Once I got Mimi back to the house, it took her a couple of days to get acclimated. The first thing I noticed was that this little dog had zero manners. NONE. ZIPPO. NOTHING. She pooped where she wanted, she peed where she wanted, she climbed on any and everything, and had a really bad habit of dumping over over my trash can and digging into what ever leftovers my children didn’t consume with their meals. I would wake up every morning dreading what was going to be laid out for me for my “rise and shine” moment. It usually was all of the above mentioned give or take a substance or two. By the time I ended up doing my morning cleanup, getting the kids off to school, come back to get ready for work, she would have repeated the whole ordeal again. “What have I done bringing in this mistress of Satan into my house”, I thought. I already had one of his brood I was sure in the name of Jason, my middle child who was saved by God and a book called “How Not To Destroy Boys in The Early Years.”
One morning, I caught her red handed eating some remaining KFC chicken that she had toppled over onto the kitchen floor. I marched right over to her, got down on her level and said,
“Mimi, you are not going to be getting into my trash anymore. It’s gross and I hate picking it up. Plus you have food every day that is given to you and your dumpster diving days are OVER!”
She looked at me and defiantly barked. I could feel the tiny hairs standing up on my arms and my blood start to boil, in fact so much so that if I were a chicken I would have laid a boiled egg. I then began the dreaded “talk through your teeth” conversation style that I was accustomed to having with my middle child since, on more than one occasion, I used to search for the sign of the devil on his little blonde, curly locked head since he was always trying my patience.
“Girl, that may have flown with your trailer dog hell roots but that goes no where here. You are DONE GETTING IN MY TRASH!”
She barked again. However, this time she did it in a more subtle, confirmation type of way and walked off.
I watched her as she turned the corner to head to my room where I had set up her Mimi Quarters and since that day she has never gotten into the trash again and always headed to the door when she needed to go outside. Climbing on top of furniture and tables remain a constant battle but one that i’m ok with losing most of the time. It’s just a part of her genetic makeup.
