The dog went back to the shelter. We tried, it didn't work. By the time she'd been here for a week, I actually had gotten used to her energy, being followed by clickety-clackety toenails all over my house, the hair that seemed to be popping up everywhere, her being on my bed and me not being able to stretch my legs out the entire night, etc. BUT, take notice of all caps there, she SNAPPED AT MY KIDS. TWICE. She seemed to have the idea that whatever she happened to take a liking to promptly became her possesion. Which meant that NO ONE should touch it, or even think about touching said possesion. Even if that was my son's five hundred dollar foot brace. Which now has dog teeth impressions in the toe. I cannot stand for my kids to be at risk of being bitten by a snarling dog, so she had to go. I know that we could have worked with her, I know it's really sucky to take a dog from the pound, only to take it right back. Trust me, I know. I cried all the way there, moped around the house the rest of the day riddled with guilt, and thought about it as I feel asleep.
But then I woke up. To a house with no dog. So, naturally, I did what I do best. I cleaned.