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Wonder-rut

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…

Exactly What is Your Definition of “Accident”?

In defense of Wonderbutt, I will say that our sofa is very old.  And that we have been wanting to replace it since we moved into our house three years ago – when we inexplicably painted the walls blue when we had a maroon, brown, and green couch.  Our golden retriever’s fur clings to the fabric of the sofa in large clumps.  No matter how many times I vacuum or lint roll the cushions, every visitor that makes the unfortunate decision to sit on our furniture stands up with golden hairs affixed to every inch of his or her clothing.  If we invite friends over, I always add the clause: if you value your appearance, do not wear black.

And now tiny white hairs are added to the mix.  The pillows that Grandma specifically recovered for us so that we could pretend our sofa was designed for a house with blue walls have had their corners chewed off, and decorative braided trim trails from the sides.  The back of one sofa has a giant dark circle where Wonderbutt obsessively licked the couch for no apparent reason.  One sofa cushion has half its foam and a zipper missing.

I have no idea what was so lickably tasty about this part of the couch.

Once we got our floors back in shape, it was even more evident that the sofa would be a fitting prop for the living room on Sanford and Son.

So, we decided to get a new one.  Yes, I know that it is counterintuitive to replace a piece of furniture that was destroyed by your dogs with a new piece of furniture when said dogs still roam freely in the house.  But a quick poll of those who know me well will reveal that I regularly defy logic.

We found a sofa that will not attract hair, will go with our blue walls (that will soon be a different color, but that’s a story for another day), and – most importantly – does not have removable cushions.  At least, they are not designed to be removable.

When going over the details of the sofa, our ears perked when the salesperson asked if we were interested in purchasing the accident protection.

“What is included in this plan?” I asked.

“Rips, tears, spills, stains.  All of those will be repaired if you buy the accident protection.”

“Let me get this straight.  If the cushion has a big hole in it, you will replace it, free of charge?”

“Yes.”

“And, if there’s a huge watermark on it, you will replace it, free of charge?”

“Yes.”

Cap’n Firepants, Dimples, and I all looked at each other in wonderment.  Why the heck hadn’t we heard of this miraculous plan before?

“So, what you’re saying is – no matter what my dog does to this couch, you will fix it?”

“Oh no, Ma’am.  This doesn’t cover pet damage.”

I stared at the woman, unable to speak.  Cap’n Firepants quickly stepped in.

“We don’t need the accident protection,” he assured the salesperson, as I tried to tell myself that throttling her would be counterproductive.  I wondered if she had accident protection.

“You could say that your child did it,” the woman conspiratorially whispered to me.

If you have video of a child doing this kind of damage to a couch cushion, let me know. Before you have him/her committed, I may need him/her to explain to the Accident Plan Board of Directors how it happens that a child who is not a Wonderbutt "accidentally" shreds and eats a piece of furniture.

I Think I Better Get Out of the Way

Our bulldog, Wonderbutt, and my husband, the Venerable Cap’n Firepants, are now in fierce competition to see who can demolish our house with more panache.  The Cap’n claims that he is trying to prepare the house for the stained concrete flooring contractors who are scheduled to appear next week – but I think he just likes alleviating his stress by  pretending he is an actual pirate marauder who must destroy everything that isn’t made of gold.  Wonderbutt is apparently the reincarnation of Attila the Hun, and is determined to leave nothing alive in his wake.  The following pictures will show you the current status of our house.  See if you can identify the artist of each interior landscape.

Tile Removal - Because removing the carpet didn't make things look bad enough.

See the baby gate? Used to be a wall there.

There's the wall.

The artist behind this masterpiece left a few clues.

All I can say is that these BEFORE pictures better result in some darn good AFTER pictures by the end of this coming week.

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