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Last Updated: Dec 12, 2008 - 4:54:39 PM |
I’m sitting here beside a pile of money. By all accounts, I should be thrilled, for no other reason than I actually have money, but if I were a two year old I would be ecstatic, because I would have twice as much as I had yesterday.
No, I don’t have a magic money duplicator; I have a nine month old puppy, Tuck, who inconveniently tore most of it in half. He spared the five, but tore three tens and mangled a one dollar bill. It was garage sale money, and I had intended to use it to buy Rave’s food, which is an outrageous $40 for a 20 pound bag of a special venison and potato (and nothing else) formula. (I’m not the only one in the house with allergies.) I was going to tape it all together and get the dog food on the assumption that a vet’s office is probably pretty familiar with ripped and shredded articles, but circumstances have changed and I’ll be able to get to the bank now to exchange it.
This isn’t the first item I’ve lost since I brought Mr. Psycho Puppy home back in February. He’s ruined two pair of sandals, ruined a third and nearly ruined them again after I had them fixed, gnawed on the back of my snow boots, a pair of clogs, and several other shoes and two laces. I’ve tried to be diligent about keeping them out of his sight, but he’s pretty crafty. He was even able to mangle my debit card, which was in my billfold, which was in my purse, which was on a kitchen chair. (Yes, he pulled it out on his own. I think he might have a money fetish.)
A person might think, since this is neither my first dog, nor my first border collie, that I’d be prepared for these kinds of disasters. It’s been eight years since I’ve dealt with a puppy, and Rave was ideal. She slept a lot, chewed on one shoe and never touched another after I screamed at her, and with the exception of houseplants and vessels holding water, she never messed up anything that wasn’t hers. (I vacuumed up a lot of dirt, though.)
Mr. Whirling Dervish never sleeps unless I force him to by putting him in his crate. Instead, he spends his time pulling dishes off the kitchen counter and then stands among the wreckage of broken ceramic and glass with a blank look on his face. Once I was doing dishes and I turned around to find him standing on my kitchen table—again with that blank look. Sometimes, if I stare back at him long enough, he cocks his head to one side and after a few seconds of deliberation, he does what he’s told.
Tuck. Susie Turnbull Photo
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Maybe it’s a boy-dog thing. I’m suspicious, since my other two dogs are female, that this may be the case; however Marengo was also a difficult puppy with quirky destructive habits. She liked to pull carpet fibers, especially on expensive hooked rugs. I assume she enjoyed the “pop pop pop” noise it made, but only because I’m anthropomorphizing and it’s what I would enjoy—the doggie version of bubble wrap, I suppose. She also liked to shred paper, but would slyly lie down on top of the magazine or newspaper (or college homework) that was on the floor (yes, I’m that stupid) and would then, when I was engrossed in my book or the TV, would riiiiiiip the paper—but would stop when caught, and as soon as I looked away again, I’d hear rrrrriiiiiipppp, and we’d start all over again.
Tuck isn’t choosy. He destroys everything in his path, or he jumps over it (including me while I’m sitting on the couch). He’s more athletic than either of the other two combined, even though Rave spends a great deal of time jumping park benches. He puts up a tough guy posture whenever we see another dog, or a bike, or a car, or a person he’s not familiar with---sometimes even the familiar ones. He’s bumbling. He’s reckless. He’s always in trouble. He doesn’t think about things before he does them---a boy. If he was human, he’d be the kid who strapped a towel to his neck and then jumped off the garage roof to see if he’d fly. He’s currently barking ferociously at the TV set, with his nose pressed against the glass, because he heard a dog. I’ll give him credit though. One time when he saw a dog run off the screen, he ran around behind the cabinet to look for it, so he’s not a complete imbecile (or maybe that makes him one?).
I’m afraid he might drive me crazy and I’m losing my patience. Fortunately he has one endearing quality (besides the TV watching). He is Mr. Affectionate. He loves with the same exuberance as he barks. He slobbers, he licks, and he lays his head on my stomach and looks up at me with his squinty (border collies don’t really have adorable eyes) brown eyes, so I guess he’s worth the trouble. We’re going to obedience class this week. Hopefully there won’t be bloodshed.
© Copyright 2008 by The East Iowa Herald
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