Home Alone

The Party

by Sharon Burnett

Now this is almost winter, its dark, rainy and cold. Enter one young Kerry Blue named Rocket who is very used to mom being home every night. Mom plays games with him and his friend Rascal. He is used to 100% attention, not a mom that hurries home and leaves.

We had a nice dinner. Afterward, Dave and I went to a local pool hall and I got my first lesson (we've agreed to share hobbies...he'll get his first agility session with me Sunday). We really weren't gone so long - only about 2 1/2 hours.

When we got home, Dave headed to the "reading room" and I to the dog room. Oh boy, did I ever get a surprise. My little darling baby boy had completely redecorated. Rocket had moved all the dog beds, blankets, towels, rugs and the toys and put everything in a nice big pile in the middle of the floor. He had even managed to bring out a brush (perhaps he was going to groom Rascal?). Apparently Rascal had her paw in this too and they had been playing a Kerry version of tug toy - king/queen of the mountain.

They looked at me as if I was interrupting and proceeded with their games!

I'm such a mean mom...I tossed them both outside and restored the room much to their disappointment. Actually I was surprised they hadn't invited the cat in to play too! I guess that teaches me to never go anywhere or at least never go anywhere without the Kerries in tow!

The Party II

by Sharon Arkoff

We once left Bits home alone with a friend's lab puppy (whom she knows well); neither dog ever touches anything when left home alone with free run of the house.

However, when we returned two hours later -- a loaf of bread had been taken off the counter and redistributed in soggy bite-size pieces all over the first floor. A stack of newspapers behind the woodstove and left unaccosted for the past six months was shredded and redistributed artistically over furniture, plants, etc. The water bowl that we'd left in the kitchen was upside down in the bathroom. Wet paw prints were observable on things like upholstered chair arms. The pillows on the beds upstairs were rearranged as an obstacle course up and down the stairs. There was evidence of someone eating dog biscuits in bed. From shreds of newspaper, bread chunks, and a strand or two of [curly gray] dog hair floating in the toilet bowl, it appeared that someone [curly and gray] had fallen into the toilet while getting a drink. The dog beds, left in the living room, had been moved to the kitchen and were in, um, disarray. The classical music we had left on to soothe the dogs continued to play softly in the background.

Both girls greeted us standing shoulder to shoulder at the door, eyes sparkling, wagging furiously, beaming with pride over their handiwork.

My friend and I handled the situation by admiring how playful our darlings are. They were so happy with themselves and had accomplished so much in their view, and no real damage was done.

Both of us blame this errant behavior -- which has never been repeated -- on the other dog.

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