Ella is one of the sweetest, snuggliest dogs you’ll ever meet. She’s also one of the most devilish. She’ll come up and plop half her body on top of you on the couch, seemingly for some affection…and when you look closer you’ll see she’s got a lead pencil in her mouth and really just came over to show off how slick she is.

But it’s the stuffed animals who really have to be careful of Ella’s charming yet sociopathic ways for in their case it truly is a life or death situation.

Case in point.

There is no denying I’ve got a really special pup. She is incredibly sweet, licks random children throughout the city in the face (with the permission of their parents, of course), is so passive you can take her bone from her mouth and she’ll sit patiently hoping at some point you’ll give it back…I am really lucky.

One of Ella’s truly “special” characteristics is that she’s a helper. When I bring my finished laundry back from the cleaners, she’s always happy to stick her nose in the bag, pull out the socks and unmate them. Whenever I bring the mail in and throw it down on the bed, she takes care of shredding it for me – including the bills which I’m REALLY pleased about. And whenever I get a package, without hesitation she jumps in the middle of it all to help me open it up.

Case in point, a couple of months ago, I got a new keyboard (I’m an aspiring photographer AND a wannabe pianist). For once, I was more excited than Ella about the delivery. While I was busy cursing the instructions (and I use that term loosely) for putting together the stand, Ella took it upon herself to finish unpacking the box which I had clearly not taken care of adequately.

I think the pictures speak for themselves.

Months have gone by and I’m still finding bits of styrofoam under the furniture.

Toss the lint brush – get the Furminator!

Come rain, sleet, snow, hell or high water (or something like that), I deliver a heart pounding exercise session every morning for Ella. We spend almost 2 hours in Central Park running, chasing squirrels, playing frisbee, and trying to avoid all the horse poop on the Bridle Path. Not delivering is not even an option…not unless I’m ok with her bouncing off the walls of the shoebox all day (and sometimes – like, today for example (*counting to ten and breathing deeply*) – she does that anyway…).

I literally heard myself say “Monkeys do not grow on trees, young lady!!”. If Ella could speak, I’m sure she would have said something very pre-adolescent back to me, like “No, but they climb trees – close enough!” and then she would have run off to her room (or rather corner since we live in a shoebox) to avoid her punishment.

She’s already killed Raffy. After she took out Monkey, she destroyed Froggie too – that one was too gruesome…I can’t even show you the pics.

I tell you, lately I really am struggling to note the differences between furchildren and the human kind. I look at Ella when she sleeps, and I think to myself “What a beautiful angel”…and then she wakes up and immediately lifts the top on the trashcan, pulls out a used tissue, and rips it to shreds, and I think…”Wha???”

Anyway, the stuffed animal destruction has got to stop. Just as elephants are killed for their ivory tusks, it seems the root cause of the stuffed animal poaching lies in their valuable squeakers…

The gutting begins.

Nosing for squeakers…

Growing impatient, Ella goes straight for the jugular…

She hits gold and smugly enjoys her reward.

“You got any squeakers in you? I’ll gut you too!”

Poo happens – A LOT. Clean it up with Bags on Board Biodegradable Bags