. Hubs decided to put aside Jess’ favorite toys, which were a majority of the torn up but mended toys.
Bad idea. It took away Jess’ “gift” to us. Worse, it gave Dusty idle “hands.”

He bore a whole in the couch. And pulled out stuffings.

We stuffed his kong ball with treats. And returned his blue bouncing ball, which he was bouncing at all hours of the day AND night.

That kept him entertained for 5 seconds. So he tore up the box that hubs left behind.

When he finally “settled down,” I returned the toys back to its original safe keeping inside the basket on the floor.

That day, we returned home with all the toys pulled out from the basket, strewn all over the house. You would think I had children in the house.

(But then again, I do.)

Better that, than destruction. At least that’s what we thought.

Yesterday, we returned home to all the toys congregating at the front door AND the entire bag of recycled papers pulled out and torn up. He left a trail of paper littering the kitchen into the dining room.

I should ask for a refund on my paper shredder. He will be a nice replacement.

Hubs didn’t know whether to laugh or be angry. He chose the latter.

After a deafening scolding, Dusty was relegated to a corner in the house – for him to think about his faux pas. Not 2 seconds of mulling passed before he “freed” himself to come to me for some consoling. For all his toughness, he is a puppy at heart, looking for constant attention and love. Hubs doubled his time-out – to another 2 more seconds. No one can resist those brown, trusting eyes.

The reason (my logical mind thinking) that he doesn’t remember these lessons, is because we too forget about it. Just as quickly as it happens, it is quickly cleaned up, as if nothing happened.

And yet, hubs reminds Jess to, “Bite his ankles next time.”

She yawns.

And Dusty runs off to find another piano to climb on, corner to explore, object to tear up. This is why he is the size of a lidi.