Puppy Love

Almost a year ago now I informed my husband that our 3 boys "needed" a puppy.  Our first 2 dogs were older and that was pretty much all they remembered.  I argued that every little boy should have the "puppy experience."  My husband argued that we were a 2-dog family.  I won.  So I began searching for a dog that would be smaller than Beanie (a 75-pound bull terrier) and Mac (a slightly obese Aussie Shepard/Blue Heeler mix).  To my credit, I looked for quite awhile.  Finally, on the Alaska Dog and Puppy rescue website I spotted her.  She was an adorable "village mix" from Bethel.  A small black little fluff ball that they were guessing would grow to between 20 and 30 pounds.  She looked like a total scamp to me and I was instantly in love.  We adopted the small black fluff ball and I named her Greta.  I fooled no one.  Greta was my puppy. 

Greta is great fun.  She's also a lot of other things.  Stubborn (took FOREVER to potty train).  An indiscriminate snuggler (anyone sitting is an instant target).  A chewer (goodbye 2 pairs of slippers, countless toys and most recently my favorite hat that I've had for 10+ years!).  A kisser (ears, face, legs, no body part is off limits).  And lets not forget, a digger. 

I recently planted about 20 or 30 gladiola bulbs in the flower bed right by the front door.  I was so excited to finally have a flower bed again as I haven't had one since before we moved to Alaska 3 years ago.  Greta didn't waste any time.  She immediately began excavation work looking for that elusive tunnel to China.  In the process, she unearthed pretty much every bulb in that bed.  I figured she would be satisfied now that she "knew" what was in there.  I was wrong.  It has become an incredibly exasperating game that we play where I replant the bulbs and smooth the dirt over them, she reassures me she is just going outside to pee, I pray that she will not touch the flower bed this time, and she attempts to create a new world record for how far dirt can be flung backwards in a single dig. 

You would think I would attempt some preventative measure such as closing off the bed or covering it in some way.  Something to prevent Greta's repeated attempts at exhumation.  But no, I have decided to go a different route.  I informed my husband yesterday via text that I had decided to plant explosives in that flower bed instead.  My calm and patient husband simply texted back, "Just let me know where the trip wire is."