Oh my dogs love the hunt. This is why instead of throwing them the far-too-decadent SIX dog beds provided by mother, I decided to test the waters last night and throw one potential victim to my experiment.
Bedroom door opened and floor full of guts of bed.
You see, they hunt them. It is all very meticulous. First Nita with her tiny teeth picks apart the zipper, then she and Magda slit the seam quickly as if going after a foam artery. And then the mayhem begin, and the living room resembles one of those Christmas displays at the malls that I traipse through in a suit every morning while they are sated and asleep on the corpse of what - for once - a tasteful and color-coordinated bed. If this were the wild, I am not so sure they would be snuggling on top of a bloody corpse, but they are wrapped together like a yin and yang and we give them concessions.
Concessions even to Moms, for now there are 5 more beds whose entrails stand ready to be ripped out and torn. One can only imagine the carnage. In fact, I'm going to live the carnage because I'm now beginning to feel like maybe I should be making snow angels in dog bed guts and inviting people over for snowball fights with smelly remnents. At any rate I don't feel like picking it up. It's soft stuff and can't seem to hurt me.
Such vicious little darlings. Oh, how proud of you I am.
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