It's Not a Party Until...

Inspirational song: Shindig in the Barn (v. Speck Rhodes)

When we accepted the invitation to spend the holidays at the cabin, I volunteered us to stay in the "bunkhouse," as my parents call the western-themed guest room in the back half of their garage. I thought it was the only safe place to store three naughty puppies, with us in the finished space and them in the garage. I cannot express how wrong I was. It is not warm up here, once the sun goes down, but someone has proven that he or she cannot be trusted to be sent to warm up in the garage with the door shut, unless one or both of us is in there with them. The first time we found damage to the door frame, it was a little scratching down low, and we thought a little wood filler and paint would fix it. The second time, this evening (after I fed them supper and closed the door thinking they would appreciate warming up, so yes, this time it was my fault), the damage is a little higher, and so extreme, I'm thinking we may have to do a little carpentry before we leave. We have to scrub all of Murray's mess out of the inside and outside anyway. He is not making a good impression, that is for certain. I am only eyeballing where this damage to the door frame lines up, but I'm wondering whether it isn't chewing damage, not clawing. It aligns with where Murray's face is when he is in and out of his wheels, but that could be a coincidence. There are blood smears on the top of the bigger one, like it might have come from bleeding gums or a raw lip. No one has cut paws. It is a mystery. A really annoying, infuriating, why-do-I-have-dogs-in-the-first-place mystery.

It was so beautiful this morning, it's a shame it had to start with me being mortified by my dogs' destruction. There was a hard freeze last night, and the whole landscape was fuzzy and white. It didn't take long for the day to warm up, with cloudless skies and no wind. I didn't get a real white Christmas, but that was close enough for now. I think I'll let my pictures do the talking for me tonight, and maybe tomorrow I'll have a fresh start, without dog damage, and without me being a total disaster. If I can go twenty-four hours without breaking another digit or throwing another one of my meals on the floor (I bumped a hot pan with my hand and in my surprise threw my omelet all down the front of the stove), I will consider it a huge victory. I have the feeling 2014 isn't done with me yet.