I wistfully recall when my home had lovely décor and I could leave personal items smattered about without fear of total annihilation. Now, cherished treasures and exquisite antiquities have either been stored for safekeeping, or sadly, did not survive many Malinois melees.

Thanks to a pack of dysfunctional dogs, my home has been transformed from timeless beauty to a desecrated style I like to call Shabby Shit.

As the thundering herd of canines stampede through this bastion of elegance, they leave behind deep ruts in wood floors, muddy pawprints, and large tumbleweeds of hair, pirouetting effortlessly across every surface.

The dogs’ artistic abilities echo an evolving style of cutting edge form and function. With little effort, they transform treasures to trash, using teeth and nails to sculp masterpieces out of everyday items. And I just discovered their clandestine storefront on Etsy, aptly named Maligator Art Mart. Not only was I shocked at their enterprising undertaking, I bought a signed original called Regurgitated Shoelaces.

One simply cannot stifle creativity. When inspiration strikes, the dogs become wild-eyed, overcome with an inexplicable urge to redecorate. They are inventive and resourceful. The practice of everyone trying to get through a doorway at once has created intricate scrimshaw etchings on baseboards and door frames. And the magnum opus of impressionist artwork is thoughtfully entitled, Tongue on Glass.

Even though the dogs are never left in crates for long, they attempt to garner sympathy from the outside world, dramatically barking and scraping tin cups across the bars. They count time spent incarcerated by defacing surrounding walls with tally marks and crude graffiti.

When given the “place” command, the dogs obediently retreat to their assigned posts; though when released, they become a riotous mob, indiscriminately renovating everything in sight. Furniture will be moved. Lamps will be toppled. Artwork will be relocated or destroyed. Objects are sent flying, settling to a more layered, elevated affair. And flooring will exude the rustic charm of yesteryear—even though it was just installed last week.

At times, my home could be described as a breezy open-air bungalow, due to a broken window. Or two. Whimsical embellishments of bones, antlers, toys, tugs, and shredded blankets coalesce, creating a certain je ne sais quoi.

Upon entering my home, people gasp. Surveying the damage, they often enquire if there’s been recent seismic activity, or ask if I’ve been robbed. Visitors are left speechless over the undisciplined decorating scheme and pungent fragrance of eau de dog. I regard their stunned silence as the highest form of flattery and beam with pride.

Because I’ve attained such a high level of respect in the design world, I’ve decided to share my secrets. By offering complimentary interior decorating consultation, I’ll be helping others playfully festoon their doggy domiciles.

Architectural elements may include cinder block walls, concrete floors, and concertina wire around the windows. My vision for enhancing the living space with tires, cardboard boxes, tree stumps, and plastic milk crates has been called “innovative genius” by Dog House Beautiful.

Vacuum cleaners and mops are for amateurs and sissies. I recommend spigots and hoses in every room for easy clean-up. In preparation of eradicating dust and hair, open doors and windows. With a leaf blower handily strapped to your back, simply blow your cares away. Repeat daily.

Spackle and paint often. When choosing paint colors, select natural earth tones or color schemes to match your dogs, using my exclusive canine color palette. Remember, ignorance is bliss and camouflage is key.

My dogs are excitable, intense, and unruly. But they are also Zen, and have helped me reach a state of decorating enlightenment. As they continue to pare down my possessions, I’m learning to embrace the honest, lived-in charm of a minimalist existence. I shall accept their innate understanding of spatial arrangement through Feng Shui and their limitless flow of Qi. And as furniture has been destroyed, they have methodically opened pathways to release their energy.

Like life, my home is messy, dinged, and damaged. But it’s also welcoming and comfortable. It would be devastating to live a pristine existence in a too-clean house, void of activity and laughter. Sharing my home with a pack of perfectly imperfect hooligans is what keeps me grounded, and keeps things real. Despite the muddled mess of constant renovation, I wouldn’t have it any other way.