Once upon a time, a family decided the time was right to get a new puppy.
(Their beloved Molly had died at age 15 1/2.)
Molly was an Australian shepherd. So after her passing, the family decided they simply had to have another Aussie.
Enter this little fluffball:
Aussies are known for making puppyhood a hell-raising affair. Let’s just say that while Molly evolved into a most respectable dog, she was a holy terror in her younger days. One of my friends nicknamed her Satan after Molly very nearly devastated her home.
Anyway, it didn’t take Miss Daisy too long to embark upon her reign of destruction. There was, for example, the day she decided that a plain, white kitchen floor is boring and commenced with “painting” an abstract design.
She used a bag of charcoal as her medium.
Daisy turned one. Then 18 months. And, as Aussies do, she abandoned her puppy bad-girl days and became, well, if not exactly sedate, a little less prone to chewing. She still, however, inspects the kitchen counter closely when inside, a habit that requires her humans to make sure nothing can be snagged by grasping paws.
Last June, just as the family started discussing the possibility of getting a second dog, they heard the sad tale of a rescue Aussie who needed a home.
I ask, how could one resist this guy?
We estimated him to be, oh, maybe a year old.
Turns out our new boy was only 7 or 8 months — at most.
At first, however, he showed no signs of Aussie puppyhood.
Until a recent evening, when Bandit decided to investigate the over-loaded tote bag in which I store all of my Girl Scout art supplies and projects.
Thankfully, he did not eat the “passports” lovingly constructed by the girls several weeks ago. (We are “visiting” different countries at our meetings.)
Instead, Bandit found the packages of colored sand and, after ripping several bags open, spread said sand all over the dining room floor. I have to admit — he formed a most interesting and colorful pattern. (But what do my dogs have against our flooring?)
Anyway, while I didn’t enjoy sweeping up all that sand, at least I didn’t have to tell the girls that my dog ate their artwork.