Four years ago, I met my best friend, my biggest adversary, and my constant companion, Hudson Benjamin Greenwald. I was on my way to meet friends for a beer in Venice Beach when I walked past a dog adoption. And since I can’t escape the sweet scent of puppy, I stopped to check it out. Hudson was a sleepy pup of 16 weeks at the time. They said he was a Beagle/Cocker mix who would end up weighing 35 pounds, but he's actually a Appenzeller mix, now weighing in at 60 pounds. Little did I know, I was signing up for a life of renovation, restoration, and replacing destroyed that makes me ride the line of my sanity every single day.
It should have been telling that when I picked up Hudson the next day, he'd tested positive for Parvo, which meant that my $97.54 rescue mutt would cost me almost $2000 before he even set foot in the house. But when he threw himself at me upon his release from the hospital - I knew he was meant to be mine. I already had an 11-year-old dog at home, Dakota, who reminded me of a roommate who is mildly annoying but pays the rent on time and makes you laugh, and if you ever really need them, they'd be there. Dakota, Hudson and I lived peacefully together for six months. Then Dakota was diagnosed with kidney failure.
On the day I put her down, I took Dakota for one last ride in my car—top down, Bob Marley blaring. After one final McDonald's meal of McNuggets, fries, and a double quarter pounder with cheese, I let Dakota go. Hudson was there (per the instruction of the vet) as he had to see the pack leader go. She passed quietly and peacefully in my arms, and all the rigidity of her illness escaped her. Hudson licked the tears from my face and in his own way told me “things are going to be okay.”
Except that "things are going to be okay” apparently meant my perfect rescue pup was about to turn into a sonic hedgehog-like, chainsaw-teeth-wielding ball of chaos and mass destruction wrapped up in a cute face and a sweet disposition.
10 days later, I got a call at work asking, "Do you have a dog named Hudson? He's at the park playing by himself." Hudson had clawed through a side gate and under the wooden fence to get to the park. From that day on, it was man vs. beast plus contractor.
My contractor built a concrete troth under my fence and reinforced all my gates with thick particle board and aluminum siding. Then, I tried dog training, dog therapists, pet psychics, chew toys . . . nothing would stop this force known as Hud.
Every day, he eats blinds, stands on furniture, or scratches doors. He's gnawed, whittled, nibbled, bitten, scuffed, torn apart, knocked down and barreled through it all. I've been through at 7 door frames, 6 window frames, 5 sets of blinds, 4 work bags, 3 dog beds, 2 custom doors, and 1 outdoor day bed. And his dogstruction still knows no bounds.
As I've spent endless hours researching how to handle Hud, I found there's a world of us out here with these creatures that we name, put a collar on and go to bed and get up with—and spend the rest of the day cleaning up their messes. Still, we love them and laugh with them unconditionally. Okay, well, maybe one condition: STOP EATING MY STUFF! And that's why Dogstruction.com was born. Dog owners, we are not alone! This is a site for all of us share the daring damage and destruction our furry friends impose on us every day.
Please post your pictures and share your stories. What have you walked in after work or vacation or a five-minute shower to see? Perhaps beneath the stress and frustration, we can share some laughs and stories about man and woman's best friend and our stuff's worst enemy: our dogs.