The dog ate your homework

I live in a house. One of my housemates owns a dog. The dog's name is Oliver. He goes by Ollie for short. Ollie is a chocolate lab. If I didn't live with Ollie, I would adore him. He is very cute and playful. But dang it, that dog makes my life miserable. He has destroyed two pairs of my shoes, a loaf of my bread, and a box of pancake mix. He tears up whatever he can find and leaves it strewn about the living room floor. He sheds on the furniture. And if I ever fail to close my bedroom door all the way, he comes in and goes through my garbage, leaving it strewn about my bedroom floor. Accordingly, I don't like to invite people over, I don't like to sit on the couch, and I can't leave my bedroom door open to let air circulate. No me gusta.

The lastest Ollie-making-my-life-complicated situation occurred yesterday. I had left a bag that I keep my teaching materials in on the kitchen table. He somehow managed to get to my bag, to pull out a stack of student papers, and left his teethmarks on them, while drooling on and bending others. So now, in my class on Tuesday, I am going to have to apologize to my students, because my roommate's dog ate their homework.