The Dirt Field

In the weeks leading up to our acquisition of Aisha, I spent a lot of time worrying that Kobe would feel overshadowed and unwanted in the presence of the new puppy. I was concerned that my love would have to be split evenly between the two of them, and that Kobe would be resentful about not being my one and only anymore. It has been eight months now, and I can safely say that my fears have completely dissipated.

I hate Aisha.

I hate her with the fiery burning passion of a thousand suns. I hate her so much that I fear that her head will explode from the intensity of my dislike. I hate her so much that I want to break into the apartment above mine, just so I can throw her off a balcony that is one story higher.

Needless to say, she is trying my patience.

She has boundless energy, incredible strength, and exceptionally sharp teeth that she uses for everything from ripping fibers out of the carpet one at a time to ripping chunks out of my flesh while I am sleeping. I made the mistake of dozing off while reading last night, and awakened shortly thereafter to discover that she had taken a black pen and a permanent marker from my desk, chewed them both into tiny shreds, and spread the ink and the shards of plastic all over the carpeting and the linoleum. While scrubbing the floors, I noticed that she’d also ripped another hole in the carpet.

I know she is a puppy, and I know she would probably settle down if I strapped her to my back bumper and let her sprint out her energy on the highway. But that doesn’t change the fact that the monster bites to show affection, sprints around the living room and launches herself off the back of the couch despite all rules against dogs on furniture, and constantly fishes garbage out of the trash can in the bedroom and spreads it around the apartment. A few weeks ago, she chewed a hole in our down bedspread and then peed on it, forcing me to stuff the whole mess into a trash bag as tiny feathers filled the air and settled into a soft layer on the carpeting. She has also destroyed all of our throw pillows by ripping them open and spreading the stuffing around the house.

Because of this, I now call Kobe “Favorite”, as in, “Come here, Favorite, come get a cookie.” I’m certain Aisha doesn’t understand the insult, but it makes me feel better. And really, if it keeps me from dismembering her, who can blame me?