Dastardly Dingo? Is that better?
How bout’ dirty no good Dingo? C’mon, if you only knew.
Okay, for the sake of this story I’ll call him by his more kindly moniker,
But don’t let that deceive you. Lurking in the mind of this cute little ball of fluff by the nature of breeding were dark thoughts. Dark delinquent visions of destruction.
Ol’ beady eye and I have gone nose to nose and toe to toe over the last 2 very long years of his life and at a cost of a little over $1000 of our hard earned cash. So far. I think. I’m afraid to do the math.
But the list is as follows:
All garden hoses, gone
Extended vet stay for salmon poisoning. (I don’t like salmon, but maybe the neighbors do and Beady Eye less. Not an accusation, just a thought). Big $$.
Several weeks of delivered newspapers, shredded, gone.
All drip water systems around gardens, gone.
5 pairs of gloves, gone.
1 pair of Mucksters, gone.
1 Japanese Maple, gone.
1 dog leash, gone
1 dog collar, gone.
Miscellaneous items of visitors (sorry), gone.
Why Beady Eye, why?
Ol’ Beady Eye has ended up twice on Craigs List over failure to resolve his behaviour issues.
On more than one occasion he has sat there looking up at us with his those pleading yet mischievous beady eyes as we once again relent, committing to overcome obstacles and trying not to worry about those we can’t. Like the fact that HH and I aren’t spring chickens anymore. And Beady Eye is a true blue Heeler who’s amused by ruffling the feathers of a couple of old birds.
Now that I got that off my chest. I best give him a Kong full of goodies.
Or kiss another hose good-bye.