A mí no me gustan mirar los perros de Melissa.

Against my better judgement, I agreed to watch a friend's two dogs while she and her husband went on vacation. The reason I say "against" is because I do not get along well with Dachshunds. I used to dog sit for my karate instructors, who owned two male dachshunds. They drove me so crazy, that I retired from my dog sitting ways due to wanting to shove them in the oven.

Mind you, I do not believe in being cruel to any animal, but these two dogs made my dig sitting days so difficult, that my desire for bodily harm increased each day I was there. The last day I had to be there, I left a note for Mark and Dawn letting them know that I was retiring, and left my key to their house under the mat. I vowed NEVER to dog sit again, especially that particular breed.

Needless to say, when Melissa mentioned that she was freaking out about not having anyone responsible to watch her dogs, while she and Jeff were on vacation, little red flags started waving. I had met her dogs earlier, and while cute, they were still dachshunds - the breed that I will aways know as the "spawn of satan."

I have come to the realization that I have a problem with saying no, and not feeling bad about it afterwards. I knew that I didn't have to offer, and I know she was uncomfortable to ask, since I had made it very clear of my dislike for the breed at a previous office potluck. But still, I heard myself say, "if you need someone to watch them, I will do it for you." WHAT??? Where the heck did that come from? She was a surprised as I was.

Perhaps it was that I lived so close to her, or maybe it was because I could use the extra money, but I was really worried that the old ill feelings I had for this breed would come back again, and the desire to shove her dogs into the oven would come back again.

Here are some pictures of her little darlings: Sabrett is the black one. The other is Elliot.

This is Sabrett and I watching TV on Tuesday night.

This was also the beginning of the end for me. Wednesday morning, I noticed the shredded paper and the chew marks on the door frame. I really didn't think anything of it at first....

Melissa has better pictures than this on her blog that really show just how deep Elliot chewed through the wood. My father called her a furry termite.

Please note: NO animals were harmed, maimed, stuffed into the oven, during the week of torture...I mean the week that I dog sat for Melissa. Did those ill feelings come back, you ask?

Let's just say that Melissa had a good laugh from all my stories of traumatization, and I have officially removed the dachshund breed from the list of dogs that I will dog sit for. =)