And he can chew. Anything. When he's bored. When he wants attention. When he's unhappy at being left alone all day. When my wife is taking a nap. When we got a guinea pig.
Of course, he always chews whatever item is most inconvenient or inexpensive for us, such as one of a pair of shoes, and then one of a second pair. It's never the remote control that I can replace at Circuit City for $5.99, but the one that's only available from the manufacturer, costs $30 and takes two weeks to arrive. My wife's iPod looked tasty to him one day, and although she rescued it as soon as she saw him chewing it, her iPod is now no more.
Library books, especially the expensive, hard cover kind, seem to have particular appeal for him.
But the worst dog chewing story didn't involve him, and didn't really involve chewing. When I was 12 we got a German Shepherd who was very high strung. Her name was Pinky, for reasons I can't begin to recall.
One day my mother had baked a cake for my birthday. (Chocolate. Is there any other kind?) She left it siting on the kitchen counter for a minute, and when she returned Pinky was halfway onto the counter, and had eaten half the cake. She yelled and Pinky dashed away.
Into my room. And then proceeded to throw up all over my bed.
Happy Birthday.
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