The Pet Lady


Recently, I was visiting a friend’s house with my 110-pound Bouvier. I was standing in the dining room conversing with my friend while my pooch sat quietly at my feet. About 5 feet away was a sliding glass door that opened to a wooden deck attached to the back of the house. It was a bit chilly, so the door was closed. I don’t know if he spied a cat or a squirrel out back; in any event, my dog decided that he wanted to be on the other side of the glass door and, without waiting for the door to be opened, he sprang through the glass panel, reducing it to machete-sized shards. As my dog stood outside, looking back in with an expression that said, “What in the world was that?” my friend turned to me and asked, “What planet is your dog from?” Unfortunately, this is not an isolated incident of destruction as he has ruined most of our furniture and developed a taste for hard-cover books. So, I have been wondering—what planet is he from and how can I get him safely home before he destroys anything else? Please sign me . . .

At Wit’s End


Get him safely home, indeed; not to impugn the behavior of your fur friend by comparison, but the Pet Lady had the pleasantly forgettable experience of a dog guest in her own home recently, a large and well-behaved dog guest by the somewhat alarming name of Mercury, who thankfully exhibited no mercurial behavior whatsoever, responded with appropriate mild tail-thumping to pats administered to his pate, and did not shed unduly or bark whatsoever while within the Pet Manse. The P.L. personally supervised the deployment of two bowls generally reserved for human usage for the purposes of Mercury’s refreshment; in return, Mercury stayed admirably by his owner’s side and did not even attempt to board any chairs or sofas, much less molest a hardback book or try to pass miraculously through glass. What the Pet Lady means, dear At Wit’s End, is that you may want to give further thought to taking Alien Dog the Destroyer on social calls with you at this juncture, as the demolition could thus be confined to your own dwelling and terrain thereabouts for the time being.

Why A.D.D. chose to go outside so abruptly is anyone’s guess; perhaps, indeed, a squirrel tantalized him unbearably, or a vision of his own loveliness reflected in the glass drove him temporarily mad. The true difficulty here lies less, the Pet Lady suspects, in this isolated if exciting incident and more in A.D.D.’s general destructive behavior. From what planet does he come? He cometh from the Planet of the Bored Pets, dear A.W.E., as did the infamous Olive the Couch-Eating Dog (see The Pet Lady, July 5), whose couch-eating ways were changed by the simple addition of a bit more dog-brain stimulation in the form of a game of Find the Food Bowl every morning. You might also visit the notion of getting A.D.D. a pet of his own, to either distract him from or, possibly, aid him in his destroying endeavors; either way, you’d have a pet for your pet, an immeasurably pleasing notion, don’t you think? Have a nice champagne cocktail and mull this over, and do let the P.L. know how it all unfolds. Best to you and A.D.D., as well as any local squirrels!

The Pet Lady

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