Damaged Goods

Sure enough, we were bound and determined we were going to be do-gooders this holiday. It comes upon us suddenly and we get tunnel vision regarding all else going on in our lives. Off we go, cheerfully convinced that no harm will come from our being away from home on a Wednesday night.

Wrong. Wrong, wrong-wrong.

Fast forward only about 3 hours. In that time it became quite apparent that someone within the confines of the household had realized he has a deficiency in both wood and plastic. It had to be Baxter.

We're not sure what he started with but we know he developed a taste for hard plastic a few weeks ago when he went after a cordless phone. Highly likely this outburst resulted from a caller wanting to reduce his interest rate on all his credit cards. Baxter does not like nagging callers, especially when they don't have anything any of us want. Really.

We let that go.

However, that same evening (and I'm still building the background for you here) he also yielded to the temptation of the TV remote control. It's never been necessary to hide this from the dogs; they get to decide what to watch 90% of the time. We leave Clifford on TV when we go away, or Garrison on the radio. But not planning to be gone long and it being nighttime we figured, "Anh, we'll let them sleep." We could only hope he wanted to watch something on PBS to get him and his companions thru the angst associated with the ringing phone now ringing, crippled and sprawled, on the floor. Besides, it still worked, looking a little less together and more like the Velveteen Rabbit, "loved".


We let that go. We learned nothing from the experience.

Back to last night; stay with me here. We walk in after helping do the prep work for 230 Thanksgiving meals. Yup. That's right. I did say "do-gooders". We were thankful for being able to help and in high spirits as we opened the door.

And, there it all was - the aftermath: indoor dog party. There must have been a fling contest of coasters for they were scattered all about the living room. Granted one of the dogs loves to play frisbee/bring it but she knows to keep that outside. It had to be Baxter.

His tell-tale teeth marks were on the wooden holder for the coasters. Gnawed. DNA testing not required. Guilt confirmed by the pointing of the paws of his so-called pals and the sad sack, "I'm so sorry, Mom. I couldn't help myself. They made me do it" eyes. Baxter led us to the remnants of the remote control. No longer would it serve its intended purpose. Fortunately after the last adventure we'd ordered a replacement which had remained in its secret box. Bits of silver plastic appeared under furniture which had been sat upon during the free for all.

Any pet owner who thinks they have control, remote control or otherwise, needs to think again!