Dammit, dog.

So I come home from work and what do I see on Murphy's dog bed?

This time, it's remnants of something red, which, on closer inspection, turns out to be what's left of the box that my three new reloading dies came in.

And these aren't just any dies--they are honking BIG 1&1/4" dies for the .577/450 Martini Henry rounds. (Typical reloading dies are 7/8", just to put these in perspective.) But these big chunks of steel were just lying loose next to Murphy's bed where he had discarded them after tearing the box apart and ripping up the cardboard and foam padding. The dies are fine, of course, but now they lack a box. And they were brand-freaking new, so Murphy had better hope and pray that I don't have to send them back, because without the box...? Yeah.

Thanks dog. A whole living room full of dog toys, and he's got to go through my mail and open the packages while I'm out.

"Meter man stopped by today too. He wuz delicious!"

And a GOOD dog would have at least used those dies to prep some cases while I was out. Just saying.


Sigh. Why didn't I just buy a hamster? I should have bought a freaking hamster four years ago and called it a day.