Farewell, primate

Perhaps you remember this post. Or this one. Or finally this one. All about Fergus and his Monkey.

If you've been following this story, or if you are just reading it for the first time, here's the Cole's notes version:

• Fergus destroys all of his toys within a matter of days, even those that are supposedly the toughest of the tough;
• I found a Monkey with tear-proof seams and bought it;
• The lady at the pet store told me to keep it among my things for about a week so that it would pick up my smell, which would mean that Fergus would be more gentle with it;
• Monkey slept in my bed and lived in my clothes basket for a week before I gave him to Fergus, who proceeded to whip him around violently, as he does with every other toy he owns;
• Nonetheless, Monkey held on, sustaining some minor damage to his tail, which Fergus chewed through;
• Fergus and Monkey have been best friends for two whole months now, and are still going strong.

Make that were going strong. 

That's right. Last night, our little herd suffered its first tragedy of 2013.

It started innocently enough...

Fergus was running around the house, sniffing in all the usual hiding spaces. Up and down the stairs he went, over and over again. The second floor, the first floor, the basement. Running around every single room in the house, sniffing away.

"What's up with him?" Hubby asked.

"He's looking for Monkey," I said. "Do you know where he is?"

"Yeah," said Hubby. "He's in the closet."

"Why don't you open the closet door and see if he will find Monkey," I asked.

And so off Hubby went to open the linen closet door. When he came back downstairs, he looked at the Beast and said, "Find Monkey!"

And like a bolt of lightening, Fergus was climbing the stairs, and about 3 seconds later, he came back with Monkey hanging out of his mouth and a smile beaming across his snout.

We played tug for a few minutes. Then we played some fetch. Then we played some Monkey hide-and-seek. And then, by 8:30, all three of us were beat. So we retired to the t.v. room to watch some Yes, Prime Minister and catch a few laughs. 

Just another Thursday night at our place. (Exciting, I know...)

Fergus settled in nicely at our feet on his dog bed, perching his head on Monkey as though his best pal was his pillow. 

And then things got quiet. Too quiet, when Monkey is around, frankly. I turned the volume down on the tv, and heard a distinct sucking sound. I peered over the edge of the couch, and spotted Fergus sucking on Monkey's head as though it were a pacifier. 

"Ah... Cute!" I said. "Hubby, look at our boy!"

"Turn the volume back up!" Hubby said. "I'm trying to watch this show!"

The grouch and I went back to watching the show. When the episode was over a few minutes later, I got up to go to bed, and reached down to pet Fergus. And that's when I saw it:

Monkey's ear. The sucking sound from earlier? That was Fergus, sucking the ear right off.

And where Monkey's ear used to be, there was just a big, gaping hole, with beautiful white mounds of stuffing ripe for the picking.

Fergus was well on his way to performing a full scale lobotomy, thus wreaking digestive hell on his delicate belly.

What choice did I have? I took Monkey away, shot a few pictures so that I could keep you all updated, and laid him to rest n the garbage can under our sink.

It sounds like such an awful demise. But when you think about it, Monkey had a damn good life. He lasted 2 months and 4 days. That is about 2 months more than every other stuffed toy Fergus has ever had. Not a bad run!

So what have we learned from this little experiment? First, making a toy smell like me does not lead Fergus to be more gentle with it. Second, some toys are clearly made with better stitching than others. Monkey was one of those toys. Three, I am going to spend a fortune on toys for Fergus over the span of our lives together. But that's okay. Because they make him happy. Which means they make me happy too.

Which is why we already had another toy ready and waiting for him for just such an occasion.

Let's see how long you last, Kong Wubba. We'll call you "Red".

The love affair continues

This morning, as I was standing in my kitchen pouring myself a fourteenth cup of coffee (it was a sleepless night...), I looked up and saw this:

This is not a usual spot for Fergus to perch. Unless one of us is still upstairs sleeping and he is waiting for us to come down. Such was not the case this morning. Hubby was in the kitchen with me, lecturing me about drinking fourteen cups of coffee.

"What are you doing up there, friend?" Hubby broke away from lecturing me long enough to ask.

Fergus didn't flinch at the sound of his favourite boy human's voice. Didn't even lift his head. Just went on seemingly staring into space, looking sad as sad can be...

And what does this dog have to be sad about?!? He'd been for a 6k run through the streets of downtown Ottawa, where everyone smiled at him as he showed off his athletic prowess by jumping over benches and tree planters. He'd stopped in the dog park for a good long sniff and to run circles around the other puppies. And he'd already chowed down on his delicious breakfast!

And then I realized that he wasn't really staring out into space. He was staring at...

...Monkey! Who was perched up too high for him to grab from the ground floor, and on too precarious of a ledge for him to walk out and grab.

"Aha!" I exclaimed! "He's staring at Monkey!"

As soon as I said the word, Fergus jumped up, started wagging his entire tailless bum, and panted excitedly.

So I threw Monkey up the stairs, and Fergus proceeded to whip him around, run up and down the stairs while clutching Monkey in his jowls, and settle down to chew on his tail, which is miraculously still hanging (but only by a thread or two).

I left him and Monkey to their own devices as I went up to shower and get ready for work. When I came back down the stairs, I found this:

Fergus staring Monkey down on the stairwell. Probably plotting how to chew off that damn tail once and for all.

Or maybe planning his next cuddle session...

At least Monkey has survived another day.

There's something about a tail...

Well, it's been a week. And Fergus and Monkey have been having a jolly 'ole time. Fetch, hide-and-seek, tug, whipping around like a Tasmanian devil... Monkey's very long limbs make it doubly fun.

Here's some snapshots of their beautiful friendship.

Monkey's waving!

Into the lion's mouth...

Mmm...

Yes. Good times indeed.

This morning, Fergus and I were playing our regular game of fetch with Monkey. I throw him down the stairs or into a bedroom while applying my make-up. Beasty runs around trying to find Monkey, then brings him back to me. Before giving the toy up, he spends a few seconds whipping him around. Then he drops Monkey at my feet so I can throw him again. When Fergus is sick and tired of going up and down the stairs, he settles in for a nice long chew, as depicted in the pics above.

But today, I noticed that Fergus was fixating on Monkey's tail. It kind of looked like he was sucking on it like a pacifier. Which at first I thought was pretty cute. But then I realized that Fergus had made his way in for the kill.

Look closely... Do you see it?

Look even closer...

There it is. The distinctive first rip.... In Monkey's tail.

There's something about tails. He destroyed Senor Quackers in the same way. Went after the tail first. See...

I wonder if it has something to do with the fact that Fergus doesn't have a tail. Maybe he has tail envy...

Well, it's only a matter of time before he loses interest entirely in playing with Monkey, and focuses only on expanding his destruction from the tail to the other delicious seams so that he can get at the stuffing inside....

Sigh....

I think we should just stick to indestructible tug ropes...

Updating the experiment

Okay. So after 3 days of sleeping in the same bed as Hubby and I, it was time to take Monkey out of hiding and present him to the Beast.

Quick refresher. Monkey is a stuffed, green... er... monkey. We bought him for Fergus, to replace his beloved Henrietta Hedgehog, who recently met her demise after a particularly rousing game of tug. Before handing Monkey over to the Beast, we stuffed him in our bed and under piles of our clothes so that he would take on our scent. The premise being that if Monkey smells like Hubby and I, Fergus will be less inclined to destroy him, as he has disposed of every other toy before this one. Because of course, he would not want to, say, rip our arms off.

Well, this is what happened.

First, I presented Monkey to Fergus.

Look at that smile of utter excitement....

 And how much he just wants to caress his new best friend...

And how patient he is being while he waits for me to relinquish Monkey into his tender, loving care...

And so, after a few minutes of introduction, it was finally time to put Monkey's fate in Fergus' paws.

And this is what happened...

I don't quite know what to say... Does this mean that Fergus shows his love and affection through destructive behaviour? Or does it mean that he really wants to take me by the arm and whip me around too until all of my stuffing falls out?

I don't know. But I do know that I don't give Monkey very good odds. I'll keep you posted on how long it takes before he joins the others in Dog Toy Heaven. For now, after an hour of play, this is what he looks like. No seams ripped open yet...

Oh, and yes, I am trying to evolve this blog into non-dog things, and no, I have not posted anything non-dog since saying that I would do so. But I will get there, curious reader(s). I promise.

An experiment

This is Monkey.

You might be asking yourself a couple of questions. Like, "Can't you come up with a better name for a stuffed monkey?" Or "Why is he sticking his hands up?" Or most likely, "What the hell is a grown woman doing with a stuffed, green monkey in her bed?" (Yes, that is my unmade bed. Nice sheet set, n'est-ce pas?)

All perfectly reasonable questions. With answers.
- No, I can not come up with a better name than Monkey, but feel free to give me some suggestions.
- Perhaps he is trying to jump out at me in surprise. Or he is dancing. Or he is being robbed.
- I am conducting an experiment.

Let me elaborate on this final point lest you think that it is a little weird for a grown woman to have a stuffed, green monkey in her bed for the purposes of conducting an experiment...

Monkey is not mine. He belongs to Fergus. Or at least he will once I take those pesky price tags off of him, take him out of the bed, and give him to the dog.

You see, Fergus LOVES his toys. A little too much. You may remember the tragic demise of his beloved Rochester Q. Squirrel. More recently, I bought him what I thought would be the ultimate, indestructible, stuffed dog bone, with a so-called "Tuffy rating" of 9 out of 10. Which he promptly destroyed in less than 4 hours. After tiring of tossing it around and playing tug, he attacked the corner seam with meticulous precision until he could wriggle his snout all the way inside, pulling out reams and reams of stuffing. Which he then ate. Which led to some, er, unpleasant digestive issues...

So I was a little nervous when, after spending the day with Auntie K, he came home with...

...Ms. Hedgehog. Also known as Henrietta. A stuffed animal with lots and lots of vulnerable seams to rip open, felt toes to rip off, and chalk full of stuffing. This could not end well - not for Henrietta, and certainly not for the Beast's digestive system...

But oh my how he loved Henrietta... I mean, I know I said that about the squirrel, but this was different. His eyes lit up with excitement every time he heard "Where's Hedgehog?" We'd hide her in every closet and under every pile of clothes in the house, and he would sniff his way all over the place until he rescued her. We would throw her up and down the stairs and down the hall, and he would chase after her like an Olympic sprinter. When we would tire of playing with her, we would put her on a shelf just above his reach, and he would whine until we would take her down again. He carried her everywhere around the house with him. Whenever it was time to have a rest, he'd lie down with her. I even caught him carrying her upstairs for bedtime, and found him using her as a pillow when I woke up the next morning. No toy has ever captured his heart like Henrietta did.

I started to think that maybe he was over his need to destroy his toys at all cost. Maybe the promise of stuffing was nothing compared to the love and companionship of this squeaky hedgehog. I mean, it had been two weeks, and she was still in tact. Not once did he try to rip off a limb or go after a seam. Maybe he was finally learning to be gentle with the things that he loves!

And then, one morning, while my father was visiting, he and Fergus were playing fetch with Henrietta. Fetch turned into a particularly rousing game of tug. And then we all heard it.  RRR-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-PPPPPPPPP!

Followed by a collective "GGG-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-S-S-S-S-S-PPPPP!!!"

I rushed to the scene to survey the damage. And there it was. Just behind Henrietta's hind left leg. A small hole. And a clear path to fluffy white stuffing.

I knew immediately that it was over for Henrietta. As soon as Fergus got a whiff of her insides, he would not be able to control himself. Still, I held out a faint hope that he would not destroy his beloved hedgehog. And so, I tossed her up the stairs, and he ran after her as fast as he could. He brought her back to me, lay down at my feet, and began to gnaw on her injured leg.

I took her away from him, and threw her again. Like a lightening bolt, he flashed across the hallway to retrieve her. He brought her back to me, dropped her at my feet, and just as I bent down to throw her again, he picked her up and trotted off to his favourite spot on the stairs, and proceeded to work at undoing the seams.

It was a solemn affair, having to take her away from him, but I knew that it had to be done. And so I walked over to him, picked her up, and carried her away to her resting place... in the garbage under our kitchen sink. Confused and hurt, the Beast looked up at me with his saddest brown eyes, whined sullenly a few times, then let out a great big sigh of despair.

It was terribly sad.

We tried enticing him to play with other, unstuffed toys. Like his squeaky rubber ball or his braided tug rope. But they could not hold his attention for very long. Hide and seek just isn't the same without Henrietta.

Which brings us back to Monkey. Hubby and I were visiting our favourite pet food store to replenish the Beast's food stocks over the weekend, when, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the stuffed animal section. "Do you really think that is a good idea, Jay?" Hubby asked. "He's just going to destroy it anyway. Maybe it's time we gave up on stuffed animals."

"But they make him so happy!" I exclaimed! "I want to see him having fun with his toys again. He's been so pathetic since Henrietta has been gone. It's breaking my heart!"

As we argued back and forth about whether or not to replace dear Ms. Hedgehog, a store attendant overheard us and stepped forward. First, she pointed out the "more durable" (a term I use rather loosely given our track record) stuffed toys. Then she offered this advice: "If you take this toy home right now and give it to your dog right away, all it will represent to him is excitement. But if you hang on to it for a couple of days, and bury it in your bed or your clothes hamper, so that it picks up your smell, your dog will associate it with you. And he wouldn't want to rip your arms off, would he? I bet you he will be more gentle with it once he picks up your scent all over it."

Politely, I nodded my head and gave her a heartfelt, "Wow, what a great idea! I can't believe I didn't think about that!" But in reality, my inside voice was saying, "Yeah right, lady. You've never met my dog. Jaws-'o-death over there is not likely to stop himself from destroying something that smells like me...." Still, I figured it was worth a try. I am, after all, a trained social scientist, and I can't resist this opportunity to decipher the behaviour of another sentient being.

So, we brought Monkey home. And since Sunday, he has been hidden in our bed, or underneath that big pile of clothes that always seems to be on my bedroom floor. And in a few more days, when he is doused in "eau-de-Jay-and-Hubby", we'll give him to Fergus.

...And see just how long it takes for him to destroy something that reminds him of his two favourite people on earth....

Why do I have a feeling that this will not end well...

Stay tuned...

An ode to Auntie K

(As told by the Beast)

**********

My Auntie K smells great.

Well, at least my girl human thinks so. Personally, I prefer the smell of rotting plant material and dog pee, which I like to roll in when no one is looking. But Auntie K smells okay too, I guess. And every time I see her, I end up smelling like her. Because she gives me great big human hugs and kisses, and her smell lingers in the fur behind my ears for days. Then my girl human comes and gives me great big ear scratches and says things like, "You smell great, Fergus. Just like your Auntie K!" Followed by, "Hmm... I wonder what perfume she wears?"

I don't know what kind of perfume she wears... I don't really know what perfume is. Does it taste good?

Well, I do know this. My Auntie K is the greatest person I ever met. Well, the greatest person after my girl and boy humans, of course. But she is right after them!

There are SOOOOO MANY REASONS why Auntie K is the (almost) greatest! First of all, whenever she comes over and girl and boy human try to stop me from jumping all over her, she says, "It's okay, Fergus! Come on!" And then she lets me jump all over her and kiss her and lick her and bark in her ear! She's the only person who doesn't get all freaked out whenever I come barrelling towards the door to say hi. All she does is giggle and smile and give me lots of love. No one else in the whole world does that.

AND... she knows that when she is scratching my bum, and I turn and look up at her and show my teeth, I am really just smiling. Everybody else gets scared and thinks that I am going to snap. Which makes me nervous, so I start to bark, and then they get even more scared! But not Auntie K! She is so smart, and she knows that this is how Aussies smile!

AND... she has a car. I love my girl and boy humans, but they don't have a car. And I LOVE car rides! They are the BEST! Well, after running around in the Arboretum and wrestling with my favourite dog pals, anyway... Whenever she pulls into the driveway in her car, and opens the door, I hop right in! And she doesn't even mind that there's no blanket on the seat! Sometimes, she even takes me for rides in her car, and the whole time, she looks back at me as I sit nicely in the backseat and says things like, "You are such a good boy, Fergus."

AND... sometimes, when my girl and boy humans are gone, she takes me to her place for a few days. And do you know what she has at her place? She has CATS!!!!!!!!  And I love cats!!!!! All I ever want to do is play with the cats!!!!! Well, after running around in the Arboretum, wrestling with my dog pals, and going for car rides... Then all I want to do is play with cats. So I spend hours trying to figure out where the little one is hiding (obviously, hide and seek is her favourite game...). And I keep trying to sneak up on the big one so that I can get close to him just once, but he's too fast for me. So I end up running up and down the stairs all day long, looking for and chasing cats. It's so much fun!

AND... she has another dog! With no tail, just like me! So him and I spend hours hip checking each other. It's my signature move. I think I must have taught it to him cause now he does it really well. Anyway, he also has WAY more toys than me! (My girl and boy humans say that Auntie K spoils him a lot!) And do you know what?!?! He doesn't even play with them!!!! They all just sit there in his toy box while he carries around the same frog all day long!!! So I get to play with them. And I do. I take every single toy out of the toy box, and run around the house with it while I am hip checking the dog and chasing the cats, and then, at the end of my visit, Auntie K always stuffs a couple in my bag so that I can take them home with me! No one else has ever given me so many great toys! Not even my girl and boy human!

AND... when I stay with Auntie K, she even takes me out running. I know this doesn't sound like a big deal, but I heard my girl human say to my boy human once that Auntie K hates running. Now I don't understand how anyone could hate running. I mean, the wind feels so good blowing through the fur behind my ears, and I love lifting my snout up to breath in all the great smells around me. Maybe it's because Auntie K doesn't have a big nose or ear fur. I don't really get it, but I do know that she is the greatest (after my girl and boy humans) for taking me out running when my girl human can't. No one else has ever done that for me!!!!!

AND... Auntie K mixes wet cat food in with my dinner! She does this when I won't eat everything in my bowl. My girl and boy humans don't do this. They just take my food away if I don't eat it and won't give it back to me until the next meal time. Maybe they don't realize that I am not eating because I am waiting for something better. Like WET CAT FOOD!!!!!  Auntie K is so good to me!!!

AND....  she lets me sit on her couch!!!!  I have never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, never, never, never, ever, ever, never been allowed to sit on the couch at girl and boy humans' house. I tried to sneak up there once when boy and girl human were falling asleep watching t.v., but that didn't work. They made me get right back down on the floor. I mean, don't get me wrong. I like the floor, especially in the summer when it is so hot outside and the hardwood feels so cool against my belly. And I especially like that sometimes, boy or girl human will come sit with me on the floor and scratch my belly or rub my ears while they watch tv. But I gotta tell you, Auntie K's couch is w-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-y-y-y-y-y-y-y more comfortable than my dog bed! And it's fun to curl up with her and rest my head in her lap. Until one of the cats tries to come by. Then I bolt up and chase it up and down the stairs!

Sometimes, I think that living at Auntie K's all the time would just be the greatest. Well, the greatest after running through the Arboretum, wrestling with my doggie pals, going for a car ride, and chasing cats. It would be the fifth greatest thing in the whole world. No, the sixth. Because living with my girl and boy human is the super greatest thing of all time, and I would miss them so much if they were gone. But if anything ever happened to my girl and boy human, I would want to be with my Auntie K. She just loves me so much! I know she does because she lets me do so many fun things! And....

WAIT.... What's that noise? There are kids playing out in MY street! I think they are going to try to attack the house! I'd better get over there and warn girl and boy human!!!!

"Wooooffffffff, wwwwooooooooffffffff, baaaaaaarrrrrrrrkkkkkkkkk!!!!!"

*************

(As told by girl human)

"Fergus! OUT!"

...Sorry about that, Auntie K. I think what Fergus was trying to say before he got distracted by children who have the nerve to play outside on his street is that you are very special to him. Lots of people meet our little Beast for the first time and wonder why he can't be nicer, quieter, and more polite. You know, like so-and-so's dog. But you have never once wondered that. You have always accepted him for who he is, even during his loudest, most beastly moments.

I admit that sometimes, I think that you spoil him a little too much, that you let him get away with things that he should not be allowed to get away with (ahem... that would be allowing him to get up on your couch, young lady....), and that you are too much of a pushover with him. But then, when I see how excited he gets every time you come over, I know that he is so lucky to have such a great Auntie K who loves him unconditionally.

So thank you for being ready and willing to take him on a few days notice when Hubby and I need to get away for a few days. Thank you for being so understanding about all of his foibles. Thank you for reminding me to be patient with him because he is just a puppy. Thank you for listening to the million Fergus stories that I tell. Thank you for spoiling him rotten, like all good aunties should. And most of all, thank you for being the only person who has ever met him to call him an angel.

Fergus loves you, Auntie K. And so does girl human.

Dog Toy Heaven

This is Rochester Q. Squirrel.

I wish you could have known him in happier times. You know, when he had both arms, his tennis-ball-entrails were in tact, and his squeaky heart still beat strong. He was so handsome without that big gaping hole along his right side...

According to the tag on his ass, Rochester Q.'s life began in 2004, when he came off the assembly line and swung his way onto the shelf of a local pet store. There he was, surrounded by tug ropes and plushies and squeakies and balls... He had to have known how special he was, carrying a little bit of all the best toys in his little body. His tug rope tail, his tennis ball belly, his squeakie torso, and his plushy epidermis... How could any dog resist that wild and wonderful combination!

And then, one day, in walked Auntie K. She took one look at Rochester Q., and knew that her gentle, loving Cal-monster just had to have him. She purchased him on the spot, and brought him home to be a life long companion to Mr. Cal. For years, the two were inseparable. Cal-monster would drag Rochester Q. around the house by his extra long tail, and Rochester Q. would express his love for his devoted companion with a gentle "squeak, squeak".

But Auntie K. worried that Rochester Q. needed friends his own size. And so, with the best of intentions, she went back to the store, and brought home some new characters. Like the adorable Mr. Frog with his big googly eyes. And sweet Ms. Hedgehog, who, despite her spiny quills, is a big ball of love. How could Auntie K. possibly have known that these new creatures would capture Cal-Monster's imagination in new and delightful ways!

And ever so slowly, Rochester Q. fell from his esteemed place in Cal-Monster's world. No longer a cherished companion, he languished at the bottom of a doggie toy chest, holding his breath each and every day in the hopes that Cal would remember how very special their bond was. But alas, Cal-monster continued to ignore poor Rochester Q. in favour of his new plushie, squeaky friends. The honeymoon was over.

Just when poor Rochester Q. didn't think he could stand another day of being ignored...

...the Beast came over for a visit.

Beastie took one look at Rochester Q. and fell in love. Maybe it was the tug rope tail. Maybe it was the soft "squeak squeak" that promised so much love. Maybe it was the feel of that plushy fur between his teeth. Whatever it was, Rochester Q. and the Beast became inseparable. Auntie K. was so happy to know that Rochester Q. had found love again, that she sent him home with the Beast, secure in the knowledge that the two would begin a happy new chapter.

And oh, how the Beast loved Rochester Q. Squirrel. Every single day, he sat and stared at his toy box, waiting for Hubby or I to open it up so he could dig through the balls, the food puzzles, the tug ropes, and the plushy bones until he found that long curly tail. And then he would pant, break into a big goofy grin, pull the tail until Rochester Q. came flying out of the toy chest, and do this:

Followed by a rousing game of tug, like this:

And then he would let go, and patiently wait until Hubby or I would toss Rochester Q. high up into the air for him to catch. And once he rescued Rochester Q. from certain gravity-induced peril, he would do this:

That blur of action is the Beast whipping Rochester Q. back and forth, around and around like a top. Oh, Rochester Q would squeak with delight, and the Beast would answer with a soft growl or a harmless little snarl. Around and around and around and around the Beast and Rochester Q. would go, until the Beast collapsed in a giant heap on the living room floor, like this:



Look at how gently and lovingly the Beast would hold Rochester Q. between his front paws, laying sweet kiss after sweet kiss on the crown of his head, or gently tugging and chewing on his tail to undo the pesky knot at its end. How could I have ever thought that in this sweet pose would be the demise of Rochester Q?

Sigh.  I did not see it coming. One moment, the Beast was licking his best friend. The next I heard "rrr-iiii-pppp." I looked down, but it was too late. There, firmly lodged in the Beast's jaw, was Rochester Q.'s right arm.

"Beastie! What have you done?" I cried. But he was oblivious to his crime. And before I had time to rescue poor Rochester Q., I heard a louder, longer "rrrrrrrrr-iiiiiiiiii-ppppppppp".  When I looked down, a great slash appeared along poor Rochester Q.'s side, and his tennis ball entrails and squeaky heart were spilling out of him.

"Beastie!" I implored. "Please stop this! He's your best friend!" But the Beast's appetite could not be satiated, and he pulled and tugged and tore at Rochester Q's torso until that tennis ball and that heart were free, and Rochester Q. was but a shell of the toy he had once been. Armless and empty, silenced by the cruel removal of his squeak, and covered in a thick layer of dog slobber...

But I have to think that he left us happier than he has been in a long time. In the last three weeks, he must have rediscovered what it meant to be the centre of a dog's universe. Sure, the play was rough and tumble at times, as he was pulled between me and the Beast, thrown high into the air, and dragged up and down the staircase. But I do believe that Rochester Q. knew how happy he was making Beastie. And that this, in turn, made his short time with us worthwhile.

So now, Rochester Q. Squirrel joins the ranks of those who went before him. Like the green Kong Wubba, torn to shreds within a week so that the Beast could get to the ball inside.

Or the pink, plushie Kong Wubba, torn apart tentacle by tentacle so that the Beast could taste that sweet plush coat in his mouth:

And who could forget dear, sweet Mr. Fish, who never once complained when I hid him under the bed so that Beastie could practice his search and rescue skills, and who didn't make one sound while the Beast slowly and methodically de-stuffed him. It still pains me to think about having to put him in the garbage bin so that the Beast wouldn't choke on his insides:

You're in good company, dear Rochester Q. Squirrel. Just do me one favour. Save some room in dog-toy-heaven for Senor Quackers. Because judging from his once-proud tug rope tail, it's only a matter of time for him too...