People let me tell you about my best friend, he’s a warm hearted person who loves me ‘til the end…..(Tell me I’m not the only one that remembers the classic television program “The Courtship of Eddie’s Father”, starring Bill Bixby, better known as The Incredible Hulk?)
Oh, my furry son, Wrigley, man’s best friend…he’s a naughty boy (though I am ecstatic not to be saying that about my human, teenage son)! Apparently he finds our house rather boring and from time to time seeks out a little bit of adventure. Recently, while I was walking the course with Nick at his golf tournament, I saw that I had a text message from my neighbor Missy. It read, “Did you know that Wrigley likes basil roasted potatoes?” I responded that I did know that he was a meat and potatoes kind of guy, but I had no idea his palette was so refined. My question was, of course, “And how exactly did he come to try basil roasted potatoes?” To which she replied, “Counter surfing……..”
Wrigley has grown accustomed to thinking that he is a welcome guest in our neighbor’s home. Never mind the fact that he is not expressly invited…..most of the time. As Wrigley luxuriates in our front yard, he can’t help but notice Missy’s car pull in her driveway. His ears perk up, listening for her car door to open, and then he’s off, tearing across the yard. Before she can even make it in the house Wrigley greets her, drooling with excitement, his tail wagging. Of course, she totally encourages this behavior because she always gives him treats. He lets himself inside her house. Snarfs down whatever kibble is left in her dog Gen’s bowl and is on a mad search for whatever mischief he can find, which is usually plenty.
Just the other day I found Wrigley relaxing in the garage with his chin resting on his front paws, criss-crossed in front of him. He looked so sweet that I just had to go out and pet him and give him kisses on his face. When I lifted up his head, I noticed a pink, fuzzy, stuffed bone, a telltale sign that he had been to the neighbors. He’s such a kleptomaniac. Very proud of his ill gotten gains, he brought the stuffed bone inside.
As a rule, stuffed toys don’t last very long in our house. Once Wrigley finds out the toy has a squeaker, his number one priority is to GET IT OUT! He rips the toy apart, mounds of stuffing flying everywhere, until at last he un-Earths the squeaker. Considering he is a Labrador, know as the goat of the dog world, we are rather fortunate that he is a chewer and a spitter instead of a chewer and ingest-er.
I kept waiting for it to happen, the death and destruction of the pink, fuzzy, stuffed bone. Day after day Wrigley carried that fuzzy bone around the house, from room to room. He would sleep with the fuzzy bone, nuzzling it under his chin or laying on it, keeping it warm like a chicken with her eggs. For a brief moment, I thought perhaps this toy was going to last. What was I thinking? It all became too much for him. He heard that squeaker, taunting him, and finally it had to come out! He bit, he pulled, he tugged, he ripped, the telltale sign of stuffing flying everywhere, until he was victorious. And then he had it, like a teensy, tiny trophy….the squeaker.
In Wrigley’s case, the old adage rings true; you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. That’s okay. He’s perfect the way he is…..more naughty, more silly, more sweet, more funny, more perfectly Wrigley!