That's Maggie, our golden retriever. Her full name is Miss Maggie Moo Dinga. When we got her last August, our oldest son really wanted to name her Dinga. Really wanted to, as in 'face-crumpled-and-sobbing-began-when-I-said-no'. It was an easy compromise, though -- pick your battles, right?
Well now she's older, and her otherwordly cuteness has decreased dramatically. Don't freak out, I still love her 'cause she's our dog and she's sweet and slobbery and sheds a lot and she lets my kids try to ride her like a horse.
But really, Maggie. That? That big hole in the grass that's now covered in cayenne pepper? I know who did that.
Don't walk away from me while I'm talking to you.
Yeah, that's right. Have a seat, let's chat. That digging in my (new!!!) grass? It's got to stop. Because I know that there are about a billion more of those holes scattered throughout my lawn. And really, I'm not okay with that. The cayenne pepper is already out, and I'm not afraid to pull out the bitter spray.
You are no longer small and cute like mini-jars of peanut butter, baby bunnies, or small erasers shaped like ice cream cones. And the only dogs that can get away with stuff like that at my house look like this: