Yummy, It Tastes Like Razor Blades

It was just about six months ago that I first saw a cute little puppy named Chandler at the shelter. When I finally got him home two weeks later, he was a wild, twenty five pound, biting, chewing, pooping, machine. Now, five and a half months later, he is a wild, seventy pound, chewing, biting, machine, thanks to Mark using him as a garbage disposal. At least the pooping in the house part has been eliminated. I still remember the folks at the shelter assuring me that "He won't be more than fifty pounds, max.". I have tried restricting him to just two cups of dog food per day, but the way he hangs around the dinner table catching all the food that flies while Mark eats, I'm sure he gets the equivalent of another two cups.

The biggest problem with Chandler, is that he will eat anything. While my last dog, Molly, could lick a plate clean of all evidence of meat, leaving peas and potatoes untouched, Chandler sucks it all down. Unfortunately his eating doesn't stop there. A few days ago he came trotting by, happy as could be, chewing away on something. I looked down and realized Chandler was eating one of Mark's discarded razors. I wrestled the razor out of his mouth, and checked for blood, all the while imagining the worst. Luckily his mouth must be tough from all the crap he has chewed up, and he was fine.

Later in the day I noticed him walking around, chewing away like a teenage girl with a wad of Bubblicious in her mouth. This time he was gnawing on one of my Breathe Right® nasal strips that I had left on the night stand. Yes it was used, which probably made it even more delicious and irresistible to him. But the worst was Sunday evening when I decided to pour myself a cocktail and watch a movie on television. At one point I put the movie on pause and made a quick trip to the bathroom. Upon my return, I sat down and reached for the cocktail. Gone. Nothing but ice and a few drops of liquid on the bottom of the glass. I wasn't worried about the effects of the alcohol on Chandler, he seemed fine. What really bugged me was that he drank the last of my vodka, and he didn't even have a hangover the next morning.