I took a break from writing projects and cleaned out my desk drawers. My trashcan overflowed with business cards belonging to people that I can no longer remember. Plumbers, repair men, chimney sweeps, massage therapists, and dog trainers. Did you know there were 37 different dog trainers in my area? I have the cards to prove it.
I look out the window and see my two puppies in the back yard happily wrestling.
Tom is five months old and the sneakiest little dog I have ever known. He steals items, tiptoes through the kitchen and out the doggie door and buries them. We are missing gloves, hats, socks, slippers, and several action figures. It was like Christmas all over again when the snow melted and I rediscovered my rain boot.
I continue sorting through the junk in my desk then I glimpse little Tom burrowing under the fence. Harry, the larger, one year old is pacing back and forth. He jumps up and peers over the fence anticipating his freedom.
Suddenly, Tom escapes and bolts up the hill. Harry can’t make it. He is too big. He barks frantically calling to his sidekick. Tom hears the summons, returns, and starts to dig from the outside, widening the hole and allowing his colluder to escape.
I reach back into the garbage and pull out three dog trainer cards, put on my newly paired rain boots and head outside.
They look like angels but don't let them fool you.