Adventures in Raising a Rufus…

Before the baby was born and back when we had no clue what this whole parenting thing entailed I declared that raising an infant child would be infinitely easier than dealing with this hellion of a dog. Turns out I was right…

Hey Rufus, how about you DON’T rifle through my purse and eat Gracyn’s note from daycare, my brand new pack of gum and my birth control all at once? I’d really appreciate it…

It is NOT okay that you make a horrible screeching noise and buck like a wild bronco every time a dog, cow, bird, squirrel or any other animal appears on the television. We can’t watch Dog Whisperer or any other show that has commercials anymore because of you. And there is an infant playing under your feet nowadays so the level 10 freak out you display at the sight of another animal has got to go.

Seriously.

After ingesting an untold number of socks and pairs of my underwear and one abdominal surgery later you would think you would have learned your lesson by now. It is NOT okay that you still feel the need to snatch up articles of dirty (or clean, for that matter) laundry and swallow them whole. Also, your need to eat kleenex and paper towels is disturbing. I think you have pica and I think you need help.

Your “dad” did not appreciate it when you rammed your big ol’ booty into the hallway and punched a Rufus-sized hole in the wall. I know getting a bath is a rare and rather exciting experience for you but really? You do NOT need to run out of the bathroom and turn the 90 degree corner at warp speed. It really is unnecessary…

You break it, you buy it.

And this afternoon when you baby sister was snoozing away after a non nap this morning and you broke into her room and took down the box of kleenexes? Not cool. It wouldn’t have been SO bad except for the fact that you scarfed down the tissues and then hacked them back up (and what sounded like a piece of your lung) in front of her crib. She woke up, of course, saw me trying to wrangle you out of the room and started to cry. We spent the next hour trying to get her back to sleep. Baby girl needs her sleep. When she doesn’t sleep, mama doesn’t sleep. And when mama doesn’t sleep….. well, you get the picture. So thanks for that.

You’re only 4 years old and these aren’t even a fraction of the trials and tribulations you have caused us. I need to write them all down because people would think I just made these stories up because they’re so crazy and out there and there is no other dog like you in this world. You are always getting into something/eating something/barking at something/eating something again but I guess (complete with an eye-roll) that I would kind of sort of miss you if you happened to run away and leave us and find another family’s lives to ruin. I’m pretty sure you’re never going to die because I think you’ll live longer than any of us just to spite me.

Mama loves you Rufus boy – if you could cut back on the shedding though you’d be doing me a solid…