Canine Wrecking Crew: Gutting Homes One Room at a Time.

We’ll Take a Bite Out of Your Couch, Not Your Budget.
 The Brains

If you need a chair or sofa stripped clean, my dog Jenny, a mutt and alpha dog in a pack of two, will do it for free. She has an eye for interior design, or so she would like you think if you’re a minimalist and prefer sparse decor.

We discovered her flair for decorating when she and Jake, her business partner and number two, destroyed two couches while my husband and I were at work earning money to pay for things, such as reupholstering couches.

 The Brawn

When we first adopted the dogs, we kept them downstairs in the basement, which has a doggie-door to an outside pen that opens into a yard – a canine utopia, or so we had thought. But the dogs saw it as more of a maximum-security prison. They protested their inability to gain upstairs access by decimating the two sofas in the basement.

Every day, my husband and I would return home to a couch in a new stage of disrepair.

First, the dogs attacked the cushions – ripping apart the material, removing the foam, and scattering it across the floor and outside yard. My husband and I walked the yard, in a search and rescue mission, looking for wads of foam that were M.I.A.

At the time, we had hoped to retrieve the foam, stuff it back into the cushions, and eventually have them repaired. Unfortunately, the dogs ripped apart the cushions faster than we could find the foam. Our yard soon looked like an ancient foam burial ground.

But that was the least of our problems. Jenny and Jake had started gnawing through the armrests.

So, we left the cushions for dead and concentrated on saving the sofas. We had a brilliant plan, or so we had thought. We would spray the sofas with dog repellent. It worked while we were at home when we could reapply the spray, but as soon as we left for the day, the odor disappeared. And the dogs went back to the business of restoring the sofas, in their minimalist bare-bone vision, without the unnecessary excesses of upholstery or foam.

After a month, the couches had been stripped down to the frame, which left Jenny with no place to sleep other than the floor.

That showed her!

Do you have doggie demolition crew at your house?
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My dog ate my snow shoe and other digestible thoughts.

Dogs, you can’t live with them; you can’t live without them.

Oh, that’s men, but my husband has never eaten or attempted to eat my snow shoes.

Wrong picture. That’s a deer, a doe, a female deer.

My dogs, however, (I have two of them) love to chomp on leather, or cotton/polyester products with a foam center, kind of like an Oreo. I’m talking about pillows of any breed.


The main suspect and perpetrator is Jenny, a Sato dog, who once lived on the streets of Puerto Rico eating garbage and anything else that helped her to survive. Now garbage is just an hors’devour.

Jenny stares at an open food compactor, as if it were a buffet table. Garbage cans are snack trays. She gives a whole new meaning to the expression “dumpster diving.”

I once caught her lying on a bed eating tissues from the Kleenex box she grabbed from the nightstand. Maybe tissues taste like cotton candy or chicken.

Anything of questionable taste, other than clothing, is immediately put into the chicken column, although no one has ever accused chicken of tasting like anything questionable unless it involves my cooking. And my husband has used some choice words to describe my culinary expertise, before consumption (BC), while still in the baking dish set on the counter in a Good Housekeeping photo op moment. I wish! And after digestion (AD), when said chicken carcass and husband carcass end up in the can.

But I’ve wandered off topic again and find myself slowly edging back to the point . . . that my dog ate my snow shoe, which is now in a flip-flop state, meaning that when lifting the shoe, most of the heel remains on the floor. Not good for icy conditions or walking in general.

In the case of another pair of snow shoes I own, one of the shoes is now a widow since her better half has bitten the dust, or more aptly, been bitten. We have lots of widow and widower shoes in the hall closet. They lie in mourning, saddened by the untimely deaths of their shoe spouses. One day I will discard the widowed shoes, but right now I honor the memory of the poor departed soles. They mate for life, you know.

Do you have any widowed shoes?
If so, what caused their untimely demise?

Dog Park Tales: A Day in Poo Land.

Attention Dog Guardians / DogsImage by dullhunk via Flickr

Warning:  Humans suffering from highbrow humor disorder, irritable wit syndrome, or sensitivity to john jokes (not hookers or brother-in-laws) should not read past this line.

Just remember. You were warned!


A trip to the local dog park, where free-range canines run in 6-packs, 12-packs, 18-packs or more, brings a flush of pride to a dog owner’s cheek and a smush of poo beneath the shoe.

I really stepped in that one! Scraping bottom of shoe against large rock.

For the dog owner, finding a canine dropping often becomes a game of “which crap is mine?” as there is a variety to choose from — the same challenge we face everyday at the grocery store, although with processed food, not food already processed.

Unless a dog owner has an intimate knowledge of what descends from his dog’s behind, it can be a daunting task to find the remains of fido’s breakfast. What is a dog owner to do? Put the poo bag on his hand and turn it into a poo puppet? No! Just approach Area Number 2 with caution and pick up any stool. During the winter, any poo will do. Those are the hard-facts on frozen feces. To learn more, visit

While the dog days of summer produces countless hurls, uh, er hurtles, as a hot steaming pile of shit is a slick wily creature that can change appearances at any given moment in order to give the poo hunter the slip. When conducting summer stool reconnaissance, it is best to choose the mutt muffin from the dog with a hi-fiber diet, unless you happened to arrive at the park on Taco day, then it is highly recommended that you put pebbles in your poo bag when no one is looking.

Do you pick up any poo or put pebbles in your poo bag?
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