He Steals Seashells by the Side Door

Before I begin with my latest tale, allow me to take a moment to thank my bff Mecki, his little brother Bastille, and their mom Karin for all the birthday presents they gave me last week.  I must say, they were some of the most well-thought-out gifts I have ever received.  I got...

Birthday Gifts

From Mecki:  A brand new Mini-Mecki toy

(that he rolled on so that it reminded me of him)

From Bastille:  A box of Milkbone cookies

(because the pup on the box looks just like Bastille)

From their mom:  A bag of bacon and cheese treats

(because we both really love cheese and bacon)

Thanks a million Karin, Mecki, and Bastille!

And now, on to my story.

Besides being devilishly handsome, clever to a fault, and highly talented with the written word, I am also exceedingly mischievous.  I’m always thinking.  Thinking of ways to get in trouble.  Thinking of ways to have fun.  Thinking of ways to gain attention.  I’m quite the pro.

Of course, on occasion I do get the feeling that my family can read my mind and foretell my mischievousness.  How else can one explain all the times Sister has told me “no” to digging on the carpet or under the forsythia bush when I've only just taken a single step in the direction of said corner or plant?  It’s clairvoyance I tells ya!.  

Anyway, even despite the fact that sometimes my mischievousness is thwarted, it never stops me from trying.  Here’s my latest:

Out east, Ma and Pa have two terracotta planters on the porch; one with rosemary growing in it, the other mint.  Now, normally I don’t have much interest in potted plants.  I might sniff them as I go by or watch a bee do its little bee thing, but then I quickly move on to other more interesting subjects. Well, a couple of weeks ago, when I checked out the planters, I discovered that in addition to the plant, the dirt, and the little plastic thingy that says what's been planted in that location (which, by the way is a lot of fun to chew on), Ma and Pa had also added seashells as decorations.  Now, every time I go out onto the porch, I immediately saunter over to the planters and snatch a shell in my mouth.

There are essentially two endings to this mischievousness:  either the shell makes it and can be returned to the planter with only a thick layer of slobber on it, or I crush it into dust.  Which outcome depends entirely on whether the gate connecting the porch and the backyard is open or closed.  When the gate is open, I take my ill-gotten gains and scurry down into the grass where I proudly prance and play keep away from whoever is inevitably chasing me to retrieve the shell.  Rather than give up the shell, I end up grinding it to dust while running to and fro.  When the gate is closed, however, I usually give up the shell fairly quickly (and in one piece) because I have far fewer options when it comes to dodging and skirting whoever is trying to get my stolen prize away from me.

Either way, once I am relieved of the shell (be it through a "give" command or the destruction of the shell itself), I make a bee line back to the planter ready to start pilfering again.

Suspicions

In the Land of No

Suspicions.   

That's what Ma had for weeks, but she never had any solid proof to confirm them.  She would routinely talk about them over dinner, but that's all they ever were--suspicions.

But then one day last week, I got sloppy and Sister caught me. I didn't expect her to come home early that day.

She caught me climbing up the basement stairs; she caught me leaving the "Land of No."

Why was I down in the Land of No?  Why did I ignore the plethora of muddy sneakers and dirty laundry down there?

I'm not going to say.

All that remains are...

Suspicions.