You know the black dog?
He is black as night. Especially in this snow storm where I first took his picture. Remember?
Here he is a few days ago, exploring a very wonderful tree.
Well, this Danny-boy has a sweet, affectionate disposition but a bad, bad happy of chewing. As a puppy he chewed the cords off my father’s power tools. And the legs of the porch furniture. And shoes, of course. And anything else he fancied.
He’s gotten much better, but one of his favorite things still seems to be chewing packages that get dropped on the front porch. Usually we try to leave a note or put in special instructions: Packages must go INSIDE! Or, Do not deliver package without a signature!
Guess what came at some hour of the day when we happened to be (or be focused) elsewhere?
My first shipment of my books.
Guess who chewed the box open and spilled books all over the (dewy, wet, morning lawn)? Guess who put teeth or claw marks in at least half of them?
That black dog.
Good thing it was only a shipment of ten copies. Good thing I’ve learned to find humor in unfortunate circumstances. Good thing for that dog, and good thing for me.
I scooped them up in a half-panic, with my mother’s help, and wiped them down. A few were still presentable. The others will be family copies, I suppose.
We’re still dog people around here. Don’t worry. But Danny’s position in the family was, that afternoon, somewhat up for review. Good thing for him he’s the friend of the little Shar Pei we’re all smitten with. It keeps him around despite his unruly antics. (His kindly brown eyes and affectionate pet-me nudges may also help.)
And, nevertheless, what a little satisfaction it is to see this pile. A little beat up. But mine.