Dog of Little Brain
We came home the other day to this:
That's right. A ripped, once-very-comfortable pillow on which I would often lay my weary head. Mr. Handsome's mother bought us these pillows for Christmas, to go with our leather couches, for which we are still paying through the nose. She does not yet know that her nice pillows that she spent lots of money for and took many hours to choose now look like this.
I blame the kids for this mishap, although Gryphon actually gnawed on them with his large maw all by himself. But the children, however lovely they often are, sometimes pound him with the pillows, as sort of a playfight ritual of sorts, and that's why I blame them.
So, the other day, we were out, doing something relatively familyish of one type or another (read this to mean, we were forced to be together and we were not enjoying it one little bit), and when we came home, Gryphon came romping up to us, as he always does, smiling and wagging his nub of a tail. I think he even barked softly, welcoming us back in his usual jovial manner.
Mr. Handsome and I then walked into the living room to see who could claim the couch for ourselves first, and suddenly, Gryphon's demeanour changed. His ears went back, he began pacing back and forth behind me, his protector, and he started to shake uncontrollably, which made me feel sorry for him, but only until I reminded myself of how naughty he can be on a regular basis.
"Uh oh, what's he done now?" I asked, looking for something obvious and finding nothing except the usual mess on the carpeted floor, which, again, I blame on the children.
Mr. Handsome soon found it. He picked up the pillow and looked at the corner. Yup, it was torn, and wet with dog saliva. Gryphon started slinking away toward his crate, his little haven away from all that is nasty in his little world. He knew he was in big poo poo.
He obviously remembered what happened a few days earlier when he ripped this pillow's sister, sending fluffy white clouds of filling throughout the living room, which greeted us when we returned from another fun day as a family.
What actually goes through these animals' little brains when they're doing these things? That's what I wonder when I see the damage that's done, and then look at my dog, standing there beside me, smiling. He obviously knows it's "baaad" to rip apart pillows, he knows he's going to be in deep doo doo, because it's happened often enough, and yet, he continues to do it.
He also recently often goes after this:
as you can tell from their placement on the floor this morning. He goes searching for contraband in the toybox we have hidden behind the loveseat. He rummages around back there like a little child. All you can see is the end of his tail vibrating with excitement over the top of the loveseat as he searches for the perfect toy that is not his, so that he can then come out and make a big deal of it in front of whomever happens to be in the room. He prances around with it in his mouth, then does a Downward Dog as he waits for someone to react. When no one does, he makes more noise with his front paws, bashing around on the floor and waving his head around, until we either chase him, scream at him, or are successful at grabbing said contraband from his sharp teeth.
As you can see, Mr. Bunny has had just about enough of this. He's too old for such shenanigans from a badly behaved, too-smart-for-his-own-good poodle who thinks he's a human bean.
Give Mr. Bunny a break, would you, Gryphon? Go read a book, or do a puzzle for a change.