Saturday I took the dogs for an  early walk.  I usually make them wait about an hour after walking before serving them breakfast.  I figured while we were waiting I could pop down to the store and pick up some allergy medication.

I can always tell the dogs are tired when I am not greeted at the door.

I got all the way to the top of the stairs before Sampson stumbled out of the bedroom wagging his tail.

Delilah never showed.

That’s the first sign that she’s been up to no good.

I checked the couch – nothing.

I checked the den – nothing.

I checked the Dumbledore suite (hey, my nephew named it that, not me!) – nothing.

By this time my heart was in my throat, thinking she’d eaten something on the walk and was terribly ill.

I raced into the bedroom – nothing.

Then I noticed the bathroom door was closed, but not shut tight.

I opened the door and out strolled Delilah.

It was about half an hour later when I actually discovered what she’d been up to.

 

While I was gone she went into the shower and destroyed my foofie.  Don’t even ask what that smear of brown is on the rug, I could only imagine.

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