Things Vega has Eaten this Month

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I dont hate dogs, I just dont like mine. I know there was a time when I totally dug being a dog owner, but since the death of my Primo I must admit my heart has hardened to my remaining pet. Maybe this makes me a bad person, or maybe I just recognize my limitations.

 

I attempted to re-home her. A single dude found her post by way of a site I had listed her on and out  of guilt and obligation I couldn't give her up. This was a mistake. I think we would all be happier had I been able to go through with it.

 

Vega has a death wish and is committed to making me regret keeping her which brings me to the point of today's meanderings, and so without further ado I give to you;

Things Vega has Eaten this Month

 

 

The short list of items she has eaten this month are as follows; 

Robins leg (Batman's partner not the bird)

toy gun

alligator

my Detroit hat

several dinos

Pringles

Pringles can 

1 shitty diaper 

3 rolls of paper towels (partially eaten) 

2 partial bags of buns

Chase from Paw Patrol

Stuffing from her bed.

Im sure there are additional items, however I wont know about them until I scoop poop. Granted these things aren't of great importance and cause me more of annoyance than anything as I gather the shards of her destruction. I do realize that this is completely my fault because she hates her unfulfilled life. This brings me to the sub-sub heading of this post. Most importantly, and what has me fully committed to carrying out her death warrant Beatrix Kiddo Black Mamba rage style is that she ate a half dozen cider donuts which were thoughtfully shipped to me from home hundreds of miles away. The Bayne's donuts of which I consumed but one. Okay Okay 1.5. You got me.

 

That day the boys and I rounded the corner towards our home and I could see that a package had been delivered for us. A package! Oh joy! We all opened the box together armed with various tools. It was a box of clothing for them!  Spurred by recent complaints of the lack of second hand clothing stores in my area a friend had thoughtfully shipped a box of clothing to us.

 

But wait, there was something else in this box. Something wonderful that awaited in a non descriptive white bag. As I lifted it from the box the bag fell open just enough so that I could see the label of what lie inside. There in the bag, in a little plastic container carefully cradled individually by the containers special design was something that signified Autumns arrival to me. It was12 apple cider donuts. 

I let out a yip. A single tear may have fallen from my eye as I clawed at the container. When I opened it my nostrils filled with the scent of cinnamon and sugar. I selected my prey and crammed it into my gob. Later my husband informed my that not only had he warmed them, but he also added additional amounts of sugar and cinnamon before lovingly spoon feeding them to our boys who chirped with delight like little birds while they ate. "Damn"  why hadn't I thought of that?

I knew something was amiss when I came home from work that night but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Then as I lay in bed just before drifting off to sleep it hit me. 

"Where were the donuts?" 

Surely the husband hadn't placed them in a cupboard, that's preposterous. I knew what happened. I was just in denial.

 

When Mr.Schulz returned from work that afternoon I asked having already arrived at the answer myself but wanting to hear the painful details.

 

"What happened to the Bayne's cider donuts?"

 

After weaving the story of the warming and consumption of  the 4  additionally adorned donuts between himself and the boys he told me that Vega had eaten the remaining 6.5 which were on top of the table nestled in the closed container. I seethed with anger. Left with nothing more than the faint memory of the 1.5 donuts I had inhaled and barely tasted.

Just this morning as I made my bed and went to the bathroom in unbeknownst to me another crime against my gullet was occurring. I entered the kitchen opening the fridge as I do every morning to get my cold brew coffee. In the fridge lay an empty pizza pan. 

 

"Weird" I thought. I began trying to make sense of it in my feeble morning mind. Maybe Mr.Schulz had taken the majority of it to work for his lunch and the boys then helped themselves to the last few slices while I was upstrairs? Yeah that's it. That's the ticket. Ohhhh the lies we convince ourselves of when we are too cowardly to face the hard truth.

Typically I hear from Mr.Schulz on his lunch break so I texted him to ask.

 

"I opened the fridge to find an empty pizza pan. So the question is how much did the dog eat?"

I awaited his response. Its always better to hear the bad news from someone you love isn't it?

 

Him--"What? I had zero pizza."

 

Me-- Slew of profanities followed by "She ate the whole thing." More profanity. "Im over her."

 

Him--" How did she open the fridge? Im not even mad. Thats amazing."

The scene began to unfold in my mind. The boys had made their way down the stairs. Opened the baby gate to the kitchen where we house the beast and opened the fridge. Inside the fridge as previously discussed sat untouched  was the pizza. Once again that filthy whore helped herself to a prized food item. An entire pie. 

 

Not just any pizza, people. Not a frozen pizza. Not a take out pizza. No, my homemade pizza that takes more than 2 hours to prepare. As you may or may not know I make the crust from scratch and it requires 10 minutes of kneading. Kneading. By hand, because I don't have a fancy god damn mixer despite my years of begging (buts that's another post all together). I make the sauce from roasted and puréed heads of garlic which again takes time. The only thing I don't make yet (because I haven't tried my hand at mozzarella cheese making) on this pie is the cheese.   

 

I held the pan in my hand and asked, "Vega, what did you do? Did you eat the pizza?" 

She feigned remorse. I knew better than to fall for that sorrowful look. She didnt feel bad at all and if given the chance she'd do it again, and will do it again and again and again.

 

I asked Axel, "Axel, what happened to the pizza?"

He replied gesturing with outstretched arm and an accusatory pointed finger," Dod ate the pitas. She ate it."

 

Out of the mouths of babes.

I dont know why I even waste the energy on getting angry with her anymore.

Confucius says " When anger rises, think of the consequences."  

Those consequences are beginning to take their toll on her innards as I type this. I am then forced to  think about the consequences every time she crop dusts me or I crop dust myself when I waft through said consequence. My only solace lies in the fact that she soon will be miserable with liquid poo. Running outside to hunch up whilest looking embarrassed as the lava flows from her dog ass.

Oh wait. Im the resident poo picker up-er. No solace here.