Two months into puppy training and I believe this title says it all.

One day the four-month-old miniature terror is trained, and the next day, I am picking up the pieces of a dismembered toy, shoe, hockey bag, garbage bag, purse – you name it.

Scout, the latest four-legged addition to our family, is nothing short of maniacal, destructive and frankly, so darn cute, she is smart enough to get away with it. She makes me happy.

As many of you know, our family lost both of our large dogs within a year of each other at the ages of 16 and 17 human years. It was a significant loss, as pets are really the only members of your family you want to be around all the time.

Though I swore I could never love a tiny dog, Scout has leapt into the big dog void with an attitude that more than fills the spot. We all know she’s not a replacement for our past pets, simply a new chapter of the continuing story of our family.

And Scout punctuates it with an exclamation mark.

Having a puppy is like having a new baby all over again, only better. I say it’s better because she won’t grow up and date boys or drive my car. Yet, I cannot believe how much of my life revolves around pee and poop since Scout arrived.

For the first few months, potty training her has been like a scavenger hunt that nobody wants to win. As gross as that sounds, I am grateful we have no broadloom in the house.

Just like a toddler, a puppy requires limits and safeguards. Nothing is safe from the tiny pooch with big ideas and a Napoleon complex.

She is a teething terror with tiny saw blades ready to chomp behind her endearing furry smile. Scout has chewed on chairs, tables and occasionally a child or two.  Even the wall trim isn’t safe.

Don’t even get me started on her shoe addiction.  That puppy will dine on any pair of shoes she can find. When I’m lazy, I confess, I ignore it. I tell myself they are just shoes. But I had to draw the line at the ivory high-heeled sling-backs when I caught her dragging them out of my closet. I may not be a “shoe girl,” but that pair matters.

On a happier note, Scout has taught the children to put their things away … or else. No pencil or iPod is safe from her wrath. Leave your hockey gear out and you can expect a soggy surprise. Forgot to hand over your lunch pail? You’ll find pieces of it in three different rooms.

There isn’t a single pair of matching socks for any member of the family anymore and each one of us has endured the public humiliation of having their underwear dragged out of the laundry room for a public viewing.

The Carpenter calls Scout the “pot roast with legs,” and other nicknames I won’t repeat here, but I know he’s warmed up to her. They nap together. Scout is the excuse the Carpenter uses to say he can’t finish the bathroom, because she’ll just destroy it. Right. It’s a conspiracy.

Despite the fact Scout leaves a trail of destruction in her wake, this 2.6kg force of nature has quickly become the wee light of my life and the heart of our home.

Who needs matching socks anyway?