The dog who would be king

Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, there was a puppy named Rosco.
Yes, Rosco was only a puppy, but no one told him that.
So, when his family brought him home from the shelter, he proceeded to take complete control of their lives.

Rosco's bid for world domination started in the living room. He tried to chew chairs, climb on furniture, and piddle everywhere there was an open space. When he grew bored of this, he moved on to chewing robes, toes, flip flops, and shoelaces. He pulled kleenex out of boxes, scattering pieces all over the floor, and plucked onions out of baskets and peeled them before he was discovered. The recycling bag was his best friend. It was like a doggy-version of Goodwill: new treasures every day. He never understood why his family kept moving the bag higher and higher.

It wasn't long before he discovered his Greatest Sworn Enemy: white socks. If one of the unsuspecting family members wandered into the Living Room wearing white socks: God help them. Rosco would jump straight up in the air like a frog, and bark and yip like the family was undergoing a home invasion. No amount of cajoling could talk him down until the socks were pulled off and hidden. He was a puppy possessed.

When he finished conquering the living room and the kitchen, Rosco moved on to the back garden. The back garden was a domain formerly ruled by the mother in the family.

Formerly.

Now that Rosco was in charge, a whole new decorating scheme was implemented. Foxgloves, iris, tulips, and daffodils were OUT. As was the beautiful pink clematis growing up the side of the garden shed and the climbing white hydrangea that draped the entire back wall of the garden.

"OUT, OUT, OUT!" ruled the Internet, which confirmed through a variety of sources, that they were each horrifyingly toxic to canines. Instead, grass was chewed and yanked out, calla lily leaves were nibbled like salad greens and the stems of bleeding hearts were snapped under paws the size of cinnamon rolls.

To Rosco, however, the best two features of the new and improved back garden were clearly: the compost pile and the cat.

Darryl The Cat managed to give Rosco a wide berth in the house during the first few days he was around, often meowing and hissing at him from the other side of the kitchen door. But, when Rosco and Darryl met outside, all bets were off. Rosco advanced yipping on Darryl and Darryl answered the attack, with a frenzy of spitting and fur. After taking a few claws to the face, Rosco backed off a bit, giving Darryl the respect he was obviously due. Pretty soon, they fell into a rhythm of sorts: Darryl lay in the garden under the tree with the bird house, harassing the barn swallows when they tried to feed their babies. Rosco harassed Darryl.

Ah, the Circle of Life.

While the mother of the family struggled to find a Rosco-free place to move the compost pile she had just instituted that summer, Rosco delighted in the wonders the pile offered. Orange peels to gnaw and choke on, shreds of newspaper that could be dragged and sprinkled all around the garden, old moldy pieces of carrot or potato that could be roused up...ah, the possibilities were endless. When all else failed he could always just dig aimlessly and drag out some rotting piece of something or other and proceed to grind it down to nothing.

"Toxic bacteria!" screamed the vet.
"But, where else can I put it?" wailed the mother of the family.

While the battle raged, Rosco just kept digging.

Thanks to an act of God, revealed in the form of two pocket doors strategically built into the house, Rosco only had the run of the kitchen, living room and back garden. The bathrooms and bedrooms of the home were blissfully spared, often becoming hiding places for family members taking impromtu Rosco Breaks. But, from those rooms could now be heard a new call between family members as Rosco wriggled his fuzzy little bottom onto his new throne as Imperial Head of the Household:

"What do you mean it's MY turn to watch him? I watched him all afternoon!"
"Well who do you think got up with him this morning at 6:30 a.m.?"
"I gave him a bath!"
"Well I took him for a run!"
"Mom! Rosco is chasing Darryl again!"
"Mom!"
"Mom???"

But, alas, the mother of the family was standing outside in what was left of the garden, staring up at the bird house and wondering how the barn swallows would feel about having her move in.