Tuesday, February 12, 2008


People who come in my house (and of those there are not many) may leave with the idea that we're slobs. The floor is often littered with severely crumpled water bottles (sorry Meri, I can't seem to stop with my beloved bottled water). Now this indoor pollution isn't because I can't get my sizable rump off the couch to locate the garbage can. No, no, the bottles upon the floor are because as soon as I finish a bottle, my dog somehow divines that there's a new available toy in the house. Once I've sipped the last sip, she's on my lap begging—no, tackling me as best a 5 lb. dog can—for the empty bottle. And because I’m a pushover, I tear off the label and hand it over so that my pet can make the house echo with the crunching sounds she so loves.

She gnaws on them. She drops them beside my chair, backs up, and stares at me until I toss my already tossed trash for her to chase and gnaw on some more. She tries to get me to use the discarded bottle to play tug with her. And I do. All of it I do. I’m constantly scooping up decimated plastic heaps that she’s finished with and dropping them in the trash, but I never can seem to keep up. Either I need to drink less water (not so likely there) or I need to stop giving the dog my empty bottles (a much better plan).

So why buy her all the stuffed squeaky toys that I do? Heaven only knows, because truly, that silly animal is happier with trash.

Peculiar pup or a terrific, earth-aware recycler?

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