When Storms May Come. Pt. 3

(Cont. from Pt. 2)

As I recall there's a series of movies titled, "Home Alone." Well, that particular phrase adequately describes Queenie's weekly status when we head off for church on Sunday mornings. 

The first time our precious pooch 'did a crazy' was accompanied by the thunderous rhythm of a fierce lightning storm. When we returned home she was no where to be found, but there could be little doubt the little girl had left her mark on her surroundings. 

The floor cabinet under the sink was thrown open. A canister of wasp spray lay on the tile floor in front of it, while a can of Comet and bottle of dish washing liquid were tipped over just inside the door. We were astounded to realize that Queenie had managed to open that door, and had done her best to occupy the space formerly occupied by the previously-mentioned kitchen products. As I walked into my den several CD's were lying on the floor; along with a sack of rubber bands and my magnifying glass. And then I grasped what had happened here. My determined canine had jumped up into my typing chair, and made her way across my desk and onto my waist-high file cabinet; eventually retracing her pathway to the carpeted floor. 

About this time my wife and I heard scratching, and perceived the sound was coming from the hall bathroom. Opening the door we saw her; (as well as the damage she'd left in her wake). The inside door was covered in scratches. We'd apparently left it open. Queenie, finding herself bombarded by the 100+ decibels of thunder, retreated to the only self-contained room in the house, and pushed the door shut. As I walked in, she walked out.

Did I mention my pet pooch was involved in the same shenanigans several times? (Well, she was). And thus for sake of time and copious reading, suffice it to say we began closing all the doors to bedrooms and bathrooms to prevent a re-occurrence of such wanton destruction; when we were gone and Queenie was left alone in the house.

However...

As we prepared to leave for our latest excursion yesterday, the hall bathroom ...was left open. And as you might have guessed, a storm arose, and our private wrecking ball found her way in and closed the door; only to change her mind ten minutes later and began to claw her way out. 

Did I mention the doors in my house are hollow? (Well, they are).

And having arrived home, the hall bathroom reminded me of a demolition derby. The trashcan was turned over, wood chips covered the tile floor, and ...there was a hole in door the size of my fist. Had we not returned home when we did, I'm convinced the industrious little tyke would have created her own little doggie door in short order.

I wonder if Chip & Joanna of 'Fixer Upper' fame need any help with the demolition phase of their business?
 
 By William McDonald, PhD. From (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol. 43. Copyright pending

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