Clyde Frog has some sort of mites that require him to have a $38 bath every Monday for several weeks. Apparently he got them from his mother, and they recommend we don't breed him. Not a big deal, I don't think anybody is looking for “beagle-ish mutt” bloodlines, especially not on as prone to boners and singing.
These dogs are friggin insane. This morning, while I was trying to sleep, they did their usual fighting routine for about 10 minutes, until I layed into them with the spray bottle. Then Clyde got really into hitting the door on Cappy's crate. The door wasn't shut, Cappy wasn't in there, but Clyde discovered that if he smacked it with his paw, it'd clang shut and then vibrate loudly, so he just sat there for 15 seconds, whacking on it until I yelled at him to go to sleep. Then he hrumphed, and wandered off to chew on Mommy's photo albums or something. It's really very strange to see a dog sitting there, using a crate door to make loud noises, while you're trying to sleep. I think my exact words were “Clyde, are you fucking kidding me? Go back to sleep.”
Thanks to his Mommy's utter lack of self-control, he now tries to get on the bed all the time, which means he scrabbles at the edge with his front paws. He doesn't stop to consider how ridiculously sharp his little claws are, nor how it feels when he rakes you in the face with them, he just tries to get up on the bed. Best case scenario he just fucks up the sheets, more likely than not, he nails you in the face a few times as well. Thanks for letting him sleep in bed with you Mommy!
At this point, I spend the time between 7:45 am and about 8:30 am, laying in the middle of the bed, out of clawing range, with the spray bottle in my hand, trying to doze.
Update: John T informs us that whatever the fancy scientific name is for Clyde's mites, the common name is mange. Clyde is in fact a mangey puppy.