She's stealth ,oh yes she is. You couldn't hear her if there was nothing but silence crashing down around your ears. And she's quick: a blink is too slow. Your brain will take pause to consider seeing her but she's so fast that it will dismiss it as a blur, a shadow.
But there are clues to her (mis)adventures. You must have a trained eye to recognize them: misplaced or rumpled cloth, shuffled or bumped lids, or the dreaded....the missing: poor soldiers. They tried. They fought. She is simply too good.
All of us have suffered her genius, cunning. We've denied or simply forgotten; until this week. I was ready to staple her head to the carpet. My damn thieving dog. Birdie....nooooo Klepto. Thief.
I was just finishing up my workout and hating Australian pull-ups more than usual. I was tired and sweaty. It was only 5:45a. I checked my FB and miscellaneous accounts. Cheech was copping a shower. The house was still. I thought it was nice.
Silliness.
"Baby Jane, you'd better come up stairs...." his voice was a little drawn, cautious.
I hit the top of the steps.
"I need you to look and be sure..."
It was as if I were entering a crime scene. My gut tightened,heating up. Instinctively I clamped my teeth and clenched my fists.
On the floor were my pajamas; all of them, tugged from the drawer she'd pried open. In addition, she had pulled down my good jewelry box, ripping open velvet bags, boxes and leather casings. She had gnawed and pulled almost everything. I panicked. My mother's wedding set. All my anniversary and birthday trinkets. I swore under my breath and vowed to pump so much Castor oil into that animal that she would lack the ability to fart. It would simply slide through her eleven pound system like the Colorado River during flood season. I had a vision of a slot machine jackpot. Tears welled up because no one wants crappy jewelry: not on any level.
She lay coyly across my jammie bottoms with a pink draw string trailing from her pointy snout. I was fuming and in that instant there was intra-species communication: You are DEAD MEAT. She stopped chewing and I think I heard her gulp. Maybe in "puppy" she muttered "Oh "Firetruck" I don't know, and at that particular moment, I couldn't have cared less.
I sucked in my breath and leaned over. With everything she had she dodged me, leaping into her cage. I didn't even have the pleasure of scolding or shaking my finger...let alone a swat on her tailless arse.
"BAAAAAAD GIRL!" I sputtered furiously (much like the "Old man" in "A Christmas Story"..."NOT A FINGAH!!!!!").
Cheech stepped in. "Hon"
My head was throbbing I could hear my teeth turning to pulp in my mouth from the pressure I was exerting. Oh my God, my favorite jewelry....
"Hon"
I rubbed my temples and winced. His voice seemed to chirp and grind inside my skull.
"WHAT?" I wailed.
"I have your jewelry here. Check and make sure...." he was soothing or trying to be.
Birdie burped. I shot her a look and began to take inventory. I was fortunate. It was all there.
Suddenly I became aware of another sound; soft and clicking like typewriter keys. I turned and saw my little princess happily chewing something in her cage. I ripped the door open and yanked the blanket out with her still on it.
"WHOOOOAAA! WTH?" was the look on her face. Her body wobbled and flipped.
"GIVE IT! RIGHT NOW~" I growled.
Lego's. She had about a dozen of my son's Lego's (the really good ones too: the ones with wheels and the little doors even a shutter or two). As the blanket foofed and settled, I saw some of my daughter's hair bands, a giraffe and Winston's bone. I shook it out and discovered a hairbrush , and several buttons. There were erasers, pencil fossils, crayon skeletons, the works all piled in a corner.
FABULOUS.
I was so furious I pinched my face but could only spit out "OHHH-Dammit"
She promptly submitted, flipped over, clapped her paws together and licked my knee. Her beady lil eyes rimmed in white with that innocent doe-eyed expression begged for forgiveness and understanding. She couldn't explain or help it. Disgusted and angry, I left.
Pack animals fear rejection. So I rejected her. I turned my back on her every time she approached. I pulled away when she pawed at me. Childish? Silly? Perhaps. But it was better than turning her over to Vick. Hide your Beagle, Vick's an Eagle.
After about half an hour I turned to see her sulking behind me. Winston was prancing in the limelight of parental approval. He was wagging, playful and basking in the glow of favoritism.
I reached out to pet her. Her ears went down and she lowered her gaze. I felt bad, much like any "parent". I cupped her little face and shook my finger.
"No more! No steal. Bad girl." I scolded and took a seat in my chair so I could really bridge the gap between us. I hate it when we fight, but I'm the mommy. I turned and didn't see her. Hmm. She must need some more time. That's okay. I understood. I gathered myself. It would be a good day. After all, it was only 6:30a.
She appeared, hopped into my lap and rubbed against me like a cat. I felt something cold on my leg. She'd gotten one piece of jewelry; a watch. Unscathed but damp, she plopped it in my lap, resting her head against my knee, giving it a loving, sorrowful lick.
Admission that there is a problem is the first step to healing. I wonder what program Wynona used...
May you find your day easy going and not get lost in others' clutter.
Thank you for visiting.
