No one, that's who. These dogs are eight years old and we STILL have to confine them to David's office when we're out. Why? They like to chew. Gable (he's the one with the "My, what big ears you have" look) has decided he likes to go in my room and pluck clean diapers out of the basket and shred them like confetti all over the house. So he can't be trusted.
Garbo is the type of dog who, if we'd let her (or if we don't notice), will sit under the table with her head in one of the kid's laps while they eat, hoping they'll drop something. She's usually rewarded. Barring the availability of real food, she'll just gnaw on whatever else she can find.
Sometimes we lock them in the garage. That's when they take advantage of every toy they can find (and if you saw my garage, it's not like they're finding a needle in a haystack). Their favorite substance is plastic. Nice, chewy plastic.
So it really shouldn't have surprised me at all that they have barfed every day this week in David's office. At least, every day since Tuesday, which is the day he left for the week for "business" in Hawaii.
That left me to deal with barf, which is not my favorite bodily fluid, let's just say. Shockingly, I found pieces of bright blue chewed up plastic in the vomit. At first they (not sure which one, but I do know BOTH have been throwing up) hit the floor and not the white berber carpet. But hey, they have to stay in there while I take the kids to school, to dance, to the park, to the mall, etc. It was just a matter of time before they left their mark on the carpet.
The good news is David gets to steam clean it once he gets back (he's coming home tonite, but I'll give him a bye until tomorrow). I mean, there has to be SOME unpleasantness when you've just spent four days in Oahu.
Seriously, I know he was working. But I'd even take the six hours of uninterrupted time on the flight over at this point.
Lucky dog. David that is. The other two? Maybe a little milk of magnesia is in order.
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