Should Have Named the Dog BPITA

BPITA = Big Pain In The Arse

The dog almost killed herself the other day, and for a split second I thought about letting her!

Lately, as I buzz around the house at breakneck speed getting all my non-mom-that-hubby-can't-help-with-stuff done, the dog is ALWAYS underfoot. I swear I'm going to stomp on her rib cage one of these days and will have to add an emergency vet trip to my already long to-do list.

The other day, as I sat down to pump, I had one kid asleep in the swing in the living room and the other amusing herself in the Exersaucer next to me in the kitchen. The dog was quiet enough, for the time being, under the kitchen table (where I pump). She found an empty round Quaker oats box and was nibbling on the rim of it.

Moments later, unaware that she had left the room with the oat box (as she often does with paper egg cartons as well, to go shred), I happened to see her stagger past the kitchen door and saw that she had the oat box stuck on her snout up PAST HER EYES. I thought, "Hey! I should take a picture!" So I got up to go get the camera, but as I passed Sheeks I realized she couldn't breathe with her nose and mouth trapped. I went to pull off the box but it was really tight! A stronger tug did the trick, and no harm was done.

Yesterday, when we were walking around the circle, she thought someone's pumpkin was a cat. Her moderate amount of intelligence deduced that the pumpkin was at the house where the cats lurk outside, and one of the cats is orange. So she put two and two together and pulled towards the pumpkin. But I thought dogs were colorblind? When we walk in the dusk, she thinks large rocks are cats too.

There's a reason cats score higher on their SAT's. :-)