Shoes, shoes, shoes

Let me start off by saying I love my dogs to death. They are my babies, they are my life. I absolutely cannot live without them. With that said, there is one thing in particular that drives me absolutely insane.

Betty loves shoes. Not just any shoes. MY shoes. And only flats. The hubs can leave his shoes all over the house and she won't touch them. If I take my shoes off and leave the room for five minutes, she destroys them. Utterly and absolutely destroys them. You always know when she has a pair, too, because she's hiding in Roscoe's kennel. She seems to think that if I find the shoes in his kennel, I will blame him. But we all know who eats them.

This is her, Mama's little stinker:



She destroyed two cute pairs of ballet flats and I mean completely destroyed. There was nothing left. This is what she did to my funky shoes that I've had since fifth grade. (No, my feet haven't grown since then.)


This is what she did to the $100 pair of Reebok Easytone which was a present from the hubs.




If I had all my shoes in SC, then I wouldn't mind so much. When I lived in MN, I had over 60 pairs of shoes. (All cheap ones). When I moved, I promised the hubs I would get rid of all shoes that I didn't wear often. And I did. By the time I came down South, I had less than 20 pairs of shoes.

So when I found this, I almost cried:



Yes, they are cheap knockoffs, but I loved them. And they were the only pair of flats I had left.

So I decided I was going to fix them and make them somehow wearable again. Until the needle I was using broke. Sadly, I don't have another durable one around the house so the finished product will have to wait.

Why am I up at 3 in the morning?

I was asleep; dreaming sweet dreams filled with candy canes, flowers, and Shemar Moore. It was one of those dreams that you hope for every night before you fall asleep. I was blissfully unaware in dreamland. Until I heard something.

I knew instantly what it was and flew out of bed to find the source. Sure enough as I walk into the hall I stepped in it, slipped and fell in it.

As if that weren't bad enough, I still heard it. I got up, determined to find whoever did this and sure enough, as soon as I entered the study, I found it. Roscoe, my eight month Golden Retriever was peeing on my futon.

He didn't just pee on my futon. He peed in the hallway, in the living room, and on my couch. Where did he even keep that much pee? We were just out at midnight.

So why am I up at three in the morning? Because I have the lucky job of cleaning up all of that pee, all by myself. And then taking a shower.

I am officially a cat person.