A Visitor in the Night...

So if it were legal to kill dogs, I might have become a murderer this morning.

First, some background:

I have always had a soft spot for animals, especially dogs. When I was growing up we always had a dog of some sort. My father has this weird super-power: all dogs love him. No one knows why, but if a dog sees my father, he will run up all excited, pissing all over the floor. The dog, not my father. Besides me, there were three other kids in the house, so between them and my animal-magnet Dad, a pet of my own was hard to come by. The one I remember best was this mutt named AJ. He was small and black and fuzzy. Every morning my mom would let him out to poop, and when he came back in, he would jump on my bed, cold and wet, slobbering all over me, to wake me up.

Then my aunt Gail ran over him.

Needless to say, I have been overcompensating this devastating loss most of my adult life.

Fast forward to last June when some ass-wipe dumps a puppy in the backyard. At the time I still had my two Jack Russells, Krypto and Underdog. I had just moved in to the fabulous new house in East Nashville, and my big ole bleeding heart said “Oh no, you can’t take that abandoned pup to the pound! You’ve got plenty of room, keep him.”

So that was how Rascal came into our lives. I’ve spent the last two months trying unsuccessfully to get him out of our life. First, he grew VERY quickly, from a tiny little scamp you could hold in the palm of your hand to the ENORMOUS monstrosity that he is today. Second, he may have been the last in line for the brains in the litter, because he sure doesn’t have any. Third, he may well be the most destructive dog I’ve ever laid eyes on.

Perhaps the terriers spoiled me. Underdog took to commands like second nature. Sit, lie down, fetch – there wasn’t a command he couldn’t master in a matter of minutes. Krypto was a bit more stubborn, but still caught on. Rascal on the other hand…

I worked and worked and worked with him. He wouldn’t walk on a leash, barked night and day, and bullied the other two. One night, we found that he had pushed the dryer from one side of the room to the other so he could stick his head through the vent. Of course, he got stuck and had to be pushed back through from outside. One day he saw a mouse in the laundry room, and RIPPED a massive chunk out of the drywall to get to it. Rascal was a difficult dog to say the least.

So a few weeks ago, right before Christmas, my boyfriend Daniel had taken Rascal out for his walk. Several blocks from the house, Rascal chewed through the leash (a common occurrence) and bolted. Daniel chased him for a while, but couldn’t catch him, so he came home. We put up flyers and went out searching, all to no avail. Secretly though, I was relieved that the dog was finally gone.

That is, until this morning.

At 4:30am, exactly half an hour before I have to get up for work, I was jarred awake by the sound of the apocalypse in the laundry room. I rushed over and threw open the door to find Rascal, sopping wet, caked in mud, bits and pieces of the shattered puppy door trailing behind him. He had dug a hole under the fence and squirmed his way into the back yard, then broke into the house my smashing the plastic puppy door guard to smithereens.

So….is there anyone out there who would like a dog?

He’s free!!!