Big boys still need to be crated

Every dog has caused me some sort of consternation, much like I'm sure every child does a parent.

For three days, Jada peed inside.
From my position in the cart, I would rake my hand over items in the grocery store aisle and make them all come tumbling off the shelves.

Marley ate a piece of nearly every Victoria's Secret bra I owned.
For the umpteenth time, my mother left our full cart of groceries and took my screaming self home.

Skye had a habit of running away and killing sheep.
"Holly, don't step on the floor...mommy just mopped it." And my toes would cross over and my eyes would defiantly meet hers.

When I got out of the shower Monday morning, Tuck snuck by, but I could see what was in his mouth. My cell phone.

I yelled.

Last night I fell asleep and woke up to the sound of Tuck chewing on...something.

My glasses.

And wasn't it just yesterday I told a reporter, "At least it was my cell phone, and not my glasses."

I yelled and picked up the pieces (oh, so many pieces). And I tried to put them back together as best I could, but I'm missing an ear-bar-thingie and half a lense.

But I can see, kind of. At least enough to drive to my eye doctor and get new glasses ASAP. And until new glasses, I've got enough pieces on my face to see my computer screen.

So, maybe one day, I'll be able to reflect on Tuck's chewing days with humor and a thing in the past.