As two households combine, you tend to end up with more of the same item. When the beau and I shacked up, it was now a double crazy dog household. My wee little rat terrier/chihuahua cross is a bundle of psychotic. I am the third person to own her. I will gladly admit the reason I brought her home was because she would have been immediately on death row at the pound. She’s not what one would call ‘adoptable.’ Presleigh is every Caesar Mallin show rolled into one without the happy well behaved ending.
Cody is the beau’s dog. Cody is actually more my type of dog than my own. He’s big and dumb, often klutzy, but always generally pleasant unless you are bringing a delivery to the house. He’s appreciative of what is offered to him and is happy over the smallest gestures of kindness. Oh, and he eats plastic and hates the indoors.
Being a pet owner who’s always had dogs snuggled in bed or on the couch with me, this is a bit new to have a dog that would rather not be inside. I tried to bring him into our new combined house and he tried crawling out a screen window. I could hear the frantic Alcatraz like behavior and decided the beau was probably right, he really hated the indoors.
I had heard the mention of his sophisticated taste of plastic. You never truly understand it though until you come home from work and realized that he has not only figured out how to open the shed door, but he has mouthed everything plastic to an oblivion. There’s a piece of my bike helmet. There’s a piece of a flower pot. There’s a piece of… what is that? What ever it was, it was plastic.
A few weeks ago, we got a bit of snow. It was cold and gross outside. He greeted me at the car with his super handsome coat on. “Would you like to go to work with me today? You won’t like it, but at least it will be warm.” So I loaded him up in the car and took him to the animal hospital. He spent all day howling to the top of his desperate lungs and pooping in his kennel. Oh, life inside! I told the girls at work how much happier I thought he’d be in th car than the kennel, but there was the fear that he would snack on my interior.
We closed early that afternoon and I asked Cody how he felt about stopping by the grocery store to pick up some snow necessities. I took my Tupperware containers from the day and shoved them in a bag and down on the passenger side floor. I then placed a heavy box from UPS on top of them. I turned around before exiting the car and said, “Don’t eat any plastic! No plastic!” Cody wagged his tail.
Maybe fifteen minutes later, I returned to the parking lot and popped the hatch on the back of my Blazer. I saw a car of guys looking over smiling. That’s right, look at this wee little girl and her big tough dog. I placed the groceries in the back and headed over the cart corral to return my buggy.
When I returned to the car, I turned around to talk to Cody. He had apparently kept himself busy in that one minute abscence by reaching into the back, grabbing the loaf of bread and fixing himself a juicy plain bread sandwich. “Cody! No!” I got out the car and wrestled with him to get what bread was left away from him. And the guys parked next to me now were just cracking up.
Once the bread was secure, something clear caught my eye on the backseat. When I reached for it, I knew why the guys were smiling. It’s because the whole time I was in the store they witnessed that big goofy dog dine delightfully on my tupperware containers. Small shreds of clear plastic littered the backseat. That big bruit was able to delicately scoot over the heavy box so not to disturb its appearance and pull out my breakfast tupperware from the bag.
I calmly got in the driver’s seat, placed my head in my hands and began a mental debate with myself if I should take him back to work and induce vomiting or just pray that he had done more ripping that swallowing.
I drove home and spent most of my early afternoon piecing together a clear little tears of plastic hoping to come up with the basic outline of two complete but scrumptious tupperware containers.