I think this phrase sounds ominous and would make an excellent title for a suspense film. Or a solution for Clue. I have turned my disaster of a house into a joke and go around labeling the scenes I see. "Pit bulls on the couch. Pit bulls on the bed. Pit bulls under the porch. Pit bulls on the bath mat." These puppies are becoming BIG FUCKING DOGS. Banjo isn't big on an absolute scale, but she's gained 12 pounds since I got her (total 57 pounds), so she was not a full-grown adult as advertised when I adopted her. Annie will be 5 months old in a few days and weighs 37 pounds, up from 23 pounds at 3 months, and to my fevered imagination grows noticeably every day while I sleep. All the poundage, coincidentally, goes to her head and feet, making her look a little silly. Her brick head makes her tip over and scrabble with her giant paws to keep her balance. The rest of her is a bit scrawny.
But I digress.
Banjo is apparently in an adolescent stage, and Annie is in some kind of toddler/terrible 2's equivalent. They require constant attention and correction. "No, you cannot eat my socks." "Please cease to eat the edge off the porch." "Annie, don't eat the cabinet door." (That last one is an example of things that people with pit bulls probably don't say but I do all the time.)
They tower over me on the couch, they take up the whole entire bed, they jostle me around when I try to walk around the house. I allow dogs on furniture if they're still, which they oddly are most of the time when they're on the couch or bed, but when I allowed them on the bed I wasn't thinking clearly. I'm going to have like 125 pounds of dog on my bed in 6 months. There is a dog-free room in the house where the cat and I can go to sit untrammeled.
I can deal with all of this and am fairly calm about the chaos. But I am annoyed DAILY with my shower because the puppies like to sit on the bath mat. THEY TAKE UP THE WHOLE BATH MAT. Therefore to get out of the shower I have to fight my way through two large dogs (in my bathroom, they're large) who are both dedicatedly licking the water off my legs. My bathroom door is warped and doesn't quite latch, so it's no problem for the brickheads. Every day I fling open the shower curtain to see two dogs sitting and looking expectantly at me. "Ah," I say. "Pit bulls on the bathmat." They go into transports of delight.
Why the bath mat? I don't know. Why can I not remember to just put them in the yard when I'm showering? I don't know. But I'm beginning to consider the logistics of the thing. I may need (a) a bigger bath mat or (b) a bigger bathroom. The time draws nigh when the three of us will not fit very well in there.
Ah well. I've grown used to fighting my way through a surging mass of pit puppies at all times and don't know what I would do without them.