This is Foxie Doxie.
He has a problem with marking his territory.
That’s why he has to wear this man belt. His newest manccessory is pirate-themed for an extra touch of masculinity.
This is my office.
It may be somewhat cluttery.
Just because I have stuff piled on the floor doesn’t mean that young dachshunds are free to urinate where they please.
Foxie, I’m talking to you.
So, there’s a box of stuff that I have intended to do something with for lo the 2 years that My Guy and I have been married.
Today, I moved said box. This left a bit of a sheen on the floor.
I examined the box. I examined the sheen. Long, long ago, Foxie had marked the box. The box that held my wedding invitations, guest book, and cards.
I like to believe that this marking was so long ago that it was during the early days of our blended family, the days when an immature Foxie was acting out and wanted the world to know how he felt about our Brady Bunch-esque situation.
This is not the case. The box hadn’t been in this particular location for more than a few weeks.
He peed on all of our wedding ephemera. Recently. As a statement on my marriage.
Now, while I’m looking for a family counselor who will take us on, I must give mad props to the United States Postal Service, and to my mama. The USPS box is thick, made of manly cardboard. And my mama, well-known for her steadfast belief that if a little bit o’ tape is good, then a whole roll of tape is better? Well, Mama and the USPS basically made the box waterproof.
No pee on the wedding ephemera.
Foxie Doxie, you have been thwarted. However, I do respect that this is a sign that maybe I should get on the stick and go ahead and make whatever wedding scrapbook I’m going to make with all this leftover stuff. I know, I get it.
Also? I can’t help but think of the movie “Vacation” when Beverly D’Angelo is all, “The DOG PEED on the picnic basket!” Imogene Coca just shrugs and eats her sandwich.
Foxie Doxie would be good friends with Aunt Edna.