dumb dog

I just got home from work.  There's nothing like coming home everyday to a loving, devoted husband dog.  John's at work.  It's great coming home to him too!  But honestly, he doesn't get all excited and greet me at the door with his tail wagging.  :)

So here I am, all ready to pet the dog and get some Zoe lovin'.  Then I see it: the magnets on the floor; Pastor Jim and Martha's picture on the floor; a broken magnet on the floor.  As I turn toward the refrigerator I see the scratch marks.  The scratch marks that actually dug through the finish on the refrigerator. 

As I'm taking this all in, Zoe has gone down the few steps that lead to our outside door.  I glare at her.  Her ears go back in shame.  I hang up the phone with my mother, and the yelling begins.

I smacked her on the snout once and yelled "Bad girl!" about a dozen times.  She kept trying to creep away from me, but I kept yelling at her to come back.  I was mad.  She's done this before, and it ticks me off.  We don't know what triggers it.  Maybe it's payback for us leaving.  Maybe someone was ringing the doorbell.  Who knows.  It's not acceptable behavior.  And she knows it.

So I finish my tirade and finally let her outside.  Muttering "Bad girl" the whole time.  While she's outside I fill her food dish then call John to complain.  Usually Zoe will bark pretty quickly to come in and eat dinner.  She doesn't bark.  So I finally go and let her in.  She tries to sniff my hand, looking for a pet, but I move it away, and start in with the "Bad girl" again.

I tell her to go downstairs.  (We send her down into the basement so her paws will dry off a bit.  Less mud in the house.)  I consider shutting her down there for a minute or two.  Usually she flies down the stairs, then flies back up them.  I decide not to shut her down there, and wait for her to come up.

I wait.  And I wait.  And I wait some more. 

Wow.  She must realize how mad I am.

Good.

I make my way into the living room and open up my laptop.  Eventually I hear little paws on the stairs.  Then I hear them on the kitchen linoleum.  She peeks her head into the living room, sees me sitting there, and decides to avoid me and go get a drink. 

She's now laying on the living room floor, looking quite depressed.  She has yet to eat her dinner, which is sitting in her bowl. 

I guess I got my point across.