My Dog Needs to Enter the Canine Protection Program - IMMEDIATELY

It's totally true.  Would you like to know why?


Let me paint you a picture.  No better yet, let me post you a picture:

Oh, yes he did.  For whatever reason, Qfus the doofus decided it would be really fun to dig a new hole in the yard.  Right smack in the middle of the newly sprouted grass that Jamey planted a couple of weeks ago.

I didn't notice it at first.  That's because I saw this first:

(Disclaimer:  This scene has been recreated to look like it did this morning.  He actually had dragged it into the driveway, so I put it back how I first found it this morning.)

That, my friends, is a substantial piece of an azalea bush from the front yard.  If you remember correctly, last summer, Quincy had a habit of uprooting entire azalea bushes and bringing them to the front door.  Like a cat.  At least this time it wasn't the entire azalea.

So I was right in the middle of scolding him for the azalea mauling when I looked up to the top part of our yard and saw a suspicious looking spot where there should have been green grass.  I walked up further, and then my fear was confirmed.  The poor dog is not going to see it coming tonight when Jamey gets home.  That's because he's too doofussy to know when he should be scared for his life.  Maybe since he thinks he's a cat, he's got several lives left.  And who am I to break it to him that he's a dog?  If he realized that his time is running very short, he'd probably pee on the floor.  I'm just lazy and don't want to have to clean that up.

I am so entirely sure that his life is going to end in the very near future that I gave him a last meal.  A chewie and a fresh bowl of water.  Though I'm not sure he deserved it.

This is not the first time he's done something that caused us to consider ending his life.  There's this one:

This was taken during the time where I was supposed to be on bed rest, because my bronchitis was on the verge of turning into the "in the hospital" style pneumonia.  And I was in my nightclothes and it had been raining, and so Quincy thought it would be fun to dig in the mud.  I had to give him a bath.  He weighs well over 80 pounds.  I don't think the doctor would have approved this activity for me at the time, and I'm actually quite surprised I didn't end up in the hospital after this was over.  And on a side note, how is it that this dog loves to go in a completely stinky, algae filled, muddy, disgusting creek or river, but he doesn't want to go in a lovely nice, warm lovely bathtub?

Oh and there was also this one:

Not to mention this was the THIRD bed he had destroyed.  I guess the third time's the charm for us getting that he doesn't deserve a bed.  Now he sleeps on the cold tile floor.  I don't feel a lick bad for it either.

I have a few other lovely "landscaping" pictures.  Don't forget:  like a cat:

I love the way in this one, he is laying right beside the azalea, and he looks either 1.  totally proud of himself, 2. acting totally innocent, or 3. completely stupid.  Which do you think it is?  Because I really wonder, myself.

The fabric you see was dug up from underneath the mulch on the side of our house.  And he brought all the lumber from over there too.

It happened so frequently last summer that we just started leaving it like this for weeks at a time.  I'm sure our neighbors loved us for that.  No wonder no one talks to me.

And this just shows how dumb he really is.  Sorry, but he is.  You'd think I'd be all, "No no, Quincy, don't bring that in here."  I could have held the door open all day and he'd have never gotten it inside because he couldn't figure out how to get it through the door.  Sigh.

Happy day folks!