All of Cara’s permission slips are due for her field trip[link] tomorrow so today was Errand Day.
The way things work when we get ready to leave the house is I make sure Ollie’s gone to the bathroom, I make sure he’s put his pants back on, I grab my phone, I make sure our bathroom door is closed–so Sophie won’t get in the trash–and make sure Sophie is in our bedroom and I shut our bedroom door.
Sophie has a habit of eating things.
What part of my “leaving routine” didn’t I complete? Yeah. That whole “I shut our bedroom door’ part.
The trip went off without a hitch.
Ollie got to “act like a teenager”–which means he doesn’t have to hold my hand while we cross the parking lot as long as he stays within grabbing distance–and I got Cara’s health release form notarized. And checks ordered with our new address. And we went to Target AND I rewarded myself with a fantastically huge Pumpkin Spice Latte, extra shot, no whip.
I walked in the house and Sophie gave me THE LOOK.
I meandered around our bedroom–still carrying the Target bags–looking for what Sophie had wrecked. Tucker’s iPad was next to the bed and if that dog was going to choose to pee on our carpet anywhere in the house, that’s where she would have chosen.
Cause she’s calculating like that.
Nothing was out of the ordinary but Sophie was still 1/2 on her back and she still had the look on her face.
The living room was stuffy and smelled good–like Thanksgiving–and I started unloading the Nathan’s hot dogs Ollie and I had chosen for lunch and I saw something out of the corner of my eye.
Well…guess that explains why it smelled like Thanksgiving in my living room.
This, yet again, was my fault.
I hadn’t put away all of the groceries from our most recent grocery haul and the carton had been in one of the bags–which Sophie shredded.
Tucker and I were going over the day and this came up cause how could it not, right?
“I was so damn shocked I wasn’t even pissed. At first, I was confused about where all the liquid had gone. I just kept imagining her standing over the box with her little Sophie straw. And then I moved her bed with my toe and it was sodden. She must have torn into it and then it just poured all over the bed. I’m glad we weren’t gone too long since the wood’s OK but that bed is toast,” I said.
“Nope. I see Sophie ripping open the box, letting it spill all over the floor and then licking it up while saying, ‘I’m such a bad dog. I shouldn’t be doing this but I can’t help myself. This is so wrong. So bad. So bad. Can’t. Stop.”
I hate it when Tucker’s right.