Flash, leave it alone!

I have become a harridan wandering the house picking up messes he has made (socks, gloves, tp rolls, boxes, paperbacks, etc.) while listening attentively for his next adventure, to which I'll holler "leave it alone, Flash!" as I double-time it to the newest scene of the crime. I'm doubly frustrated by the fact that when you do catch the doofus doing something, he just looks up at you and has what I can only describe as a voluntary attack of gravity. He throws himself onto his back, all four legs hanging floppily in the air and looks at you with the "but mamma, its not what it looks like" on his sweet little puppy face. The minute I finish cleaning up one mess, he's on to another.

Yesterday's mess list: One leather glove (hubby's), two boxes, one shoe (mine), three bottles from the recycling bin, two garbage cans, one rabbit water bottle, and a plastic bowl (stolen from the RV, I assume). Don't even ask me about the pine cones, I've lost track.

Then there's the barking: He barks at the wind, at the cows around the block, at the other dogs when they are napping on the sofa, at people sitting on the sofa, at the dragonfish (can't blame him on that one, if I were a dog, so would I). Barks at us snuggling in bed, at Gracie playing with her tennis balls, at the cat napping up out of his reach. He barks at us while we cook in the kitchen, while we go to the bathroom and while we do our chores.

Dear Gods, he's lucky we let him live.