Why couldn't I be a little dog person?

It's been a very trying month for me. Having a new puppy means that nothing you care remotely about can be left laying around anymore. And people, I am ALL ABOUT leaving things laying around. But, like Mark told me, it doesn't matter if it's a sock you don't care about, the puppy doesn't know the difference between that one and a sock you DO care about. His point was later proven when I had to pull one of my favorite Oscar the Grouch socks from her mouth. Actually, it was about half way down her throat. It may have been easier to pull from the other side.

But anyway, the existence of puppy teeth in our home has meant a big change in my lifestyle. See, I HATE SHOES. And socks. I like bare feet, cause I'm white trash. Deal with it.

So, my shoes usually get kicked off immediately upon entering the house. Socks never make it very much further. This annoys Mark to no end, who can't understand why I don't JUST WEAR SOCKS so at least I don't have cold feet all the time. I can't explain it, it's just how I roll. Mark hates having bare feet. He always has his socks on. That's just how he rolls. POLAR OPPOSITES.

Anyway, I tend to dislike pants as well. Not as intensely, but enough so that basically, our house has my clothes all over the place.

But I am not the only one. There is another culprit. Oh yes, gentle readers, I have a helper.

Bubbas.

Ever since he was a wee little kitty (and I do mean WEE - I got him at 4 weeks old), Bubbas has harbored a bit of a clothing fetish. Let me amend that, it's really more of a fabric fetish. What he does is this: He hunts down an item that appeals to him, from somewhere on the floor of either my closet, the bathroom, the bedroom, or the laundry room (all these rooms are on one side of the house). Much sniffing happens. I do not know the thought process for the final selection, but he always seems to find what he is looking for. He then straddles his find, takes as much of it as he can in his mouth, and begins the trek to the living room. Items are always taken into the living room (or entry way), never out. He straddles the item the entire way, and he also makes a low, growl-y, meow-y noise. You can ALWAYS hear him coming.

Once he makes it to the living room, he drops the item and walks away. He never looks back. "Who, me? I've never seen those jeans before. Mom! Stop leaving your clothes all over the place!"

Often we are amazed at his strength and determination. Once, when I lived in my own apartment, I came home to find my double-sized feather comforter pulled off my bed and brought into the living room. And occasionally, he hits the nail on the head. Last week I came home from work tired, sweaty, and smelly; I just couldn't wait to get out of my uniform. And there in the entry way, right in front of the door, was my bathrobe. Very convenient. Sometimes when I come home from a big lunch, cursing my jeans, I find my favorite pair of comfy pants in the living room. On those days, Bubbas is my favorite creature ever.*

So my point is, after all that digression, this last month has been rough. Trying to keep all the clothes picked up has stressed me (an Bubbas) out. But I had the hope, the light at the end of the puppy tunnel, the knowledge that one day, one day soon, Sammie would stop chewing on other people's belongings. And then I could once again leave my clothes around.

And this is still true. But now we have a bigger problem.

NOW... I have to start doing dishes the minute I finish eating off them, instead of leaving them on the counter. Unless I want them cleaned by puppy tongue. Because I just HAD TO HAVE a Great Dane.

*I took this picture right after I moved in, that's why there's a dresser in the entry way. I'm not THAT bad about getting undressed immediately. But it should be noted, the black and white on the left of the photo is my work uniform. Which means it was removed that day just inside the room.