Aisha spent the entire morning sprinting around like she was on uppers. She gnawed on everything in sight, devoured both her food and Kobe’s in mere minutes, nearly fell into the shower, and chased Kobe until he hid in the bedroom closet. Nonetheless, I didn’t mind any of this behavior. She wasn’t exploding in one disgusting way or another on the carpet, so in my book, she was golden.
However, as I was blow-drying my hair upside down to give it body! and volume!, she came flying into the bathroom, leapt through the air, and latched onto a large chunk of hair. I immediately shrieked from the pain and surprise of suddenly having a young Shiba dangling from my head, and she dropped to the floor like a bowling ball.
Enraged (and terrified that I was now sporting a lopsided haircut), I chased her out of the bathroom and into the living room, roaring in fury. In three angry strides, I reached the couch where she had bolted into hiding and yanked her out by her back legs. She squealed, I snarled, and in moment, I had thrown her in the crate, filled it with gasoline, and tossed in a lit match.
After the flames subsided, I determined that my hair was still firmly attached. I’m certain you’re disappointed.