Pucker Up had the balls to prance into the house, after a very long walk (yes, that would be me, wandering hither and yon, waiting for the clue we can return home: poop) whine that my frozen fingers couldn't release her leash quickly enough......so she could walk over to the glass front of the fire place, and hit it with her paws.

I kid you not.

Standing in front of the fire place she was, my jeans still crusted with snow, one boot off, one on, standing on the mat to catch dripping snow and crap, my socks wet, as I stepped in a pile of snow much deeper than I anticipated, so snow went both up the jeans, and in the boots - she had the sheer nerve to look over her shoulder and bark. Bark! For God's sake, as I wasn't fast enough to turn on the fireplace.

She has a lot of nerve, that one.

She ate the inside lining of my favorite Ann Taylor leather jacket; the only reason why I've not skinned her and made her into a muff, is because she blessedly left my Burberry scarf alone. However. She's not completely out of the dog house - she ate the clippies off the top of Foxy's snow pants - and it's still freaking winter. I've got to call Land's End, and see if they cover Act of Dog.

I've always believed that there is only room for one bitch in this house - and since I pay the bills? That'd be ME. She, clearly, thinks she can usurp my position. She's welcome to it, if she wants to take on the gas bill (for her beloved fireplace) or the water bill (for all the damn rolling in total crap she does) and the food bill (high end diet dog food isn't cheap). Until that point?

I think she can just sit in front of the fireplace til I'm damn well good and ready to light it.