On the whole, I’ve been pretty good for a puppy. Even that taskmaster Mike is forced to admit it. I’m on board with the important stuff, like peeing and pooping when and where I’m supposed to. But come on, nobody’s perfect.
So I’ve developed this tissue thing. It started outside, an outgrowth of darting for anything on the ground that’s white, like seagull poop. Or off-white, like chewed-up gum. Yum. So yeah, tissues; they’re white, or at least some of them are. When they’re fresh, I mean. And I don’t care if they’re fresh, anyway. I prefer them rumpled and crusty.
I’ve had this strong hankering for tissues for a couple of weeks now, and I know where to find them. In Heather’s waste basket, the tissues are sweet, usually with some kind of syrupy stuff on them. They taste vaguely like the pancake leftovers on Sunday morning.
Mike’s waste basket is just not as good. Not as many tissues in it, for starters. And not nearly as tasty, for some reason.
That’s why I was so mad when Mike caught me taking tissues from his garbage. The take on this heist wasn’t worth getting into trouble–although I always enjoy seeing Mike lapse into one of his really stern “Bad Dog!” routines. Like that’s going to have any effect, right? He’d be better off praising me for getting the tissues out without knocking over the basket.
I’ve already gotten back at Mike for getting in my way. He was working at his computer (possibly even on a real job!). I was getting really, really bored, and he wasn’t paying any attention to me. So I slipped under his chair and started gnawing. He later claimed he thought I was chewing that stinky cow hoof that I’ve been working on for a few weeks. Sorry, Mike, the plastic handle of your chair is a lot more appealing than that hard and stinky hoof. When he saw the black plastic handle all chewed up, he felt so dumb he didn’t even bother saying anything to me about it. He should consider himself lucky that I didn’t chew up something important. (Besides, you should always save something for next time.)
And while we’re on the subject, let’s ditch that damn hoof and get some real marrow bones around here. I demand it.