In the Dog House

Hi everybody,

Arf!

Gracie here. My mom says I have to work for a living now. So I’m helping her with this blog.

Last week I got bored while Mom was talking on the phone. See, this is really all her fault! She left my leash attached to my color…a nice leather leash, the same consistency as rawhide.

So my mom finally gets off her long, boring phone call and gets ready to take me out. Ah, at last! I’ve been crusading for a walk for the past hour.

Mom goes to my collar and sees the metal clasp that holds the leash…and no leash! Well, I was chewing on a tiny piece of leather and she got suspicious. Sure enough, she found the top end of the leash, the braided end where the owner holds on. Several inches of leash were unaccounted for.

Well, I had no trouble accounting for the missing inches. They were sitting in my tummy.

Mom freaked. She called the vet. The vet said, “Wait a few days. If she shows signs of distress (too ghastly to mention in a g-rated journal), call the Vet Emergency service. And cut back on her food.”

Oh no! I hadn’t counted on that. I was one hungry pooch, happy to spend the day in my crate, looking sad.

Mom was furious. She took me in a cab to get a new leash from a pet shop. We also got a new chew toy, but I’d rather work on socks. When will she learn?

By the next day I was scampering around. And three days later, the danger period was officially over.

Mom hides my leash now. She vacuums all the time. I can’t even find a crumb to nibble anymore.

And she’s making me work. (Sigh.)

Fondly,

Gracie
a/k/a Amazing Gracie
a/k/a Princess Gracie

[originally posted June 6, 2006 – re-posted to new blog]

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