See that darling little puppy? That's Brandy, a Black Labrador Retreiver, at 10 weeks old. Brandy will be a year old December 1st. She now weighs around 80 lbs and thinks she owns my partner, the house, and everything in it, including two very disgruntled cats who beg to differ...often.
This, also, definitely does not agree with Dusty, our 6 year old Black Lab, who, until Brandy entered the scene on her cutesy over-sized paws, oversaw and protected this house very vigilantly. (How dare those vile felines and sinister squirrels set paw on the Boss's premises!) He still does for the most part, but is distracted from his duty by frequent efforts at putting Brandy in her proper place quite forcefully. But it gets more difficult everyday. And it takes its toll on the furniture, too.
Brandy still chews everything and anything, but mostly paper and tree branches. She shreds paper - any paper from toilet paper, newspapers, and paper towels to magazines, Dorito bags, and cigar wrappers. She usually walks around the house with a shred hanging from her mouth a la Jack Nicholson's toothpick. And for awhile this summer we called her Beaver. No branch that dropped or blew into the yard went without her toothy attention - and disappeared. She boldly tried to drag a six foot branch, leaves and all, back into the house one day, but I did put my foot down on that one.
We also found out she liked to wallow in mud puddles. Beaver changed to Pig for awhile. We kept a mop, bucket and towels handy by the back door.
This morning, though, my partner rose from his bed, blindly grabbed for his glasses on the bed stand. They weren't there. They were on the floor. Oh, thought he, the cat must have knocked them to the floor. Indeed, they were on the floor in front of the stand. He picked them up, put them on, and headed for the bathroom. Mid-hallway he stood stock still. Something was wrong with his left eye, he couldn't see from it. He panicked. Did I have a stroke? He fumbled his way, beginning to sweat, to the bathroom. He faced the mirror and peered, one-eyed, at himself to look for any tell-tale drooping of lid or mouth. Then he noticed it. There was no left lens in his glasses.
I heard the roar from the other end of the house. "Braannnndeeeeee!"
We spent about fifteen minutes shaking out bed linens, looking under bed and dressers with a flashlight. Finally, I shook out the comforter that had been tossed on the cedar chest and saw a glint of light as something fell to the floor - a tiny, piece of lens...gnawed at one end. The rest fell out in pieces as I opened the comforter fully.
Oh, well, my partner needed a new lens prescription anyway.
I just marvel that Brandy's digestive system takes on all this stuff! She seems to suffer no consequences. Her AKC pedigree is pure Labrador Retriever, but I swear there must be some Goat somewhere back there.
I can assure you, the Goat's in the Dog House right now.
