Hey everyone, welcome to another fabulous blog post. This one goes out to someone very near and dear to my heart…my dog.

I love dogs. I love every single type of dog, and I plan on having at least ten or twenty more in my lifetime. However, my dog is the best and worst dog ever. Don’t even try to argue my point, because you’re wrong.

My family got my dog, Sam, when I was about to go into fourth grade. Sam is a weimaraner, and I know most of you don’t know what that is. He weighs about as much as me, he’s taller than me when he stands on his hind legs, he’s got short, grey hair, and big floppy ears. He also only has two and a half canines (long story) and two different colored eyes.

Anyways, when we got Sam, we thought he was just the sweetest little puppy ever. We were wrong.

The first time we left Sam home alone, we closed him into our kitchen with a baby gate because he was only three months old at the time. When we got home, the kitchen was completely destroyed. There were papers everywhere, everything had been knocked off the counter, cups were scattered everywhere, the trash can had been knocked down, and Sam was nowhere to be found.

I’m pretty sure my mom had a mini stroke because the kitchen was in such bad shape. My sister and I were freaked out because Sam was gone, and I think my dad was just like “What the heck”, but then Sam casually walks up to us from the other side of the baby gate, just chillin’. Somehow, he had managed to climb over the counter, hop over the kitchen table, and get into the rest of the house.

This is just the beginning of Sam’s messes. After that little incident I just told you about, it was pretty evident that we couldn’t leave Sam home alone. My mom started taking him to my aunt’s house during the day because she has three other dogs that he could play with.

However, Sam caused more trouble here than he did at our house. He managed to open a baby lock to open the snack cupboard in their kitchen and proceeded to eat a whole entire box of Moon Pies and a jumbo bag of Cheetos. He had to get his stomach pumped.

Later that same week, he made his way into their laundry room, knocked down a large bag of dog food, and ate the whole thing. He had to get his stomach pumped again.

This copious amount of stomach pumping led to Sam’s diet being restricted for a long time. He was hungry and cranky, and he wanted to go outside so my dad let him out. Soon after this, we heard a big commotion in the backyard. We went outside and discovered my dog had been hunting bunnies. My sister and I started screaming, my mom was screaming, the poor bunny was screaming, and my dad ran back into the house to get the BB gun. The bunny was put out of his misery after that, but we had to keep a close eye on Sam to make sure he didn’t kill anything else.

He also figured out how to work the ice machine on the fridge at my aunt’s and would get ice for himself and all of the other dogs all day, creating melted ice puddles all over the kitchen. He also ate my cousins library books, ate my aunt’s terracotta flower pots, and chewed on one of the other dog’s tails. We didn’t realize he was doing that until my cousin and I witnessed Sam cough up a hairball. Sam also cracked open beer cans, spilled them all over the floor for one of my cousin’s dogs who was a fan of beer, and got the dog drunk. I’m not lying. This actually happened.

Sam has gotten one tooth pulled, cracked a second one, has been to the vet so many times that all of the people there love him, he’s eaten at least ten designer purses, five Vera Bradley bags, destroyed eight pairs of high heels, and has chewed through the straps of four backpacks. He has ripped through two window screens, eaten several pounds of chocolate (or any food you can think of), and has nearly chewed his own foot off. Not to mention he pooped all over my room and my clothes when I was on vacation this summer. I wasn’t happy.

Sam isn’t all bad though. When he’s in my car, he likes to hold my hand when I drive. He literally sticks out his paw and waits for me to hold it. He starts smiling when I sing in the car, and he wraps himself around you when you get home and nuzzles his face into your leg. He would also probably kill anyone who tried to hurt me (casual, right?).

So even though Sam is a super cute and sometimes sweet dog, I would not recommend getting a Weimaraner unless you want to pay thousands and thousands of dollars in vet bills and property damage. Oh, and run it several miles every day. Either that, or take the dog to daycare. So, if you don’t like killing bunnies because your dog breaks their spine, taking your dog to get their stomach pumped several times a week, or getting your dog’s teeth pulled because they’ve been eating rocks (that’s half the story of how he’s missing teeth), I would recommend a Labrador, not a Weimaraner.