Tim vs. The House: Day 8 and the Breakdown Begins

/ Kyra Kornely / Leave a comment

The house is hanging on by a thread. Tim’s “bed rest” after surgery? Yeah, it’s turned into the House Destruction Olympics.

Day 8. Hour 1. And the chaos has already begun.

My brand new shoebox? A prime target. Tim’s been running laps with the box in his mouth like he just won a trophy. And the tissue paper? Shredded like it owed him rent.

Next victim: the baby toys.

Ellie’s soft teething rings—yep, now part of Tim’s chew collection. She’s officially been promoted to “shared custody” of her own stuff. Every time I look away, he’s got another toy in his mouth and that “What? Can you blame me?”

I go to correct him, and he stares at me like:

“Can you blame me? I’m bored. I’m stuck in a cone. I haven’t chased a bird or played fetch in a week.”

Honestly, mood.

By the end of the first hour, Tim has made his rounds through every room, nose in business he shouldn’t be in. My black flip-flops? His latest conquest. I found one in the kitchen and the other halfway under the couch. How?

Shredded tissue paper from shoebox scattered across carpet after Tim the GSP puppy tore it apart during post-surgery bed rest
Tim’s personal art project: tissue paper. Bed rest? Not happening.

Neutering Recovery: Tim’s Unexpected Challenges

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Bed Rest and Tim: One Week, Zero Chill, Total Destruction

Tim’s been on bed rest this week after getting neutered, and it’s been… an adventure. For a dog who’s supposed to be resting, he sure has a lot of chaos left in him.

💥 Day by Day Destruction

It started small. A few rips in the comforter—no big deal, right? Then my husband’s favorite pillows nearly met their end. I turned the corner and there was Tim, frozen mid-bite, pillow in his mouth like a prize he wasn’t supposed to have.

“Tim, drop it!” I yelled, as he gave me that wide-eyed, totally-not-sorry look. I saved the fluff. Barely.

🛋️ The Couch Didn’t Stand a Chance

By day seven, I was washing the couch covers, foolishly leaving the cushions unguarded. Tim found them. Of course he did. And when I walked in? Shredded stuffing and a guilty face that said, “Oops, but not really.”

So I tried to be clever.

👶 Baby Playpen vs. Bird Dog Brain

I tossed the cushions into my daughter’s playpen. Seemed safe enough. Barriers, right?

Wrong.

Within minutes, Tim, who is wearing his oversized cone of shame, leaped into the playpen, determined to finish the job. He didn’t care that he was surrounded by stuffed animals and rattles. He had one goal: destroy the cushions. Again.

And then… he got stuck.

There he was: cone sideways, legs tangled in baby toys, looking up like, “Help. But also, I’d do it again.”

😩 Feelings? Exhausted.

Honestly? I was torn between laughing and crying. It’s like having a toddler with four legs, claws, and a personal vendetta against household objects.

🐾 Tim Tips: Surviving Bed Rest with a Wild Puppy

If you’re navigating puppy recovery (or puppy madness in general), here are a few things I’ve learned:

  • Double barricade EVERYTHING. Playpens, baby gates, furniture—they will find a way.
  • Rotate chew toys to keep them engaged. Bored dogs = destructive dogs.
  • Create a cozy rest zone with blankets, calming music, or enrichment toys to encourage downtime.
  • Patience and humor go a long way. Sometimes you just have to laugh before you cry.

📸 Visuals to Come!

You’ll want to see the cone chaos, so stay tuned for pictures of Tim’s Great Playpen Escape (including the fluff aftermath).

German Shorthaired Pointer puppy stuck in baby playpen wearing cone after surgery
Tim, post-neuter and full of regret, after jumping into the playpen to attack the couch cushions.

Stroller and a Leash

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Picture This…

One hand on the stroller.

One hand gripping a leash.

One determined German Shorthaired Pointer pulling like he’s training for the Iditarod.

That’s a typical walk for us: me, the baby, and Tim—our chaos-powered GSP puppy.

GSPs Don’t Heel. They Hunt.

If you’ve ever tried walking a German Shorthaired Pointer, you know: they’re not built to heel—they’re built to lead. Tim’s convinced his purpose in life is to drag us forward like he’s the lead sled dog of suburbia.

But I’m determined. I want peaceful, synchronized walks—like the Pinterest moms. So I start training.

The Peanut Butter Plan

Armed with a wooden spoon coated in peanut butter, I crouch and hold it at Tim’s nose level every time he’s in the correct heel position. Meanwhile, my other hand is on the stroller—because, of course, I’m walking two babies at once.

We do this for an hour.

Heel, praise, peanut butter.

Heel, praise, peanut butter.

Repeat.

Eventually… Tim gets bored. The peanut butter loses its magic, and now I’ve got a sticky spoon, sore knees, and a still-pulling GSP.

Then It Got Worse

As we pull into our driveway, my husband comes out to greet us. Cue Tim’s favorite human of all time.

In a split second, Tim launches toward him with full force, yanking me down face-first into the ditch. My knees hit the ground, the leash whips forward, and the peanut butter spoon flies dramatically into the grass.

Thankfully, the stroller locked into place before rolling in with me. Baby: safe. Me: not so much. Tim? Living his best life.

Have you ever tried to push a stroller and train a new puppy simultaneously? Are there any tips and tricks besides peanut butter on a wooden spoon?

Thunderstorm Tim

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Early morning. It’s raining sideways and there’s no clear sky in the horizon.

It’s time to take Tim, the 50-pound water hating German Shorthaired Pointer to the bathroom. One problem: Tim is having none of it.

As soon as I crack open the front door, he bolts straight back to the warm bed occupied by my husband. We begin a game of indoor tag between the front door and the bedroom. This game of indoor tag continues: door to bed, bed to door, over and over.

Deadlifting the Dramatic Dog

Finally, after losing the battle of my patience, I resort to a deadlifting this dramatic hunting dog out into the wet wilderness that is our backyard. I toss on my Snuggie hoodie although there’s no hope of staying dry.

Tim, a dog bred for rugged outdoor adventures, is now hiding between the arborvitae trees refusing any Mother Nature to touch him. Meanwhile, I’m outside getting soaked showing him it’s not so terrible outside.

Eventually, Tim realized he was never going back inside until he went to the bathroom. After much whining (from both of us), he does his business and makes a mad dash to the door ready to go back to bed.

Moral of the story?

Even the boldest dogs become puddles of drama during thunderstorms.

Tim Refusing the Rain