NOT 100% ANGELIC

Though this picture casts the boys in a warm golden light, perhaps intimating at their cherubic souls, they are assuredly not always angels. Oliver likes to void both his bowels and his bladder on the basement floor, sometimes, and Lou is a lick-aholic and he also barks too loudly and too often, sometimes.

Oliver is a canine Eddie Haskell: all sweet and wonderful to the adults, but when they're not looking, he gets into more than his fair share of mischief, including but not limited to: the aforementioned penchant to use the bowels of the house as a toilet, the humping of Meegie's daughter's leg (the humping of my sister's arm), overeating, chewing up baseball hats, toothing the fluffy door draft-stopper (not quite chewing it, tearing it to pieces, but close enough), the penchant for always fucking up the window dressings with his fat little head (the better to see and bay at the passers-by), and more things that I can't really remember. I love the little guy, though. He's got Personality Plus! I love the little fella though, in this shot, he scarily reminds me of Vice President Dick Cheney. Yikes.

Lou is golden. He is, by far, my favorite. Though he, too, has been pissing me off, of late. (Not too much, though; my love for them renders me a softie, a push-over, when they be bad.) He's gotten into the habit of rearing up on his hind legs and slapping his front paws on the kitchen counter, the better to sniff and rip at all the food that may be up there, don'tcha know.

I got back from work today, and Meegie said to me, "They left a surprise for you in the living room."

Removing my work boots, I slanted my head towards her and asked, "Is it poop or piss or is it Destruction?"

"Destruction," she answered. "Time to cage 'em, Adam."

I sighed. She was right. I had tried to be benevolent to my boys, leaving them out in the house, lately, but, she was right. Back to the basement for them, where they can enjoy a nice ten-by-eight cage...and food...and toys. In my mind, images of torn-up couch cushions and blasted pillows danced.

I walked into the living room. It wasn't that bad. (Adam the Enabler.) They'd just gotten into the garbage and torn/strewn the Gravy Train bag and a couple of paper plates on the carpet. Easy to clean up and no lasting damage. But. But! It is still unacceptable. When I leave them by their lonesomes, I expect/desire/long for them to be Doggie Statues: no poop, no piss, no garbage-raiding, no hat-chewing, no rug-rearranging, no baddy doggy behavior.

Pipe-dream? Yes. Never to be acquired? Yes. Do I care? No. They have blessed my life in innumerable ways, Louie especially. You should learn to take the bad with the good. It's the only way to maintain sanity. Fuck it. I don't really care, for the most part. If they get all bowel-y on precious items (or the carpet) then I might get angry. As it stands right now, their house privliges have been revoked. They'll basement-sit. I still love them, though.

They're just living too high on the hog right now. They have to be brought back to earth. I can't even begin to imagine why this started to happen. I thought that, for the most part, I ruled Casa Adam with a fist made of iron. I guess I overrated my Alpha Male status.

*sob*

;-P