Now It's War

I just walked out back to let Mango in. She was standing at the basement window thirsting over the bunnies who are still out of their cages, running around. She came pouncing in, all fired up to hunt some game, and got her mother all riled up as well. How do they communicate this? I must have read at some point, with all my animal behavior classes...how do dogs communicate with each other? Is it something as simple as intuition? Someone must have done a study...

So anyway, in the last hour I have removed the following from the mouth of the little dog: A sheet of stickers, a cloth diaper, an entire roll of toilet paper, and a book. She spent a good ten minutes barking at that damn mylar balloon again. It's been here 4 days now - add to that list a magnet - and she still thinks it's a demon. Only at night though. So with the balloon safely put in the shower (score double points if it scares the hell out of Zach in the morning), Mango looked to her reflection in the window for entertainment...

I am beginning to see a pattern and perhaps the root cause of all this? I've pointed out before that it's 75% Jakie's toys or other belongings of his that get chewed, but I'm still feeling the act of destruction targeted at me. Zach came home yesterday in between rounds 1 and 2 of the headphones drama. Not wanting to give away her plan for the headphones, she simply collected the largest remaining piece of the postcard and 'presented' it to him as he walked in the door.

I think Mango is in love with my husband. I think she is trying to intimidate me. "See what I did to that there box? You're next," she's trying to say to me. She wants me out of the picture.

I'm trying to trace it back here. It would have been helpful if I was writing about the dogs back in the summer, because on Labor Day weekend Jacob and I went up to camp with my mom and Jamie (Grandma and Papa), leaving Zach behind (important detail here: This is the weekend we left Zach alone in the house so he could begin and complete the bathroom renovation) and came home to find our bed had been taken over by a little mutt of a dog. So we kicked her out. Could the chewing have started way back then?

Ahh, who knows...but someday she's bound to catch on to the taboo surrounding interspecific relations. In the meantime, I say, "It's on, Little Dog."