Hot Dogs, Anyone?

I've mentioned our dog before. Pascal is a Great Pyrenees, solid white, very cuddly, a great personality. He's also 130 lbs., big as a Shetland pony, a complete and total wuss, and just may be the dumbest dog God ever blew breath into. Oh, you say, don't be mean, he can't be THAT bad. Trust me, he is. This dog doesn't know when to come in from the rain...literally. He rarely takes advantage of the air-conditioned garage set up especially in his honor and at the sacrifice of all sanitary and neat vehicle storage conditions. Daddy McAustin parks in the driveway, for goodness sakes. No, this beast would rather sun his exceptionally lazy and built-for-snow ambling carcass in the blazing 100 degree heat and humidity. Yes, exactly that stupid.

We got him primarily as a companion to our aging female Pyr, (who has since passed on to the great snow-covered mountain range in the sky) from a rescue group when he was a wee pup.....well, small in the grand scheme of Pyrs. He had been traumatized by an escape and the death-by-motor vehicle of his siblings. I won't even go into the HOME VISIT we had to host for the placement committee, the DEPLORABLE CONDITIONS at the foster home, the INTERVIEW we had to endure, or the REAMS AND REAMS OF PAPERWORK we had to fill out to be graced with his presence.

Ever since the fawn incident, he's had a bit of a wild hair. He continually digs or chews out of our (very spacious, shady) yard, and every time the garage door opens he makes a break for freedom like a condemned prisoner. Actually, he's always been a digger, but more along recreational lines than the purposeful. He seems to have lost all memory of the meager training that we were able to instill in him, and refuses to come when summoned. He simply looks at you like you must be on crack, and turns to lope in the other direction as fast as he can. He's never been much of a barker, but when he does, it's LOUD and inevitably 4 in the morning or some equally ungodly hour. Recently one of our less tolerant neighbors put a flyer for bark control collars in our mailbox, complete with pertinent info highlighted.

His days are numbered at Casa McAustin unless he changes his delinquent ways.

The other night Daddy McAustin went to track him down in order to quarantine him in the garage for the umpteenth night in a row, and was gone freakin' forever. When he returned, I asked if he got Pascal put in the cool, comfy garage. I got no response. I wrote it off to water running/ didn't hear me/selective male deafness, and posed the question a bit later as he was climbing into bed. The response I got was "I guess a pistol would make too much noise." Oh.

Now make no mistake: this is our family dog, our kids LOVE this beast, and he loves them and would protect them to within an inch of his life if he felt they were threatened. However, this family dog is Daddy McAustin's baby. He LOVES this dog. But between repairs to the new $7K fence, the prospect of him digging up our new sprinkler system and proposed landscaping, and the fact that he's lost all sense, this dog is making a quick downhill slide to the other end of the love/hate continuum in Daddy McAustin's book.

This morning when the sprinkler installers came to get started he (of course) bolted at the first opening. As the kids and I were rolling down the driveway headed for the library, I notice Pascal sitting smack in the middle of all the trenching action, surrounded by workers going about their business, like he was the supervisor or something. "Fabulous job amigos!, Keep up the good work!, Muy Bueno! Woof." I had to laugh. He runs like a maniac from us, but revels in hanging out with a bunch of day laborers who pay him zero attention.

Yes. Exactly. That. Stupid.

This is where the original post ended last night at 9.
BUT WAIT, THERE'S MORE!!!
The sordid tale continues.....

9:03 p.m. Call to P. to get him inside. He ignores me.

9:57 p.m. Call AGAIN to P., and chase him into neighbor's yard in my efforts (children sleeping in otherwise empty house, can't go far)

10:55 p.m. Try.yet.again.and.FAIL. Go to bed hoping he will just stay on the greenbelt and not bark (sometimes works) or comes home and collapses in exhaustion in AC garage.

1:57 a.m. Awakened by LOUD barking...2.5 yr. old awakened by LOUD barking. Once again call dog, no dice. Comfort Critter, he falls back asleep immediately, I am not so lucky....

3:39 a.m. ring.ring.ring. Awakened. (Wait...didn't I just fall asleep at 2:43? YES!) Phone call is from neighbor, answer. All I can hear is LOUD barking through phone receiver. Hurriedly pull on clothes, drag my pregnant body downstairs and out into back yard to try to coax demon-dog in. Am assaulted by water spray FROM EVERY DIRECTION. Did I mention we got new sprinklers yesterday? Did I mention all the trenching going on in my yards? Do I know how to operate this system? Did I think to grab a flashlight to see when I'm about to fall into the multiple abyss crisscrossing the lawn they aren't done with? Of course not. Am SOAKED from the waist down. Demon-dog comes into yard after MUCH calling, which I'm sure woke up any neighbors who had previously had the good fortune to sleep through LOUD barking.
Go back inside. Trek downstairs to garage, get demon in garage. LOCK THE DAMN DOG DOOR. Haul my dripping, muddy, irate, 10-weeks-to-delivery, sleep-deprived behind back up 2 flights of stairs to bed.

4:01 a.m. One-and-a-half year old Little Bit starts talking. I'm talking too....but to God, praying child will go back to sleep. (What woke him?, you ask. Take your pick: LOUD barking, TWO phone calls, me hurriedly running out front door, me screaming only as loudly as necessary to get demon's attention. It's a miracle the Critter's not up too.)

4:13 a.m. Singing commences. I curse having passed on my wake-up-ready-to-go morning habits to this child.

4:22 a.m. Little Bit starts calling out "Wake up Critter!" I make the trek downstairs to get him some milk in hopes a full stomach will cause him to become drowsy.

4:59 a.m. Little Bit still awake, but quiet for the most part. I am up for the day, but clearly see a nap in my future.

DEMON DOG HAS MADE MORE PROGRESS TOWARD THE "H" END.
MAYBE A PISTOL WOULDN'T BE TOO LOUD.
Pray for me.
On second thought, pray for the dog.