The Oxford Illustrated I Am Going To Pound You Into Linseed Oil

We are still assimilating Gilly into our midst (and though it is an uphill battle, trust me, she WILL BE ASSIMILATED, oh yes she will), and I think she's honestly getting the hang of things. She's learning, you know, that the world is not necessarily her chew toy, that there are things specially reserved for her destructive delectation, things that will be replaced as she destroys them, as long as she keeps her super-effective teeth off the stuff that we've established as being off limits. Things like dining room tables and chairs, things like CDs and CD holders, things like phone chargers. It's a process of elimination; she chews, I fuss (if I can catch her at it, which of course has made her sneaky, a trait I find singularly objectionable), she doesn't chew again. As systems go, it's frustrating, but it works, and as she learns, I'm opening up the house little by little. Who knows, maybe one day I'll be able to trust her enough that when I hear a *THUD* or a *CRACK* or some other *ONOMATOPOEIA* from another room, I won't holler "GILLY STOP THAT" as a matter of reflex. I mean, I don't expect that day is coming anytime soon, but we're moving in that direction.

So one of the things we've never discussed, in our ongoing series of What Not To Eat sessions, is books. I didn't actually think it was necessary, you know, as long as I kept things put away; it turns out that I was wrong in this, as in so many other things. It never does to underestimate your dog's ingenuity, I know this -- I know this -- and yet, lulled into a false sense of security, I last week opened up the beloved comforts of the study to the dogs while I was at work.

( And came home to this, today: )

It was once, if you're interested, a fifty-year-old clothbound copy of The Oxford Companion to Classical Literature. Which I guess shows good taste and all, but Christ, could she not have found something a little less hefty to tear apart? It sat, for example, right next to my copy of The Choking Doberman, and that weighs about six ounces. I guess it couldn't be strewn quite so successfully, though.

Wait, there's more! See, while I was cleaning up, I realized that there were too many cover pieces, and went investigating to discover that she'd also managed to chew the spine, cover, and end papers off a 1930 complete edition of J.M. Barrie plays, while leaving the rest of the book sitting innocently on the shelf.

( Like so: )

Thus refining the Art of Sneaky to a new level. I'd be prouder of her if I didn't want to push her out the door, leashless and defenseless, and let her chew on the world outside my house for a while.

:::

Enriching Dog-centric Lessons I have learned today:

1. It is too soon to open up the study.



2. Old books are tastier than new ones.



3. If, in the morning, you express your regrets to a friend that you lack opportunities to work the phrase pound you into linseed oil into everyday conversation, the universe will provide you such an opportunity before nightfall. (Thanks, Universe!)



4. It is difficult to stay angry with a dog who sleeps on your feet and snuffles in her sleep. Which is a good thing, because otherwise why would we ever have taken them in?

They're valuable lessons, obviously. I just wish the lessons weren't so hands-on, is all.