There are curse words in this post

I'd be totally lying if I said my weekend was great.

It wasn't terrible but it was not fun by any means.

Remember that cute little puppy Papa Bear purchased back in November because The King needed his own duck dog?

Well.

That cute dog is the spawn of satan.

Grace has made it her life goal to torture me. I'm not even kidding. The dog f*cks with me every. single. day.

I reached my boiling point this weekend. Prepare yourself.

First, we kicked off the weekend with a little magic trick. She somehow escaped Papa Bear's truck while he was on a quick trip to the store for me. She literally disappeared into thin air.

If you guessed this was all my fault, you are absolutely correct! Obviously he went to the store for me and I wished her gone so the universe made it happen.

Cleeeeeeearly, I'm too blame. Not the psycho escape artist.

In happier news, or not so happy for me, she somehow managed to find our road, where Papa Bear found her sprinting home about 30 minutes later. When he reached the house with the panting, tail wagging bastard the only response I could muster was "See. I told you she's a son of a bitch" and walked away shaking my head.

This was a much bigger fiasco than I'm letting on.

She has also managed to shit and piss in the house multiple times. Which might be ok if I forgot to let her out but this princess has a dog door. She can let herself out anytime she damn well pleases. She's totally house broken. This ONLY happens when Papa Bear is out.

She's vindictive.

She has also eaten an entire mango, avocado (we still haven't found the pit), pear, pepper, eggshells and a container of scraps for compost. Oh yeah, in addition to countless lickings of cutting boards and a stick of butter.

Which again, would sort of be ok because dogs find stuff in the garbage and that happens blah, blah, blah. Not in my house. That S.O.B stole them off the COUNTER. I can never catch her either. The deed has always been done. The pear was the straw that broke the camels back. It was the last damn one and I wanted it baddddly.

Did I mention that she puked up a huge pile of food and feathers Saturday night?

I'm not done.

She steals my shoes the SECOND I take them off. I've had to throw away seven pairs of shoes. Seven.

This is where you're saying "Move your shoes Jen, just put them up." Wrong. That would be a great idea if she didn't have super dog jumping skills and stole them anyway. Or if I wasn't juggling a baby and diaper bag while being greeted by two crazy dogs and can barely kick off my shoes to begin with.

Besides, I'm the human, it's my house. I shouldn't have to change a damn thing for that dog.

Well I did. And she got them anyway.

And lastly but certainly not least, on Sunday I found a spoon, stuffed animal, three pairs of shoes, six socks, The King's toys and a knife in her kennel. A knife. What the shit are you going to do with a knife dog?

Good grief.

You can't make this stuff up people.

So we have a vindictive, thieving, magician of a beautiful silver lab that will happily retrieve ducks.

For the next 12 years.

If you haven't guessed it by now, I want her gone.

How was your weekend?