Cold snap at the Casa last night, and it would have been nice to sleep in this morning, but that’s not how the inmates roll. We awoke to a what we initially thought was someone firing up an industrial wood chipper inside the confines the Casa del Boudoir, only to realize it was merely a dogcauphony of gnashing canine molars demolishing rawhide chew toys. Excuse me just a minute…
(Charlie, you can get up here if you’ll just chill out, but no licking, nosing, or thrashing about; I have to get this post done, as you sure didn’t do it! Settle down, that’s a good girl, watch where you tromp, easy on the tender vegetation, EASY! now…(Micro pause) I said chill out! Go see what mom is doing or something else! Jeez, that dog is a volatile force of nature!)
Where was I? Oh yeah, the dogcauphony. Aunt Kathy sent a VERY nice gift box containing dog treats, a blanket, etc, to the inmates of the Casa. Mom, doing what mom does (I’m the pushover), was going to make the dogs wait until Christmas to open the present, and if momma ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy. So, as earlier planned, I went to the gym, mom made her nightly pilgrimage to shopping Mecca (the ubiquitous Freds Family Dollar General Walgreens Sav-a-lot),and both returned later to find the dogs all preoccupied with treats and the air of the Casa permeated with a strange air of guilt.
Mom thought I had caved and got sucked into Petsmart on the way home, I suspected that she had waffled down the wrong aisle at the Dollar store, but it turned out that neither of us were the guilty party.
The culprit was Max.
The hirsute Houdini had surgically opened one end of the goody box and extracted only the treats, both human and canine, leaving the blanket and other nonconsumanles. I can only imagine him humming the music from “Mission Impossible” as he scurried around his domain, stashing rawhide chews and caramel corn behind every couch cushion he could find.
Inmates worldwide are notorious for discovering the caches of other inmates, and the inmates of the Casa are no different; only now those caches have developed into new caches. About the time it appears everything has settled down, and all the bones have been collected for the night only to be redistributed in the morning, the sound of an angry beaver will begin to emanate from beneath the bed or behind the couch.
Now it’s daylight, and the dogs are all worn out from exercising their right to be annoying all night. As the maestro of this mayhem, Max is looking particularly smug as he basks in the honor bestowed upon him by the other miscreants, a position of honor among thieves.
It’s always a party at the Casa.