Saturday, September 14, 2013

Dogs, Sleepless Nights, and Squishy Surprises in the Hallway...

For some deranged reason, my dogs love to bark at night. Maybe it's the foxes that peruse our neighborhood for yummy fluffy bunnies that get them all hyper. But, as for my husband, any reason is a stupid reason and the dog must be punished!

Well, not really punished. Just silenced... He's a Mack. Mack's are cranks if woken up before their 10 hour sleep is over.

I may be a Mack as well, but I married into this wonderful family. I'm a Green by nature. Yep, that's me. Lia Jean Green Mack ;)

Needless to say, once my dogs start barking at night - and they are always MY dogs when they start barking, not the family's dogs - I'm non-crank enough to rush out and quite them down.

Turn on outside lights to see what's all the fuss is about. Lock them inside so they can't get back out. Poor things, you'd think I locked them in a cage rather than in a whole house, complete with water and food and fluffy couches to sleep on!

But I digress...

The other night, they started barking at 3am. And it wasn't just a little yip here, a little yap there. It was full on insane barking that wouldn't stop. So I turned on the lights. Looked to see what was their problem. Seeing nothing, I went back to bed and told them to do the same.

(I have two Rat Terriers who, unlike their size, have BIG mouths, aka, BIG barks)

Well, the quite lasted a whole 2 minutes. I was up again, hoping to not wake up the sleeping beast (my husband) in the process. Again, I turned on the lights. Again I looked outside. Again I told them to GO TO BED. Sulking, the doggies did.

I was just about to fall back to sleep and BAM! A full on barking party erupted in the backyard. "For the love of...!" I ran outside, grabbed the dogs, locked them in the house - poor puppies my ass - and said one last, blasted, "GOOD NIGHT!" to them as I made my way back to MY bed.

Grumble. Grumble.

Maybe I'm a Mack after all...

Then, on my way down the hall to my bedroom...I step in something. Rolling my eyes, I turn on the light to see what it is.

Poo? No, it's not poo...
Barf? No, it's not barf...

It's...a baked potato.

That's right. A BAKED POTATO. Skin still attached, all squished up between my toes.

Thing is, we haven't had baked potatoes in months. I'm such a quick cooker, I don't bother with them as I never seem to let them cook long enough and, well, I don't have the patience to cook anything that takes longer than 30 minutes.

So the question is...where did the dogs get it from? AKA, whose yard did they snatch it from? Whose trash did they dig through and then decide it was a great idea to bring it INSIDE MY HOUSE!?!?!?


At least baked potatoes flush real easy and they don't stink up the house, unlike dead squirrels.

That's another night I'll never forget...