As I sit writing this long overdue blog post, I am watching Moose eat (yes, actually rip into pieces and consume) a wooden door stop. I should stop him, really. But how do you stop a force like a Moose? He is, after all, the center of the universe.
Or so he believes.
I'm not really sure that I blame him for this belief, no matter how inconvenient it is for us. You see, he may not actually be the center of the universe, but he certainly is (for not entirely good reasons) the center of our lives.
Who is our weekend alarm clock? Moose, of course.
Why does our house have to be thoroughly cleaned every weekend? Well, because Moose makes it dirty.
What dictates our activities on weekends? Moose (he needs a long walk every day).
Why do we have to pour bleach on our patio every couple of days? Er...well, I'm not going to get into that one.
This morning, Moose spilled a cup of bright pink, raspberry tea all over the counter in my future mother-in-law's formerly clean kitchen. The fruity liquid flooded into a drawer, which allowed the tea to form a pool and then drip into the cabinet below. Awesome. He learned how to open the lid to the rubbish bin (you can imagine the trouble that caused). He stole a pile of clean laundry and trailed it all over the kitchen. He harassed the chickens in the garden. He ate a sponge. He ate two pairs of my underwear. He stole a gardening glove. He shredded four plastic bags. He figured out how to open the back door. (He already knows how to open the fridge and exercises that knowledge regularly).
...and now he is eating that door stop.
He is, you will understand, the center of our universe.
Unfortunately for Moose, being the center of the universe comes with certain consequences. He has to be kept clean, so he is treated to at least one bath a week. He must be able to see (so that he can lord over his loyal subjects, Lera and Matthew), so he has to be groomed on occasion. And his lovely, soft coat needs to be protected from the constant English rain, so we help him out with things like this:
Heh. Being a dog is so hard, isn't it, Moose?
So very hard.
