Cute.

My dog Roxie is one-of-a-kind. At least I hope she is: she is positively adorable, but annoying as they come. There hasn’t been a dull moment since she became part of our family seven years ago.

She has electrocuted herself.

She has intentionally eaten disgusting things.

She has been skunked.

She has maimed stuffed animals.

She has juggled a baby rabbit.

She has tried to assert herself as the woman of the house:

(She’s not a cuddler, unless your name is Jim.)

She has stolen jawbreakers.

She has stolen Dum-Dums.

She has wolfed down entire loaves of bread.

She has embarrassed me on our walks.

She has killed…sort of.

She has helped herself to a baking cocoa–which is toxic for dogs–resulting in a vet visit for vomit induction:

Yes, that IS a chocolate beard she's sporting.

She has rolled in rabbit poo (or, as we call it around here, “Death”) more times than I can count, something that requires no less than four lather-ups in the tub to rid her of the stench. On certain summer days, she will roll in it multiple times, and one day I even used up more than half a bottle of dog shampoo on her due to the frequency of her rolling.

Long story short, she is a pain in the ass.

But she’s cute.

So cute, that normally when people talk about Roxie, it’s in this context:

“It’s a good thing she’s cute…”

That’s for sure. Her cuteness has saved her life more than once.

Like today, for example. I have been taking it easy due to a bad cold (with a little asthma-type breathing trouble) I’m trying to curb. Roxie was so cooperative this morning (I even posted on Facebook about it!) and midday, too. I didn’t see the tide turning until I let her out in our fenced backyard and then couldn’t get her back in. Normally when Jim’s home, he just has to yell in his manly voice, “Roxie, come HERE!” once. One time. She looks up: “Who, ME?” and then trots back to the house. I have to call her a million times and only if she really feels like it, will she come in. I am not a Dog Whisperer.

I was torn: I didn’t want to let Roxie stay in the backyard for too long, because it was inevitable that she would roll, and then I’d have to bathe her. I also didn’t want to chase her down. I’m not up to either one of those frustrations today.

I decided that the latter would be the lesser of two evils. I put on my shoes and went out there, trying to be as authoritative as possible. She looked for a second like she was going to head towards the door, but then started doing laps. It was all over. I wasn’t going to chase her because I didn’t want to get sicker. I muttered to myself, “She can stay out there all night long for all I care,” and went inside as she stared at me with her laser beam eyes from behind the wilting tomato plants. Jerk.

I kept an eye on her from where she couldn’t see me, to make sure she didn’t decide to make tonight another Bath Night, and after about twenty minutes she came to the door. I could see her from my seat on the couch, and I laughed. “Sucka…now who’s got the power?”

Too bad you can't let YOURSELF in the house, huh?

It was when she started barking her head off that I realized I only had the power for a second. I couldn’t leave her out there, polluting the neighborhood with her noise. Jerk.

I let her in, and as if to say, “Haha, who’s the sucka now?” she curled up on the couch next to me, sighing as she dozed off.

She IS really cute when she’s sleeping, you know…

Adorable. Am I right??

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