If Gracie survives puppydom, then dogs have guardian angels, too. I've always suspected it.
My granddaughters are of an age where "childproofing" the house is long behind me. In many ways, I'm safe there. Gracie is unlikely to stick her nose in a light socket--although chewing the cords that lead to them may be another matter.
My new computer has arrived, awaiting assembly in its box.
"Have you unpacked it?" elder son asked on the phone.
"Not till we assemble," I replied. "Gracie would eat all the wires before we could hook up."
"Oh, yeah,' he replied.
Maybe by nebulizer fell off the bedside table this week, but I doubt it. She is FULLY tall enough on her hind legs to reach...a great many things. I found her trying to chew on the case itself, fortunately strong enough to withstand her beginning chomps. The plastic top, however, is toast. I shudder to think what that medication could do to her. Periodically, I misplace something I fear could kill her, and find it later, often with teethmarks.
Since my rebuilt knee isn't up to kneeling yet, I am getting into a routine of asking youngest granddaughter to check under my bed every few days for missing books, mail, aerosol cans, you name it. ...I heard her munching just now and found she had half-devoured an old bill. Chewy paper? Tasty glue? I don't know.
Corgis are relentless chewers. Astonishing. She has not only gotten all the juice out of a large bag of rawhide pieces, she has digested half of them. Time to buy more.
She digs. My back yard looks as though small munitions have exploded all over. Footlong sticks litter the ground, except she is bringing them up, one by one, to stack by her water bowl--which, if she drinks it dry, she turns into a toy to carry around the now pockmarked lawn.
She has found two escape holes from my back yard, escaping once even after I thought I had erected a sturdy barricade. It wasn't. So far, she just runs around to the front yard, waits for me to discover she's gone, and looks for her treat without which she will NOT come in. There are cars, and big dogs, and other people out there, and I worry. Off leash, she doesn't obey commands, and sometimes finds the freedom more delicious than bits of chicken. She's only a six-month-old puppy. I have to remember that. And keep training.
She and TC, my tuxedo grandcat, are slowly becoming friends. Youngest granddaughter reported yesterday that the cat accidentally(?) stepped on one of Gracie's squeaky balls in the (now green) grass. It squeaked. Gracie grabbed it, tore off, ran back and dropped it in front of the cat.
"Do it again!" she begged, her whole rear end, sans tail, wagging.
But the insoucient cat simply sauntered off, leaving her alone with her toy. Aw.
As I write, she is stretched, chin on my foot, all four feet in the air. She just gave a deep sigh. I don't think it's contentment.
She's just marking time till she can inveigle me into the next invigorating round of fetch.
Oh yeah, I hope she survives her puppyhood, that I do, too.
Oh, the places we'll go!
The the things we will see,
Just Gracie and me!