Its Name Shall Be Monster

So the dog I bought Hubster? Yeah, he's pretty much my baby. Oh, sure, I let Hubster take him to Kansas a couple times so he can fulfill his only goal in life, but aside from that, he's more than happy to stay at home with me where he can tunnel under the coop to get at my chickens, dig under the fences so he can roam the neighborhood, jump on my couches and sleep in my laundry room.




It's a life of unspeakable luxury. Any other dog caught trying to eat my chickens would be dropped off at the pound. Even using Gramma's technique of tying the poor dead chicken round the blood thirsty dog's neck only resulted in a fun afternoon of "play with the poor dead chicken tied round my blood thirsty neck". Wildly unsuccessful by any measure.



Anyhow. The stupid dog stays. What can I say? His ears are impossibly soft.

I am not an indoor dog person. We've had several dogs in our 13 year marriage, and not one of them has been allowed to sleep in my house. But as the temperature here in Texas reached a bitter cold 30-something degrees *snort*, I went out to get another log for the fire and the blood thirsty killer followed me to the wood pile so I could hear his teeth chattering. No, I'm not kidding. The blood thirsty killer's teeth were literally chattering.

So now he sleeps in the laundry room. Much to his credit, he NEVER potties inside. Ever. He will howl and bark and tear the door off the hinges to avoid pooping in the laundry room. I may have to spend a fortune remodeling the laundry room, but I will not be cleaning up blood thirsty killer poop. So there's something in his favor.

The problem I have is that he is as determined to tear crap up as he is to dig to china out in the yard. We've lost several pairs of perfectly good shoes due to his ability to hide them for a midnight snack, and it's become my morning surprise to go see what he's gotten his teeth into during the night. It's just like Christmas, only, it sucks.

He commandeered a scruffy old pillow for his sleeping comfort, and since he didn't tear it up, I let him have it.



Then one day, I decided to fold an old sheet in half, add another pillow and an old blanket, sew up the side and make him a little doggie bed. Before Christmas, I saw the nicest doggie beds at Sam's Club, but patted myself on the back for my superior thrift when I saw the price tag. Besides, I reasoned, it probably wouldn't fit in my laundry room space anyway. Then Friday night, he tore my thrifty little doggie bed open and pulled out the pillows. Traitor.

So, I reasoned, I needed to wash the cover anyway, so I'd wash everything, put it all back and sew it back together. I messed with it most of the day Saturday, but the clean bed was worth it.

Until last night. The traitor ripped my thrifty little doggie bed into bits.

So, I could go buy the really pretty doggie bed I saw at Sam's Club, but, I reasoned, it still wasn't going to fit in the space allotted. I really need to be able to walk between the freezer and the doggie bed. So I'd make him a new one...
I have yards and yards and yards of fabric that Gramma gave me for my inheritance, I'll just get some of the upholstery velvet circa 1970 and a bit of the big bolt of corduroy and make him a tougher version...a bed more fitting for a blood thirsty traitor. Now, this may surprise some of you, my three readers, but I actually built a house once, with my own two hands. I am familiar with the term, "Measure twice, cut once". I'm also famous for winging it. Working without a net. Flying without a flight plan. Sewing without a pattern.



I sure am glad I didn't buy him one of those beds at Sam's Club that would have only taken up half that space.

*That* ought to fix him for being such a blood thirsty traitor.