Every bad decision has a starting point. This is ours.
Marlee is the original maker of bad decisions. I know Marlee seems like the calmer of the two, but Marlee is now the ripe old age of eight. Nine in October.
He will forever be the worst dog I could have been blessed to call mine.
Christmas many moons ago, I had to meet the husband at Walmart. He motioned me over to his car. He pointed to the passenger seat. There was a little blanket with a little black and brown ball of fur.
I reached in and picked him up.
“Oh my God! I love him!”
He leaned back and looked at me as I cuddled him, and then tried to bite my face off. I laughed and the name Marlee came to me.
“You look like a Marlee.”
His little ears perked up, and then he tried to bite me again.
“Yep, Marlee it is. Come on, baby, let’s go. I want to show the daughter, my mom and Romeo.”
The drive home, he would try to bite my fingers or attack the steering wheel. Christmas break had started, and now a Christmas puppy. What more could I ask for.
I knew my mom was going to be livid. She went ten rounds every day with our little mini Yorkie, Romeo. But I also knew she wanted a bigger dog for protection. Or so I like to pretend.
I called my daughter out to the car. She fell in love for a minute. She picked him up and tried to cuddle him, but he tried to bit her hair.
She quickly handed him back.
“Ohh, Grandma is not going to be happy about this. Her and Romeo just had words over him wanting more popcorn. Mom, he seems like he is going to be a problem.”
“Well, now she has something new to complain about. We just have to train him.”
The first meeting went as expected. In short, I found out my mom knew a few more creative swear words than she let on.
I figured I could get him trained over break.
Or so I thought.
Of course, there was a snowstorm right after Christmas. Marlee managed to burrow under the back porch. For two hours, I stood outside trying to get the little demon to come out.
After endless treats and the hated squeaker toy, he came out.
The next two weeks were more work than I could have dreamed of. At night, as long as he could see me from his little cage, he slept fine. If he couldn’t, the whole house was up.
The months went on, and his flair for trouble only got worse. The bigger, he got, the more confident he became, and the shenanigans got bigger, more comical, and sometimes more frustrating. But he was a loving pup toward me.
Our house would be quiet and peaceful. My daughter and Romeo would be in her bedroom with the door shut to keep Marlee out.
They were always his acquired target.
But the minute he noticed the door was shut, he would run full speed, launch himself at the door to get the doorknob to turn, and bust in.
As soon as he got the door open, chaos, yelling and barking would ensue. Then suddenly, Marlee would come sprinting out, sliding into the kitchen, drifting around the corner, and running to lay down beside me.
This cracked my mom up to no end.
He could sit, and shake. He listened and we played with him constantly, but he was still mayhem all day, every day.
With Marlee, it was never dull. At least three times a week, my daughter would blow up my phone over what Marlee had done now.
Examples:
- He chased her and the neighbor boys around the yard with a massive branch. My daughter said he jumped up in the tree and held onto it until it broke. Then proceeded to chase them and not let them in the house.
- Pulled the wax warmer over, dumping it on himself. No he wasn’t hurt, nor did he care that he smelled like a pine forest. The daughter is still traumatized, though.
- We had to get rid of the coffee table because he would get on the couch, put his back paws on the couch and his front paws of the coffee table.
- Drank my mom’s coffee when she wasn’t looking. Also, multiple calls.
- Dug in the trash.
- Counter surfed.
- Stole my mom’s and daughter’s food.
- Fought with Romeo over Romeo’s toys.
- Dug up the koi pond we had filled in within ten minutes of me letting him outside. (He was so proud.)
- Tore down the gutter on the side of the house and chased the kids again.
- Stood in the fire pit for no reason whatsoever.
- Chewed up my mom’s shoes. More weekly calls.
- Mud puddles were life and the only time he and Romeo got along.
- Videos from the husband of Marlee attacking his pants leg and him walking with Marlee hanging on.
- Got his ass beat by the angry neighbor alpha cat weekly.
- Ate multiple bees and had his face swell up. We learned quickly he wasn’t allergic to them.
- Nibbled on my aloe plant. Still don’t know how it didn’t kill him.
- Would get the zooms outside, come racing around the house, take the corner to fast, slam into my car and keep going.
- When I watered the flowers with the hose, he would run through it and try to bit the water.
- Played in his little pool, then shook in front of whoever was the closet to him.
- Chased his tail until we made him stop.
- My favorite: sneaking up on my brother when he would visit and howling and barking. My bro would jump every time and cuss Marlee out. Hilarious.
- Coming home from work could be a dangerous sport. The minute I shut my door, if by chance he was out, he would come running full speed and fling himself into my arms. That caused one black eye and more bruises than I can count.
My family staged an intervention, suggesting he had to go to puppy bootcamp. I pearl-clutched and refused.
Not my fur angel.
He listend to me. I couldn’t help it that he didn’t like them.
A few weeks later, and another after-work collision with him, I agreed we needed to do something.
Romeo was just done with him and being rolled in the yard. My mom’s hair was starting to go gray faster. My daughter was constantly wanting new socks because Marlee was constantly tearing hers up.
All of this went on for over a year. The husband knew I loved Marlee so much.
But even I knew we had to do something.
Enter Major…
