I can admit it – I’m ridiculous when it comes to these dogs.  I mean, Gracie eats anything that’s not nailed down and Phoebe can be as jealous as a toddler.  In the end, though, it doesn’t matter what havoc these guys wreck.  I’m like a cult member who’s drunk the Kool Aid.  Dogs Rule.

And yet, when I look around this house and see the damage they’ve done…well, there are days it’s a miracle I haven’t thrown them out the front door and said good riddance.

The inside of our front doors are all scratched up from dogs madly greeting people on the porch.  It looks like a starving blind man has been trying to claw his way out of the house.  If CSI ever dropped by they’d be swabbing gouges for blood residue and searching for secret torture chambers.

The outside of the back door is even worse.  Phoebe has a delightful habit of pawing the wood wildly if we don’t let her into the house at lightning speed.  And if that doesn’t do it?  Well, then she begins bouncing off the door.  Literally throwing her body against it, rattling the panes, until we open up.  Because heaven forbid the dog actually bark if she needs something.

The list goes on and on.  Gracie’s puppy gnawing at the base of a column.  Dirty baseboards from dusty dogs brushing against them.  Muddy paw prints tracked across carpets, floorboards, and bathroom tile.  Even wet dog smell after Gracie does an upside down shimmy across the carpet on a rainy day.

Everywhere I look there are scratches, dirt, mud, and gouges galore, plus the hair.  Always the hair, covering every surface, getting into every crevice, gracing every square inch of this house.  I could vacuum every hour on the hour and I’d still find dog hair on my stove burners.

We thought the kids were hard on this place, but really it’s the dogs that are taking it down day by day.