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Warning: Dog Beds May Be on the Verge of Extinction

I feel like I’ve been watching one of those nature videos during this last week.  You know, the ones where they show the sped up footage of the decomposition of a dead animal?  Except the object decomposing was not a dead animal.  In fact, I’m pretty sure the object was entirely composed of inorganic material.  And I am somewhat doubtful that dog beds were meant to be included in the Circle of Life.

I mentioned a few days ago that Wonderbutt had taken over Mrs. P.I.B.’s new dog bed.  Even though he already has three of his own.  And I also exhibited a few pieces of evidence of his determination to mark his territory by defacing it.

So, here was the original bed with Mrs. P.I.B. comfortably esconced:

And then Wonderbutt established his Domination of the Bedding:

But, Wonderbutt is apparently a Cut-Off-Your-Nose-to-Spite-Your-Face kind of dog.  Perhaps because he has very little nose on his squished in face to begin with. Anyhow, he was not satisified with the message he had conveyed, so he took it a bit further.

And he gave me his signature “raspberry” to show that he was quite proud of his work.

But, later on, Cap’n Firepants caught him unawares, and I think poor Wonderbutt may have been regretting his evisceration of the bed:

Or, he could just be contemplating his next victim.  It’s difficult to tell with Wonderbutt…


A Breach at the K. Corral

Consider this your warning.  Stock up on the canned goods.  Buy some more duct tape.  Kiss up to your neighbor with the bomb shelter.  The world is about to end.

Here is how I know this:

Our insatiable bulldog, Wonderbutt, loves to chew.  Loves. To.  Chew.  Everything.

This is why, when we are not home, Wonderbutt is relegated to the Kitchen Corral, a complex system of baby gates and dining room chairs that restrict him to the kitchen – a part of the house that I practically never use, so I am not concerned with him destroying it.

The other night, we returned home from an exciting evening cleaning out my mother-in-law’s apartment.  Wonderbutt’s face greeted us at the living room window.  Living room.  Two problems with this:   the living room is not in the kitchen, and that window is about 100 feet too high for Wonderbutt to be peering out of.  Unless he is standing on our couch.  Our new couch.

My heart sank as I reached two obvious conclusions:  Wonderbutt is no longer afraid of baby gates, and our leather couch is in shreds.

I was wrong on both counts.

When we entered the house, it was immediately apparent how Wonderbutt got out.

Someone (o.k., perhaps it was me) forgot to finish constructing the K. Corral before we left.  Oops.

Entry #1. Intact.

Entry #2. Crap. Maybe he learned how to gently slide the gate over by himself?

Careful examination showed that Wonderbutt had left the new couch intact.  My daughter praised him for his good behavior.  But I was not so quick to celebrate.  Wonderbutt was doing something while we were gone – so what was it?

As soon as I got to the hallway, I saw it – paper strewn all over the floor.  In shreds.  Great.

I followed the literal paper trail to our office.

See my shoes on the floor in the back? He didn’t touch them.

And that is when the world fell off of its axis, and I realized that nothing makes sense any more.

Wonderbutt had pulled the papers from a box on the floor.  Next to the shredder.  PAPERS THAT WE WANTED TO SHRED.

So, there you have it, folks, proof that the world is about to end.  Because Wonderbutt can text and destroy confidential paper work.  That you planned to get rid of in the first place.

Start boarding up your windows.

On Second Thought…

It seems that I may have judged the manufacturers of Wonderbutt’s Orbee Planet ball a bit too harshly yesterday.  Wonderbutt did, after all, only manage to eat the continents.  The ball itself is still intact.

Original Ball…

After the Wonderbutt Treatment

After I wrote yesterday’s post, I wandered into the front room to see what Wonderbutt was doing.  On the stairs, I found this:

That, my friends, used to be a tennis ball.  Wonderbutt didn’t even like to play with that ball.  Mrs. P.I.B., our golden retriever, is the house tennis champion.  I guess our canine piranha was frustrated by the absence of any more continents to consume on his own ball, and decided to take it out on another unsuspecting sphere.

Our new furniture arrives later this week.

We’re screwed.


I glanced at my search terms the other day, and noticed that someone had chanced upon my blog by searching for “Wonder rut”.  This leads me to believe that Scooby-Doo is trying to find my posts about my lovable bulldog, Wonderbutt.  Either that, or someone is trying to communicate to me (like that Evil Captcha Witch) that Wonderbutt’s unruly behavior is starting to become ho-hum boring.  He has been in kind of a rut lately, I must admit.  Pretty much every day, when we arrive home, we find some variation on the following theme:

This was the day before we were hosting a party at our house. Yeah.

And, as more than one someone pointed out on yesterday’s Science Fair post, how come the dog did not put me out of my misery by eating my daughter’s bread-that-refuses-to-mold experiment?  I mean, we even placed it on the kitchen counter, near the edge, and the dog still hasn’t touched it.  Don’t tell me he has standards.  He eats couch foam, for heaven’s sake!

Anyway, I am starting to get a bit nervous about Wonderbutt’s lack of imagination lately in the demolition department.  Without him, this blog is going to quickly lose the smidgen of appeal that it currently possesses.  I think the two of us need to have a serious talk…

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