Hop in your time machine and journey back with me several years ago when we had first moved into our brand new house and Clara, aka Jaws, still walked among us. Warning: never buy a new house if you own a crazy dog (or a puppy for that matter). Just saying.
Okay, back to the story. Let me set the scene. Clara (the usual eater of the home) had to have surgery (no, it had nothing to do with eating the house, she'd calmed down by this point and only snacked on mail or any other paper item lying around, which BTW worked better than any other shredder). Hell Hound had torn a gash on his leg and was forced to wear the cone of shame so he wouldn't lick the boo-boo. Outdoor maintenance men were coming over, and since HH had a nasty habit of jumping on the doors and windows while barking, snarling and drooling, hence scaring the crap out of the guys, we had to lock him in the bedroom (why not the crate, you ask? B/c he ate through a solid steel crate to get to the windows and the UPS guy. Crate had a broken door and was therefore a no-go.).
When we got home we were met at the door by Hell Hound. A very excited, Hell Hound.
The Hubster and I looked at each other and were like, did we not shut the bedroom door? Then we looked at the bedroom door. It looked shut. We looked closer. See the crack?
Yep, Hell Hound, while wearing the cone of shame which extended past his muzzle, used his claws to dig up the carpet to the foundation and when the concrete stopped him, he attacked the door, tearing off the lower back half, then bursting through it to escape. On the plus side, I now know how inside doors are constructed. <g>
Can you say determination? And in case you're wondering, Hell Hound was fine. A little freaked out, but no harm done. At least not to him. Our new carpet and door? Not so harm free.
Do you have any crazy dog (or any pet) stories? If so, share away. Until next time...
After the Moon Rises
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