So, a few months ago I gave in and let my husband get a dog. I am not a dog person, but Riley’s not too bad. He’s friendly, incredibly cute, and when he’s not eating the cat’s food or questionable things in the backyard, he’s decent company.
All that has changed recently. You see, he has discovered the joys of squeaky toys.
When we first got Riley, my grandmother gave us a basket of dog toys, since her own dog had just passed. At first, he was only interested in the rope bones. They were interactive! People would play with him!
He started getting the bones out of the basket when he wanted to play.
Then he figured out there were other toys in the basket. Specifically, a purple dinosaur and a monkey. He thought he’d like to gnaw on those for a bit and see if they were any fun.
They squeak.
I swear the poor dog must never have had any squeaky toys before this point.
Oh, Batman, he’s got the monkey right now.
The rope bones have been abandoned. Now it’s all monkey/dinosaur all the time. He just sits and squeaks and squeaks and squeaks and rolls onto his back and squeaks and I’m about ready to shoot something.
You try to focus on writing or editing with a constant background of squeaksqueaksqueaksqueaksqueak going on.
He’s lucky he’s cute.