If you ask Dr. Google which dog breeds are the dumbest or hardest to train, you'll find a photo of Meg staring back at you. English Bulldogs. They don't do what you tell them to do.
I can attest to the fact that actually Meg isn't as dumb as she plays on blogs. She understands words just fine. She just chooses to ignore them. All of them.
Which is to say, she's not allowed on the furniture, but that's like saying oxygen isn't allowed in the house. Go ahead and try to enforce that rule. I dare you. I'll be over here holding your dignity and sanity because you'll lose them both if you take them with you when you try to train Meg to do anything. Or not to do something. Whatever. It's like talking to a wall, except that the dog will start snorting at you if you make eye contact.
So, it's no surprise that Meg spends the vast majority of her time sitting on the couch. She does it to annoy me, I'm sure, and because she finds amusement in me continuously telling her to get down. She ignores most of my demands, but throws me for a loop by occasionally getting down on command, only to jump right back on the couch INSTANTLY. Like a yo yo.
During tonight's yo yo-palooza, Alexis was trying to put away her Barbies. She's really very good about putting them away each night. No, really. They belong in a box that goes on a shelf in our family room and she actually does put them there every night. It might have to do with the fact that I will throw away any toys that are not put away before she goes to bed. I'm not bluffing and she knows it. The other reason Alexis is good about putting away her toys in the family room is that she gets REAL pissed when the dogs break something.
You would think that Alexis would have learned by now that the couch is not a safe place to set her Barbies. You would be wrong. At least once per week I fix a decapitated Barbie because Meg jumps on them and rips their heads off. I kind of enjoy the whole thing, so I let it go on. Anyway, tonight Alexis set a Barbie down on the couch while she picked up a few others. As often happens, Meg jumped up on the couch and parked her fat butt right on top of the Barbie.
Alexis flipped out. Of course. THAT reaction just never gets old.
Alexis tried to grab the Barbie out from under Meg. She tugged. She pulled. She yanked. She yelled at Meg to "Moooooove, please!"
Nothing.
Finally, Alexis started making threats. "Meg, you better move before I get to three. One . . . two . . . "
I was DYING to know what was going to happen at "Three." My money was on nothing.
"Three. Meeeggggg! Moooove!"
Meg just sat there snorting.
Alexis stood there silently, trying desperately to figure out what she could possibly do to punish the dog who weighs more than she does.
I saved the kid from her own imagination by giving Meg a little shove and pulling the Barbie out from under her. Handing it to Alexis, I said, "You shouldn't leave your toys on the couch." I like to state the obvious as often as possible. Obviously.
Understanding spread across Alexis' face as she started to walk back towards the box where the Barbies belong. "Thank you, momma," she said. Then, suddenly, she started to cry.
"What's wrong now?" I asked. I left my patience in Florida. The weather was better there.
"My Barbie," she sobbed, "It smells . . . like . . . my Barbie smells like dog butt." She choked out the words in between sobs and shudders.
I would have been laughing at that point, but I know what that particular brand of dog butt smells like. It's not good, people. It's really VERY bad. I had no idea what the cure would be.
I tried Lysol.
That made things MUCH worse.
I tried a little air freshener.
Roses and dog butt scents blend quite well, but only if you like rose-scented dog butt.
I tried soap and water.
The dog butt. It would not leave.
Later, as Alexis was saying good night before heading upstairs to go to bed, she reported that she had cleaned up everything in the family room. "I know you'll throw away anything I didn't put away," she said.
Suspicious.
I looked around the room. She had done a better than usual job of cleaning up. Not a single Barbie shoe or crayon or piece of paper was anywhere to be seen.
Except, there was a lone toy right smack in the middle of the carpeting.
Dog Butt Barbie.
So long, Barbie. I'm sorry it had to end this way.