He only looks sweet and innocent. I promise.
Morty is a member of our extended dog family. He belongs to Kelli & Randy. He is fuzzy. He is brown. He is Labradoodle, thru and thru.
Morty is a bad dog. A cute, lovely, fun bad dog.
Morty likes to jump. Morty likes to tackle. Morty likes to lick. Morty likes to chew.
Morty can tear into a room, scale an entire coffee table, land haphazardly on a couch, ram said couch into the wall, and knock over a few lamps simultaneously.
He's awesome like that.
One of the last times we visited Auntie Kelli and Uncle Randy, Morty managed to finagle his
Luckily for Morty, he is just cute enough to remain alive:
So, what's a pair of shoes, you ask??
Why don't you ask Randy, 4 cell phones and $500 later. According to my very scientific calculations, 42% of the blame befalls dear Morty.
After all, fool me once... Notice Morty hasn't chewed another pair of baby shoes, sans the opportunity to do so. Wink wink.
You may be wondering why I am devoting a post entirely do a dog not my own. Well, because the funniest thing has happened. I can barely even stand it.
Morty is not home this week. Nor will he be home next week. No.
Morty has been sent away. Shipped off. Sayonara.
Morty is in reform school. Rehab. Doggy Boot Camp.
His behavior is nothing that could be remedied with conventional obedience classes. Why, with a baby on the way... Morty needed some serious instruction. He required inpatient care.
Excuse me while I gather myself.
Poor Kelli, 7 months pregnant and missing her baby already.
I can't wait to check in 2 weeks from now, and $800 later. Giggle.
We ♥ you Morty!