Panty Thief

(Sorry for the long break. Hope everyone had a good holiday.)

Joe was at a Doggie Daycare for a week, and he’s so grown that I honestly didn’t think he was our dog when he came into the lobby. After I looked in his face I recognized him, but in that one week it was as if he’d aged a year.

He looked like a dog, not a puppy. He’s taller and chunkier, longer and stronger. The little puppy that could be cradled in arms is entirely gone.

Yet, he’s still essentially the same, sweet, curious, active – just bigger. Suddenly, there’s a whole ‘nother layer of the house that will have to be puppy-proofed. He came home suddenly able to snatch things off counters and tables that he was absolutely stymied by only days ago.

Joe is, thus far, not at all destructive. We’ve gone through his puppyhood without anything destroyed – shoes, belts and garments all intact. He does love to grab something belonging to me when I’ve been working too long (in his estimation) and then come dancing into my office with it dangling from his teeth.

Unlike dogs I’d had growing up, he never secrets away things to gnaw to pieces. Any contraband he finds he dances out a clear Morse code telegraphing its discovery. Even from 20 feet away I can tell when Joe’s nabbed one of my socks or shoes from the “Gotta Dance! Gotta Dance! frenetic tippy-tapping of his nails on the hardwood.

He’ll let the shoe dangle seductively from his teeth, waving it gently back and forth, tossing it in the air until he’s caught my attention. His eyes are round with delighted mischief. As I give chase, he looks over his shoulder with a demented glee.

But never does he do any damage to the kidnapped item. It’s purely a stratagem to get me away from my desk.

When B. is home, the technique is the same but the items are nearly always B’s rather than mine. He can clearly smell the difference between my socks and B’s. Joe chooses an item most likely to get a reaction – never a rag or a sponge - always clothing, shoes or reading material. If nothing of B’s is within reach, he’ll dance in with something of mine, but his preference is always to bring something belonging to the party he wants to interrupt.

This morning I was still in bed and B. was downstairs online. I heard Joe tap dancing up a storm, dancing his little heart out and leaping about. Then I heard B. laugh and Joe’s paws drumming all the way up the stairs. B. managed to easily snag his boxers from Joe’s teeth as Joe cavorted, wiggling around with joy.

If only for the laughter he creates, he’s worth every second of work it takes to keep him healthy and happy.