This is the Sound of the Last Straw

I mean it this time. I know I've said it before and not followed through, but this is really, really it. The dog goes. I really can't take it anymore. I spent 2 hours cleaning the living room and he went in there, found the few magazines that he hadn't already shredded and proceeded to shred them all over the rug. Then he went after my albums and then, he peed on the rug and the magazines. Just brazenly, just peeing because why the hell not? For the last two days he's been obsessed with a laundry basket - shredding it, chasing it all over the house, howling every 20 seconds or so. I'm sorry. I know this is evil. I know I suck. I know I'm going to dread getting on the computer and seeing the many pictures and the amusing anecdotes and all the Jackson-centric material but I simply can no longer live like this.

I have done everything humanly possible including spending tons of money I don't have, that I might have spent on food, or oil to heat the house, or a class at AB Tech to get me to a point where I could actually find a job, or a Christmas present for my son. I took him to obedience classes, I was kind, I was good, I read books, I tried desperately to train him, I fed him well, I walked him, I took him for hikes in the woods, I got him his shots, I loved him, I did everything that I could do and far, far more than most people ever would have done. None of it was enough and you know what? It isn't me. It's this fucking dog. He is not trainable; he can't be a house dog and I can't see keeping him in the yard on a chain 24/7. And yeah, he's an endless source of amusing anecdotes, but lately there's a core of desperation to the anecdotes and when even my PETA member vegan friend watches him for a few hours and says, you know, you really should just shoot him in the head, he's mentally ill - well, okay. I give up. It's over.

And my life will be about 10,000 times better when he's gone. But it's going to be a rough few days of misery and guilt first.