Megan Stielstra's Blog

Dog people tell me horror stories: "We left for an hour and Fritzy ate the WALL!"

My dog Mojo is ten and a half months old. Up until recently, he's been a little angel, chewing only (as our dog trainer calls them) "appropriate" toys, i.e. his bones and bully sticks and squeaky hedgehog. But, somehow, the devil has entered my dog, and in the past two weeks he's eaten the following:

1. our couch (it's okay, it's old)
2. a light bulb (he's fine, the vet says he's fine, I, however, am not so fine, I died like a thousand deaths and cursed my pet-owner self and wonderd if I should have children)
3. the August issues of Real Simple and Wired (left untouched were Newsweek and Atlantic Montly so, if anything, I can praise his taste in periodicals)
4. Lost in the City by Edward P. Jones (I've got to disagree with him on that one: it's really a wonderful book)
5. a straw hat (which he took off my head himself. He doesn't like us wearing hats)

(he hasn't touched my shoes. We had a little talk about shoes when he was just a baby. "Mojo," I told him, "These are the shoes. You treat the shoes like members of our family." I was very adament. I know, as I spoke, he heard only "Mojo, mmm mmememeee, mmm, mhhaa mmmm," but I do believe we have an understanding)

(You don't suppose I just jinxed myself, do you?)