For most of her life, our dog Ruby has had free reign of the house.

She has jumped up on every piece of furniture and scratched her back on all the carpets, and when she was just a puppy, she made a snack out of a quilt my grandmother had made for me.

I would have killed a child who had torn up an heirloom, but all I could do with Ruby is look into her not-so-innocent eyes and shake my head.

Then there was the time she chewed up the carpet in the den. And let me just add, she did not pick an inconspicuous corner. She had decided to put her mark front and center for all to see.

You would think this neat freak obsessive-compulsive woman would have tossed that dog’s little fanny out, but for some unearthly reason, I didn’t.

I have continued to let this little Jack Russell get away with more mischief and shenanigans than my children and husband put together.

I have found pets have a mystical, magical way of getting away with murder.

Before Ruby came to live with us, I had not wanted a pet.

It is not that I didn’t like animals. I grew up with dogs as pets, and years ago when my older daughters were young, well before Ruby’s time, we had had dogs and cats.

I just knew from experience that pets would require my attention no matter how much a child said, “But mom, you won’t have to do anything! I will take care of her. I promise!”

If anyone could have believed that, I have some swampland in Florida to sell you!

Ruby was to be a pet for my son. My dad found these little pups and asked if it would be OK for him to give my son one.

I hesitated for a bit, but eventually relinquished and said, “Yes.”

I will never forget the day Ruby arrived at our house. My dad said my son had decided on the runt of the litter.  Sure enough, Ruby was a petite little thing.

She was also a broken coat Jack Russell, which means instead of being a short-haired dog, she had longer hair.

Ruby immediately staked out her claim inside the house even though I had said she was to be an outside dog.

But somehow, I found myself over ruled and the next thing I knew, Ruby was even sleeping in the bed with the kids.

This is when Ruby knew she had this mama whipped, and it wasn’t long after she became the princess of the household.

For a while, she even wore a diamond-studded collar.

Ruby is older now, and in addition to her hearing being shot, she has a terrible bladder problem that has relegated her to the kitchen.

For the most part, Ruby handles the confinement like a champ, but when someone is home and hanging out in other rooms, she does not like being left out.

In fact, the other day while I was upstairs in my bathroom getting ready for work, in walked the princess to remind me she is still in charge.

That smart dog had figured out how to break through the gate and was reliving her glory days when the whole house was her domain.

And you are right, I just looked at her and smiled, because like I said before, pets are mystical and magical that way.

Terri Cowart Frazier is a staff writer at The Vicksburg Post. Readers are invited to submit their opinions for publication.