After many days of reflection, it dawns on me that dogs will be dogs.

I've had a quiet last few days. I've been shouldering kennel burdens by myself since Friday of last week; frankly, I expected it to be a little trying but I've grown accustomed to the routine again and am able to dispense with the chores pretty quickly. I think that the dogs are happy to see me in the dog lot again -- Matt usually does the evening feedings so they haven't visited with me very much lately. As soon as we go back to feeding twice a day, I'll be doing morning duty before work as well as running them with the ATV some.

My rejuvenating, peaceful weekend consisted of chores, some shopping, laundry and housecleaning, punctuated by lots of napping. In the evenings I was able to take some time out to have a glass of wine and gaze out the window at the dogs playing in the yard. Most of the time watching them makes me smile contentedly. On rare occasions, watching them gives me a heart attack. I've had two such instances within the last few days.

Firstly, last night I peeked out the window to spy on File'. She was having a blast playing with her bone. Or so I though. Upon closer inspection, I saw stuffing all over the ground. WHAT? How had she managed that? Someone had apparently gifted her with the closest dog bed, which she drug to the center of her circle and attempted to shred. Heart attack number one. I slipped on my boots and ran outside to chide her and put it back where it belonged. She didn't do too much damage.

Later on, I heard Zinger barking in the yard. She, her brother Zack, and her kissing cousin Clover have unique barks. They all sound similar but I can tell them apart without looking simply by the tone of their voices. I knew that Zinger was up to something before I even saw the reason for her barking. She only barks when she's playing or when it's feeding time. I had already fed, so I figured she must be playing with something. When I looked out the kitchen window I saw that she was batting a toy around on top of her house, nipping it, throwing it up in the air and swatting at it again. She was busy talking to it while playing with it. What kind of a toy was that? Small...brown...oh NO. It was a POOP! My dog was playing with a poop on top of her house!!!

"ZINGER!" (no response) "ZINGER!!" (still no response) "ZINGERRRRRR!!!!!!!!!" (she pauses) "Don't play with that." (blank stare. swats at the turd again.) I sigh and close the door, shaking my head.

What in the world gets into these critters? I love them with all of my heart and soul and they repay me by doing things like tearing up their dog beds and playing with pieces of poop!! They make me scratch my head day after day. And so, after much Zen meditation and many quiet hours spent contemplating my dear pets and how I much love them, and why they do the things that they do, I have come to a simple conclusion. It all boils down to one thing: Dogs will be dogs. :)