One Does Not Simply Walk The Dog Into Mordor

Our oldest son just left, driving back to Seattle after a visit. It was a visit with his behemoth of a puppy, the same one we drove up to him in September. The dog is a Korean Mastiff and at 18 weeks old, he's nearly 60 pounds.

Needless to say, the Catican Guards did not like him. He's nice enough, but he's bigger than all three of them combined and to the two chihuahuas in particular, he represented a constant, existential threat.

It was horrible. It was a replay of Thanksgiving's Canine World War III, only 24 times as long. Unless one of us took steps to separate the dogs, it sounded like this, constantly.

BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK.

I was up early every day, giving the Guards breakfast and then taking them on extended maneuvers outside of the house so everyone else could sleep. At night, I went upstairs with them to keep them moderately calm. All of us, dogs and people alike, are completely exhausted.

Wife kitteh is driving up to Seattle with son kitteh to keep him company and provide him with safety breaks, driving. After they left, I told the Catican Guards that mommy was taking the bad dog to Mordor to throw him into Mt. Doom.

They rejoiced. If they had access to vuvuzelas, it would have been something like this.