Meet Eliott the psycho dog.

Once upon a time, a few months after Josh and I were married, I got the "baby bug."
Josh really wasn't ready.  He was still finishing his second senior year in undergrad and was preparing to attend graduate school after that.  At the time, we didn't know where he would end up, but we did know whatever program he got into would be challenging and time consuming....and that it would last a good four or five MORE years. 
But this bug was really hard to shake. 
We already had one dog, Esteban, a sweet lovable dopey canine who I had adopted for myself before we were married when it was a little lonely coming home to an empty apartment.  In many ways, Esteban was my "first baby". 

I poured out all the love I would have given a child on that puppy.  But that puppy grew up.

 (Esteban "hiding" from bath-time.  Not very bright, but very very sweet boy.)
So, to in hopes to placate me,  Josh took me to the humane society to pick out another puppy.  I had my eyes on a different ball of fluff, but Josh really wanted this little butterball we ended up adopting and naming Eliott.

Boy she sure was cute.  Was being the key word.

She was an obedient, smart little puppy.  But somehow she turned into this neurotic obsessed creature.

She lives for her racket ball.  No one is as fast as Eliott.  She considers it her one and only purpose in life to fetch and chase the ball.  We can't escape. 
She knows just where to put her ball so we have to throw it!
She puts her ball on or next to our heads when we lay down at night.
In the two seconds it takes to sit in a chair, she has it placed on the seat under our butts.
She places it directly on our laps, crooks of our arms et cetera.
And we have to be VERY careful where we put her ball.
She will chew, slice and dig her way to it no matter the obstacle.
She chewed through my nightstand drawer, the lining of the boxspring of the guest bed (don't ask me how the ball got trapped in the lining.) and several other things.
Aaand we discovered after we started having children, she likes diapers.  Which leads me to why I wrote this post in the first place.
The other day I came home to this:

She is smart enough to push the button of the diaper pail, knock it over, and, well you know what she does next.  Gross dog.
She knows when she's been bad, because she gets "slinky." She slinks around looking guilty and avoiding me.  Yes, she even hides from me and won't come when I call her.  That's when I know to go look for some devastation somewhere in the house if I don't run into something immediately when I come home.

On top of everything yesterday, Ryan let her out the front door and she ran away.
The baby was crying and needed me.  I couldn't leave to go looking for her.
I was thinking nasty, dark, violent thoughts in her direction when a kind neighbor brought her back.

Josh had to remind me that I wouldn't be so mad at her if I didn't care about her a little bit.  I guess every family has it's "problem child."