Everything that's on the floor is his

"What contraband can I chew today?"

Today I had to wrest a small rubber band out of Angus' mouth. Also, one of my blue mittens, the hem of my down coat (which I was wearing at the time), the corner of a dish towel, a piece of gravel, one of my winter boots, the other of my winter boots, and my SmartWool sock (still on my foot).

It is not easy to get anything away from him because his teeth are like needles and anything in his mouth is instantly impaled.

Just now I heard Doug yell, "Hey! Drop that string!" ("String"=the lace to my boot.)

He is partial to twigs, and shriveled dead leaves, and, when he is on my lap, which is often,  my hair, and I am worried that he is starting to develop a taste for the wooden legs of our living room table. (A neighbor has offered Neem Oil, and if she reads this, I'm hoping she will offer again.)

Anything that is on the ground--or close to the ground, such as the hem of my long coat--is fair game for a puppy, because puppies don't know anything.  Everything looks good. And their mouth is right there. They explore with their mouths, and those sharp sharp teeth. (Watch the hands!)

Authorized chew toy.

So this is why, if you come to our house, you will see the paper sack of recycling up on the window seat in the kitchen, along with two pairs of boots. The cord to my laptop is carefully tucked behind a bookcase, and my bedroom slippers are on the dining room table. (Sorry.)

But holy St. Patrick, he is sweet. After he ate, after he played, after I walked Rosie under the stars, I lifted Angus into my lap and he curled up in a 13-pound ball (he has gained a pound already) and fell asleep. He likes to be held, and held, and held, and held.