He's flippin' well done it again!!!

He's only, bleeding well done it again!!  PeeWee...I mean.  He's eaten his bed, yet again!  You'd think that now he's grown (in dog years, I'm guessing he's about 10), he'd have come to terms with what he can and can't chew, but this is now getting ridiculous.  I'm loathe to chuck all the beds out as poor old Chubba would have to sleep on the cold hard floors and the poor old boy has difficulty enough raising himself from the floor as it is. Poor old Chubba shouldn't have to suffer because Pee Wee is a sh*te!! He's chewed his plastic bed to buggery and his "bruva from anuva muva's" bed, but that's old news. 

Dog bed
PeeWee's Bed
I'd hoped that he'd have gotten over it by now.  It's not as if he doesn't get enough romps in the park...he does and if he doesn't he soon tells me all about it! Apart from taking his lovely gnashers out, I'm not sure there is a thing I can do about it.  It's no use telling me to squirt him with a water pistol (my ma's advice), but I never catch him doing it.  It's usually in the dead of night when I'm not looking.  Chubba is my perfect boy.  He lays at my feet wherever I am....I may suffer a broken leg or two when I forget he's there!  Peewee on the other hand, weeps and wails.  I can hear his moans from the office and it's always on his terms as his squeaks get louder the longer I leave him.  It's only usually for a romp in the garden and the minute he steps out...he runs back in!   He pokes he's head around the office door, and wails at me.  He nudges my leg to get me moving when it's dinner time.  Seriously, if this dog could speak, I'd be getting an earful every five minutes.

Who said that dogs never answer back?

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