Apologizing to the Snowman

"A dog is the only thing on earth that loves you more than he loves himself."

-Josh Billings

Just as suspected, I knew it wouldn't take Sydney long before she made it onto the blog.

For those of you who don't personally know Sydney, you will before long.  She's an (almost) 2 year old chocolate lab.  There are many different words I could use to describe her like hyper, loving, stubborn, wimp, and weirdo.  And, there are more that you will come to know that I do not wish to disclose (admit) at this time.  She is exactly what I imagine an infant, mixed with a toddler, and a preteen to be.  A "pretodfant" if you will.  I would agree that I can't make a child/dog comparison given that I'm not actually parent (I like to think of myself as a single mother), but managing 60 children ages 6-9 each day gives me enough clearance to accurately speculate.  If you have both small children AND a dog, I dare you to make a comparison that disproves my above statement.

With that being said, Sydney has always been a chewer.  Granted she is still young and still considered a "puppy" she will gladly chew anything she sink her teeth into.  She loves rawhide and other treats like most canines but she especially likes items she can chew that make loud noises and she prefers plastic and wood to the more traditional dog toys.  Squeak, honk, jingle, bang; you name it, we have it. Empty plastic water bottles are her favorite and thankfully she isn't picky about the style or type of wood she chooses to indulge in.  Painted, stained, smooth, pressure-treated, you name it; I knew I didn't raise a picky pooch.

Unfortunately, and to my demise, who would have guessed that wood would (see what I did there?) be difficult for the body to digest?  Weird concept, I know.

Like the time she consumed my wooden drying rack...including the innocent clothes that draped over the bars.

THIS is exactly why we can't have nice things.

Or there was the time she ate the wooden molding around the frame of my door.  Or the time she ate the boomerang I designed and hand painted while living in Australia.  Or the time she was too tired to stand after a long hike, yet managed to lay flat on her stomach and gnaw through a painted, pressure-treated plank that was the deck, as she delicately placed the nails and screws aside.

Something is missing...

Or yesterday, when she tortured the poor snowman in the entryway, stealing and severing his arm to earn her own personal delight in what I'm sure was a time of distinct desperation and need.  If you look close enough, I believe there are tears slowly melting down the snowman's face, as his welcome sign hangs  aside.  If I were missing an arm, I wouldn't welcome many guests either.

Of course no living anatomy could possibly begin to digest splinters of wood in any form.  And as all other wood eating adventures have ended, I knew in addition to the shards of wood that needed to be cleaned, that the vomit would surely arise (no pun intended), it was all just a matter of time.

As I arrived home from school I was surprised to neither see nor smell signs of Sydney's remorse.  After my run, still no sign of Frosty's limb.  After eating her dinner surely her stomach would refuse, but still nothing.

Of course, it wasn't until Sydney's perfectly timed 2:30am heaving that I awoke in shock in a black room scrambling for the light switch, screaming for her to get off of the bed.  She puked on the carpet runner, not once but twice.  I stood there in my tired daze, eyes squinted, watching, an intense scowl consuming my face as my ponytail hung before my eyes as I continued to watch her retch, cursing her for eating the damn twig that made the poor snowman whole.  And then as her finale, she puked on the dog bed that lay of the foot of the California king.  In case you didn't know, the ENTIRE bedroom is hard wood floor EXCEPT for the 1' by 7' carpet runner and temper-pedic dog bed and she chose to puke on both.  Shame on you, Sydney.  So, I spot treated the carpet while I muttered under my breath, retching myself as I scooped wood and undigested innards from the floor .  I could hear Sydney crying from the deck door as I sponged and dried.

Being the suck-up she is, she waddled back inside, crept down the hallway, and snuggled under the covers to continue her slumber, placing her head on my chest as I switched off the light.  What can I say, I'm a sucker for a cute face.  And no mother would ever push her sick child away, am I right?

Sydney, you leave my life nothing short of delightful but always just a little too chaotic.