Bruce Willis owes me 120 bucks, a new carpet, and therapy for my dog

I hope you're paying attention, Bruce.

Why? Let me start at the beginning.

Two weeks ago I adopted the sweetest little puppy in California. He's some kind of mutt (likely a dachsund/corgi mix with probably something else in there too -- maybe chihuahua, since he's pretty small?) and has a beautiful short black coat. He has this precious little underbite and the sweetest personality. He follows me around everywhere I go and he loves to snuggle. I've named him Cujo.

Now, Cujo did not come to me straight from his mom and dad. Rather, a woman found him wandering the street and brought him to someone who tries to find homes for rescued dogs. I cannot fathom why someone would abandon little Cujo, but they did, and frankly, I'm the luckier for it.

As a result of this, though, Cujo has some separation anxiety. He's generally done well while I'm gone -- he'll whine at the door for a few minutes and then just sleep until I get home (at least, as far as I can tell). I've left him for up to four hours and he's been fine -- no chewing, no accidents in the apartment, etc.

Saturday night my friend had a party to celebrate passing the bar (congrats Andrew!!), and he lives down in Irvine. I headed to the party, thinking I'd hang out for a few hours, probably three at the most, and then head home -- so with driving time of roughly 45 minutes each way factored in, that would put me at about 4 and a half hours, and I knew Cujo could handle that.

And I imagine he would have, had Bruce Willis not SHUT DOWN THE FUCKING 405 TO FILM HIS STUPID MOVIE. The article linked to doesn't specifically say that he's shutting down the 405, but I can't imagine why else they were siphoning off every single car near the airport, even though all four lanes of traffic were completely clear of any accidents, construction, or other *real* reasons to close the busiest freeway in Southern California.

It literally took 45 minutes to move a single half mile. One fucking half mile.

By the time I got home, poor Cujo had had a panic attack. I'd been gone for nearly six hours. He was probably worried he'd never see me again. The POOR BABY. It's going to take forever now to train him out of his separation anxiety.

And as if that wasn't enough, Cujo tore up the carpet next to my door. Literally pulled the carpet away from the floor and chewed it up. I don't think it will cost much more than a hundred bucks or so to replace (once I work up the courage to call my landlord and tell him what happened), but still, it's gonna be a pain in the butt to deal with.

And for the time being, I've bought a kennel to crate him in while I'm gone so that he can't cause any more damage (I've also heard that smaller dogs sometimes prefer closed-in spaces, because they make them feel safe and protected). He hung out in there for a bit last night and seems to like it pretty well, so hopefully this will kill two birds with one stone -- his separation anxiety and my worry of having to replace everything in the apartment. But the damn kennel cost 120 bucks. Jeesh, I seem to remember those things being lots cheaper when my parents got one for my dog back home.

So anyway. None of this would have happened if it weren't for you, Bruce Willis. So pay up.