The Chronicles of Raleigh

I know, I know. It's been a very long time. Like months. I know this, because I started writing this post...months ago. Suffice it to say, I've been extremely busy it work. It did not help that every time I started writing this, I'd start laughing uncontrollably. Yes, I'm a horrible comedian. I laugh at my own jokes. Sorry not sorry.

For those of you who have not given up all hope of me every writing here again, thank you. And I hope the following will serve as some small reward for your loyalty....


Raleigh is a goldendoodle. A small, black (yes, black) golden doodle who belongs to my sister, Jenna,  and her fiancĂ©, Jay.

Raleigh has already achieved a modicum of internet fame for being the starring pet in Jay's recent article for Deadspin on how to housetrain your puppy.

Raleigh is about to be exposed for what she is: the antithesis to my joy.

For the better part of a week, Raleigh was a guest in my household while Jenna and Jay were at a wedding. She arrived on a Wednesday evening. From the get-go, things did not go well. The best way to tell this story is to share some of Mark's choice quotes from the first evening, which I was texting to Jenna and Jay while laughing uncontrollably.

~ 7:45PM

"Get off my nuts you terrible dog."

~ 9:45PM

"What the fuck is that? She has your shoe! No... that's my shoe! Fuck!!!"

*dog growls threateningly*

"Fuck this dog."

~ 9:47PM

"Goddamnit...[incoherent muttering]...Fuck...why are you under the blanket? No, stop. No, really. Why?? No! Release the fucking towel!! This is NOT. FOR. CHEWING!!!"

~ 10:30PM

*sounds of frantic squeaking*

Me: "Oh God damnit."

Mark: "What is that? The doughnut thing?"

Me: "No, its Tom the Bug." (Context: this is a weird bee looking toy that Raleigh loves. Following this visit, the squeaker was lobotomized from Tom.)

Mark (resignedly): "Well, we just have to wait it out. This is our life now."

Me: *explodes laughing*


The next morning at 5:37AM, I texted this video to my sister. Please note (as evidenced by my groggy voice) that I waited more than an hour to provide proof of the madness.

At some point, Jenna responded. I'll just leave the text exchange here:

In case you were wondering, yes, I gave her plenty of melatonin. You can bet your ass I read the label and erred on the side of overdose. 

Here's the video that you see embedded in that thread:

Realizing that nothing short of an elephant tranquilizer was going to afford us meaningful peace, I decided to execute on the next best option: wear the dog the fuck out. Let's talk about how that went.

5:45AM: 6.5 mile run

1:30PM: Lengthy dog park trip.

Fuck It o'clock: Dog (same dog my sister swears is house-trained) randomly squats and pisses on brand new bedroom rug... right in front of us.

To whit:

My response to this? "Your dog is antithetical to my joy."

It would be about 6 hours before I would fully realize the truth of that statement.

Let me set the scene: 2:30AM. I'm sleeping peacefully. As far as I know, both dogs (ours and the hell beast) are also sleeping peacefully somewhere on the bed. I am blissfully unconscious, which means that Raleigh has ceased tearing around our bedroom in circles.

Suddenly, I'm roused from my sleep by Mark loudly exclaiming "FUCK!!!!" (it was the theme word of the week).

Mark, as he is wont to do, awoke around this time to use the bathroom. Raleigh had been bounding on and off the bed for a considerable portion of the night, but had never once hit the bell we'd hung on the door, or scratched at the door, or otherwise indicated any need to go out.

So imagine Mark's surprise when he put his feet on the ground and stepped in a pile of shit.

Yes, shit.

Hence the "FUCK."

Of course, I sat bolt upright and immediately bumbled my way to turn on the light. Only then did we realize the full extent of the damage.

The little shit had shit all over our bedroom. The floor was littered with dog turds, at least 25 individual pieces, almost all of them on the rug. The new rug. There was pee. There were streaks. It smelled like hell, an overwhelming blast of stink that made me wonder how we hadn't been woken up by it.

It took nearly 30 minutes to clean it up. Thirty minutes in which we both decided unequivocally that the hell beast was hence forth to sleep in the basement, in her crate.

Somehow, we managed to survive the Raleigh experience. She's even come back for subsequent visits (because we're suckers and gluttons for punishment). She remains an actively terrible dog. Don't let any doe-eyed, dog-loving Deadspin stories lead to you believe otherwise.


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