Barney is now eight months old. I can’t believe that in one point in her life (since we’ve owned her) that she was smaller than her head and all of her plush toys. I am pretty sure that the husband tires of me telling him this everytime Barney brings me over her bear or her lobster.
It has been neat to watch her grow and see how the whole family bonded with her. Unlike Oscar, Barney loves everyone, is very outgoing, and super independant. I have grown accustomed to not having a dog thisclosetomybody every single second of the day. It has been nice & refreshing, and well; expensive.
Barney loves to explore and loves to hang out downstairs in our master bedroom that is adjacent to our laundry room. (See that honey, see how I made our house seem all fancy by using the words master and adjacent? They will never know that our basement is just one really big room with an open doorway to separate the finished half from the non finished half.)
While downstairs she likes to root through the laundry. She prefers clean laundry, but dirty will do as well if someone hasn’t put stuff in the hamper where she can’t reach it. She has been known to nose around in the dryer if it is left open. All looking for her favorite snack, underwear cro.tches.
I have bought more underwear in the last six months than I have probably the last sixteen years. Do you know how expensive underwear is and how useless it is without the cro.tch? I mean I have heard that there is a whole market for cro.tchless pan.ties, but I really don’t think that dog chewed ones really fit the bill.
I have limited her access to the parts of the house that house her precious, precious cro.tches and have had limited success. You see the cat is a trouble maker and knows how to unlatch the upstairs door if it isn’t latched just so and the girls always forget to close their bedroom doors.
One such occassion, not long ago, Barney gained access to Giggles room for about 5 minutes and caused about $80 worth of damange. She ate about 8 cro.tches out of underwear, the cro.tch to her swimsuit bottoms, and for good measure she ate the cro.tch out of a pair of her new jeans. I know, I know, you don’t have to tell me the dangers of her eating cro.tches out of things. Thankfully she passes everything and it is more of a PITA than anything else.
On such occassions that I have to plunk over what is the equivelant to about 3 hours of work pay for the husband for new underwear and such I try to remember the days when she was a cute, little puppy bouncing around in the snow. So innocent and not the cro.tch eating fiend she is today.
So this, my friends, is why we could never take Barney into Vi.ctoria’s Secret or even let her loose in the Jockey store (which by the way; Hai Jockey, I just love your stay cool underwear and your money back guarantee. Although Giggles wishes your underwear wasn’t so ‘old fashioned’ and by that she means ‘I’m a crazy teenager who has no clue what the heck I am talkiing about because hello, they keep you three degrees cooler and was developed for NASA!’)
Barney my dear, please try to channel your inner non cro.tch eater. She’s in there somewhere, I swear. And she really loves the snow.
Disclosure-I received one pair of Jockey underwear way back in January as part of my swag from Blissdom, those underwear have long since lost their cro.tch. All subsequent underwear and other cro.tchle.ss items have been bought using my
husband’s hard earned money. All opinions are of my own, but honestly wouldn’t everyone want a non cro.tch eating dog?