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It was definitely DAD’s day in this house. Dumb Ass Dog, that is.

My weimaraner’s name is Woody. That is not a pseudonym. He really is Woody. After today, I don’t care if he’s embarrassed by this story.
Last week he taught himself a new trick. No, this doesn’t prove that he’s not a Dumb Ass Dog. The trick is locking himself in the hall bathroom. We don’t know why he’s doing it, and more importantly, we don’t know how. Seemingly, he is able to open the door from the outside, let himself in, and close it behind him. On Thursday he tore up the door frame and dented the door knob trying to get out. He was so distraught that he took a moment to chew the roll of toilet paper off the holder, too.

I should tell you that he’s not a destructive dog. Except for a few stuffed animals (ok, A LOT of stuffed animals), he hasn’t destroyed anything until now. And the next ten or twelve times he got himself stuck in the bathroom since Thursday, he didn’t chew anything. He barked to be let out and we obliged (and then ridiculed).

Today I had to drive to Richmond to pick up the ShortKids from What’sHisName. TallGirl spent the day hanging out with a friend, so there was about a 6 hour window when we weren’t home. Before I left I made sure the doors upstairs were closed. I double checked, swear I did. But when we walked through the door tonight we were greeted with the now familiar yelp for help from the upstairs hall bath.

During his imprisonment this time, he destroyed both doors – frames, knobs, and all. He chewed everything on the sink, another roll of toilet paper and I’m pretty sure there were some nasty things out of the trash can in the debris field, too.

The mess was cleaned and off I went to buy new toothbrushes for the kids. When I returned, I sent ShirtlessRoland a text message.

“Walking them now. Then bed. My mood soured and I think sniffing your pillow will help,“ I blithely thumb-typed.

Three minutes later (and god, I wish I’d seen his face), he replied with, “My puke weevil?”

This greatly confused me. “Your what?” I asked. I have dated some very strange boys in my life, but didn’t have ShirtlessRoland pegged as one of them. His response confused me on so many levels. While waiting for him to respond, I scrolled back in our text messages looking for a hint to what he was talking about. That’s when I realized I had just become the first time victim of the AutoCorrect Monster.

While what I typed was the message above, what my phone thought made more sense was, “My mood soured and I think sniffing your puke weevil help.”

My mood is just fine now.

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