When I Say "Pass the Hanger" I Really Mean "PASS" It!

I love dogs. I love all dogs, but, of course, I love mine in particular. However, there are those days when I consider that maybe there was something to that whole Pet Rock thing.

For example, your pet rock wouldn't bark, wouldn't leave you a deposit where and when it shouldn't (be it a deposit from the front end or the back end,) wouldn't run through your house with your bra in its' mouth, wouldn't steal underwear off the top of the dryer (is it just my dogs with the undergarment obsession?) and wouldn't eat strange things.

First-off it was young Aksel who recently decided to tear into and attempt to gut the big dog cushion. For years the only dog allowed to sleep in the bedroom at night has been Saber. He's a dog who doesn't like to sleep on the bed so he's no issue in the bedroom. The only time he will even consider getting on the bed is when you're trying to sleep-in on the weekend and he thinks it's high-time you got up. Then he jumps up and puts his face within a half-inch of your face, so that he's not touching you, but so that you get the full effect of his heavy breathing.  At about the same time, you start to feel the bed slightly shaking and that's from his tail wagging at full speed. If you even slightly crack your eyes to look, it's all over. You're getting up whether you want to or not. That's because his next move is to slap you in the face with his paw if you don't get up. Of course, on a weekday when you NEED to get up early and don't want to oversleep, he snores on the floor. He's a weekend-only alarm system.

All of the other dogs sleep in their own crates, however when Miss Paige had her pups last summer, I took pity on her afterwards and in a moment of spoiling-weakness, I asked her one night if she wanted to sleep on the bed, and she didn't need to be asked twice. Up she came, and when I put the big dog cushion on the bed, she just curled up on it and never moved. It was great. You don't even know she's there, and it made her happy so, yes, I spoiled her and let her sleep there most nights.

While she's off now having her puppies elsewhere, I got the crazy idea to see if young Aksel would want to sleep on the bed. Mainly I was just curious to see what the goofy 9-month old would do, but I was surprised that he handled himself pretty well. Of course, he takes no cue from his parents. He sleeps ON the bed, unlike his father, and basically on ME, unlike his mother. No, not the most comfortable for me, but darn cute, so I let him get away with it for a few nights. 

Of course, he had his moments of stepping on me, dropping the big beef bone on me, rolling on his back playing with his binky Kong toy in his mouth at 2 AM, and various other antics, but I continued to put up with it, knowing that when his mom returns, I would put him back in the crate, and he won't be a puppy forever, so what could it hurt, right?
Meanwhile, my Mom said, "You do realize, you're creating a monster." No matter how old I get, Mom still always has those moments when I KNOW she's right, and yet I'm thinking, "Oh yeah? I'll show you Mom!"
Mom is still always right.

Friday morning I heard the clock radio go off, and I took a moment to consider getting up. While I was still groggy, I was awake enough to kind of notice Aksel moving around. Then I noticed this sound: RIP.....RIP.....RIP.

Still in a waking-up-fog, I thought, "What's that......" then I bolted upright in bed. It looked like I was in the middle of a white puffy cloud. White stuffing was all around me. My first immediate panic was that he had ripped up the comforter on the bed. I checked but, no, that was all intact. Where was the stuffing coming from? The dog cushion appeared to be okay. Then I moved a corner of it, and sure enough, he had torn into the underside and ripped a huge hole in it, and then pulled the stuffing out from there.

Aksel has these markings over his eyes that make him look like he's always very alert and almost surprised, so when I asked, "WHAT IS THIS??!!" he gave me this goofy look and grin that said, "Look what I did! Isn't this great?!" I couldn't help but laugh, and say, "You not pose to do dat. Dis is a veddy bad seng you doooo!" (Yes, I confess: I have this weird, hybrid, nondescript accent that I often use on the dogs. I have no explanation for it. If you want to hear me do it sometime when you're with me, just ask.) My mother was right, yet again, and Aksel is back sleeping in his crate at night, before his own mother returns. Of course, Aksel has an excuse: He's 9 months old. He's a puppy. They eat many stupid things.

I don't know what excuse his father, Saber has for what he just did last night, however.

It was late in the evening and often times, when I'm not ready to go to bed, but Saber has gone outside one final time for the night and is ready to call it a day, he will go stand by the bedroom door, wanting me to let him in there. He stretches out, falls asleep, and is out like a light by the time I go in there.
We followed that same routine last night. When I went in the bedroom, however, he kind of nervously jumped up from around the other side of the bed with this odd look on his face, kind of like the look a kid gives you when they've been caught doing something they shouldn't be doing, or they've just broken something, etc. He was all smiling, wagging his tail, and I knew something was up, but I had no idea what it could be.

I had washed the bedding so I was getting ready to make the bed, and I glanced down on the floor and there was a lone metal hook on the floor. "What's that from?" I wondered. It looked like a metal hook that belongs to a hanger. You know, the kind of hanger they use in stores with the metal hook and then the rest of it's plastic.

But why was this lone hook on the floor all by itself? Upon closer examination, I saw what looked like...hmmm......kind of jagged plastic at the base of the hook. Then I looked closer at the floor. There was some bits of plastic.  
No way. He couldn't have. Wait, oh yes he could have.....

HE ATE THE ENTIRE HANGER!!!! I turned to him with the lone hook in my hand, and this time NOT using my special dog hybrid accent, I asked, "DID YOU DO THIS??!! DID YOU EAT AN ENTIRE HANGER???!!"

I kid you not: If he could have been able to whistle, he would have been, as he sheepishly looked away and tried to focus elsewhere, acting all nonchalant, periodically glancing back at me with a look that said, "Oh damn, I think she's mad!"

I'm holding the lone hook in my hand, waving it around kind of like a pirate, saying, "How could you eat an entire hanger? What were you thinking? You're an old dog! You have a Dental Dinosaur here on the floor, along with a giant beef bone, yet you ate a hanger!!!"

I don't know where he got it, either off the bed or he jumped up and stole it off the dresser where I had some stacked. I shouldn't be surprised, though, as this wasn't his first time to devour plastic products. When he was younger he ate an entire plastic crate cup right off the door of the crate where it was fastened. Then he's eaten at least 2 of the plastic snap-on handles that come with the collapsible wire crates. I'm reminded of that every time I'm heaving a wire crate up the stairs in a hotel, with it pinching my fingers, thinking, "Damn you Saber, I could have had it easier if you hadn't eaten the handle!" He's also downed his share of my nephew's Legos.

Having been around enough dogs that have eaten plastic items over the years, I wasn't too concerned that this hanger was going to cause him any problems. From the few bits of plastic left that I found chewed on the floor, he had chewed it down to small, soft, rubbery bits, so I was pretty sure this, too, shall pass.
And it did. I know this because, of course, I followed him around outside tonight, and when he left a deposit, like any good forensics expert, I investigated. "Houston, we have found the plastic hanger....or at least remnants of it."

I'll keep checking over the next several days, but I'm thinking we're in good shape. I can't say the same for the hanger, however.  
 
So while a Pet Rock wouldn't steal underwear, tear up cushions, and eat hangers, there's a reason why they never caught on as "Man's Best Friend."

I mean how much fun would it be to talk to a rock in your own very special unique accent? And you would never get to try out your investigative forensics skills!