I love this dog. Or at least I used to. I am not so sure how I feel these days. Lately I feel as if he is on a personal mission to either drive me over the edge or teach me some extreme patience. We got Dante 6 years ago, when he was a lovable, wiggly ball of wrinkles. He used to sit on my lap everyday to cuddle. Now he weighs 60 pounds, so no laps for him.

He has a good life, no make that a great life. I often say I would give my right arm to spend one week as this dog. He is fed, has a huge yard to run in (not that there is much running for bulldogs), and has a very nice leather couch that he sleeps on for about 90 percent of the day. Why on earth would he want to screw this up?

I have mentioned the peeing problems, the exorbitant vet bills, and the midnight wake-ups before, but today he brought it to a new level. I had my house cleaned today, and I did not want to feed Dante until after the women had left. He is terrified of vacuums, so I knew he would run and hide upstairs for 2 hours. I figured if I didn't feed him, he wouldn't have to go to the bathroom. So while we are upstairs in my bedroom I hear this retching sound. Not unusual for a bulldog. I go into the bathroom, and he has puked. All over my newly cleaned floor. Okay.....I can deal with that. So I open the gate at the top of the stairs to let him down and for me to go get some towels. He runs down the stairs, I gather the children and follow. At the bottom I find the biggest pile of crap he has ever made. So now I have puke in my bathroom and poop in my foyer, and a dog who is lucky to be alive.

Seriously?

We go back to the vet tomorrow. Again. He may be staying there. We will see how tonight goes.