Tuesday, June 21, 2011
It Gets Better... Sometimes
Not a rare occurrence, last night Mark came home late. I was already in bed, Sasha ensconced on the pillow above my head, and Chandler stretched out on Mark's side of the bed.
"Who wants chewy strips!", Mark shouts out, breaking all the rules of our game.
"They already had 'em. Turn out the lights, and come to bed dammit!"
Despite my objections, Mark treated both dogs to their second helping of chewy strips. As I lay there in the dark, I listened to the stereo sound of dogs chomping and chewing away. Sasha to the right of the bed, and Chandler gnawing away over to the left. After about a minute, I heard the tinkling of dog tags cross the room, left to right, and back again. No more chewing sounds were coming from Sasha's side of the room, only a content snort from Chandler. He had stolen Sasha's chewy strip again.
My dog is a bully. He constantly tries to steal Sasha's food, and treats. He chases the outdoor kitty cats around, and grabs Fat Kitty's food bowl if I don't put it in a safe place. Poor Sasha has a stash of squeaky toys that she rarely gets to play with, because if I don't hide them from Chandler, they are ground into useless shreds of cloth and stuffing. It makes for a confusing combination of gates, fake outs, and tricks, to make sure every one of our animals get their fair share. Unfortunately for Sasha, I hate to tell her, it doesn't get better. She isn't going to get any bigger, Chandler isn't giving up a chance at a cheap chewy strip, and Mark will still come home drunk late at night.