Yep, it’s true. King Champ, as he recovers from his recent ordeal of being crated way too much and not eating and all that, is happily back to his old self–knocking over trashcans so he can chew used tissues; peeing outside the bathroom door when I’m in there; pooping in the dining room when I’m not in there; and this:
That WAS lunch for ME, but I made the crazy mistake of answering the phone and not making a check of the room. Champ’s motto is simple: If you leave it around, I will eat it/rip it to shreds/toss it on the ground/generally destroy it any way I can.
Ah, the life of a dog. It’s good to be Champ these days, that’s the fact. I no longer have him go down the basement when I’m out because I feel guilty. He deserves to go down the basement–where he has a couch, a radio for company, chew toys, old pillows and the ability to pee and poop without much reaction–but I now feel bad because he looks at me with those big eyes and shakes. He wants to stay in the living room so he can search and destroy at will. If I leave the upstairs doors opened, he will launch himself over the barrier I put at the bottom of the stairs and find a trashcan. If the FBI ever thinks someone’s dropped a tissue with incriminating DNA on it, Champ should be called in. He’s that good.
Last night, he got into the dark chocolate bar I had just opened…again, silly me, I left the room without doing a double check. Now, I know that chocolate is bad for a dog, but luckily he didn’t eat much. I figured that’s because he doesn’t have many teeth left after he gnawed them all down to nubs trying to get out of the aforementioned crate. So much the better for me, I think, as I break off what’s been “touched” and try to salvage the rest.
Then, of course, I had to watch him for signs of–what, chocolate poisoning? I really didn’t know, so I just brought him onto my lap and watched him. My friends were texting me to join them at a local restaurant but I declined: I couldn’t very well come all the way home from Europe early just to leave my dog to die from cacao!
This vigil lasted long into the night; every time Champ made a weird noise, I turned on the light to check him. And let me tell you, this nearly 13 year old puppy makes a LOT of weird noises, from both ends. It was a long night, but as you can see, he lived to get into yet another food stuff left on the table, so all is well.
Yes, it’s good to be King Champ. How the hell did I get here?