So I had a meltdown this weekend with Napoleon.
On our way out of our apartment to do a bit of walking and pooping and peeing, Napoleon decided to overpower our neighbor's (smaller) dogs and snap and bark the bejezus out of them. And me. In my attempt to control M. Bonaparte, my middle left finger got caught in his training collar (OMG!) and twisted into an enormous blister. I actually thought that my middle left finger was going to be amputated in a most unfortunate way.
After the ruckus and brief peeing session outside, I returned home and made this announcement:
Napoleon is going BACK TO THE SHELTER. I cannot handle this! GET HIM OUT OF MY SIGHT NOWWWWWWWW!!!
M. Bonaparte spent the entire evening with tail between his legs and head bowed very low. He attempted to make amends with me, but I was not having any of it.
A. was crushed.
In the morning, I rang up Victoria Wells. Things are better now, and I have no idea what demon possessed me to become a *itch and want to return my pooch.
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