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When Mischief is Afoot

My Pele . . . such a chill dog . . .

Yeah, rightttttt.

I think I’ve finally figured him out.

You see, he spends an awful lot of time sleeping.  I mean, it is a dog’s life, right?

But see, here’s what’s actually happening.

He’s plotting.

All kinds of evil.

Well, doggy evil, that is.

Take, for instance, Thursday afternoon.

Mondays and Thursdays are my long days because I go straight from school to physical therapy.  I usually don’t get home until 5:45 or so.

The Mr.’s schedule is usually flexible enough that he can come home during lunch to let the dogs out.

Pele has been staying in his crate during the day because he’s regressed to his puppy chewing days; however, we’d recently begun to leave him out because he had not been chewing things the times we’d accidentally left him out.

Now I can see that this was part of Pele’s grand plan.

We always said that he wasn’t the smartest cookie of the batch.

Boy has he had us fooled.

So, back to Thursday.

I got home around 6 and was greeted by a happy dog.

And this . . .

All Photos-430

The Mr. had beat me home but had left this for me to find because, as you can see, it was quite unbelievable.

My 80-pound dog had somehow dragged the toilet paper holder across the house to his bed – no easy feat, I’m sure, and one I wish I had a video of.

Not only that, but he’d chewed up some very pretty cruise photos the Mr. and I had taken during our last trip.

Pele had to have climbed on my baker’s rack to get to the pictures.

Sigh.

The Mr. said that if he’d remembered that it was my long day, he would have put Pele in his crate at lunch.  Pele tends to get antsy / lonely in the afternoons.

Or should I say that he gets hungry.

Lesson learned.

Again.

Because we’re getting old, forgetful, or soft.

Fast forward to Sunday.

Rooster Facetimed us in what has become our weekly call.  I had him pulled up on my computer, and we were all about our boy.

That’s when Pele decided to implement Part B of his evil plan.

He knew we were distracted, so he eased into the kitchen.

Then, I heard something.

That something was the sound of his claws . . .

On my counter . . .

Snagging something from the cooling rack . . .

I had made the Mr. ten donuts.

He had eaten two.

That should have left seven.

Go ahead and count the ones you see in the picture.

Yep.  Seven.

Pele had smelled the peanut butter and honey and decided he needed deserved one for being such a good boy.

Ahem.

Meanwhile, we were yelling at Pele, and Rooster was asking, “What’s happening?”

He had a good laugh when we told him.

Do you think Pele felt remorse?

Not exactly.

Now, don’t go passing judgment, and don’t you dare try to tell me that he needs more attention.

This boy gets more than his fair share, that’s for sure.

He’s spoiled rotten.

Just like a toddler, that doesn’t seem to be enough.

While I’d like to think that we’ve managed his mischief, I think the opposite is true.  He’s managing to create mischief when we least expect it.

I highly suspect that he has more plans for us; he seems to be getting more impish with each passing year.

Heaven help us.

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