This is a rawhide bone. When I woke up this morning, it was in my closet, nestled between my favorite leather boots. When I left for work, it was on the bottom stair. When I got home from work, it was under the piano bench in the dining room (beside a pile of dog toys — that’s the photo above). Now, a couple hours later, it’s in the doorway of the computer room in the basement, where I’m writing now. There are so many things I love about my dog and his perpetually puppy-like, Beagle-and-God-knows-what-else face. But his serious, earnest nature is probably at the top of the list. There’s no messing around with this guy. The friendly bank teller passes him a biscuit through the plastic carrier tube; he spends the next five minutes of our car ride trying to find the perfect backseat hiding place. I’ve awoken to find him staring a guest bedroom door closed the night before; I open the door, and he rushes in to retrieve his bone from under the desk. The other night, he even tried to bury a bone in the Snuggie I was wearing while watching TV. (I know, right, Snuggie? Judge all you want, it’s genius!) Nothing can distract him from his mission, and it’s a full-time job: Unknown enemies will steal his bone, but not if he hides it first!
“If dogs could talk, it would take a lot of the fun out of owning one.” -Andy Rooney