He didn't eat my homework...

I've mentioned before that Milo is a bit of a handful. He's outgrown a few of his idiosyncrasies, most notably the poop eating phase - which I wasn't sure we would survive. But OHHHH, the laundry phase. He has definitely not outgrown the laundry phase yet.  

You see, Milo apparently has a thing for that Downy softness. Dryer sheets and fresh clean clothing are just too unbearable for him to resist. When that dog gets a hold of a dryer sheet, you might honestly think he discovered the canine equivalent to crack. He will lick and chew it until he has eaten the whole thing. (Obviously he only makes it that far when we're not watching.)   

When I take a load out of the dryer it inevitably lands on the couch until I have time to fold. Milo, being the sneaky little bugger he is, will take the 10 seconds you are out of the room to hone in on the perfect item, snatch it, and run. When you return, he's curled up under the coffee table, chewing on what you assume is a toy. Until you realize, that's not a toy, that's my favorite freaking thong! The thong that I bought at a Victoria's Secret clearance sale that would cost $16 to replace. I do not spend $16 on a single pair of underwear people. And this is the third pair this month! Seriously Milo??? In his defense (kind of) he also eats Mark's socks. But I don't think Mark's socks are sustaining the same damage. Or at least he hasn't told me if they are. My thongs are peppered with tiny tooth holes that you don't even notice until you run them through the wash again to remove the dog slobber and they come out looking like swiss cheese.

The other irritating part of this behavior? When you realize Milo is eating something he shouldn't be (which is 65% of the time) and you tell him to drop it, he interprets that as some form of challenge. "Drop it" is apparently dog code for "run for your life". He then proceeds to run around the coffee table. I refuse to chase my dog in circles (there are so many better ways to lose your dignity) so what typically happens is that we stand on opposite ends of the table trying to fake each other out until I get extremely frustrated and begin moving the coffee table toward the corner where the couch and love seat meet. When he realizes he's trapped, he rolls over on his back (sometimes with the forbidden object still held firmly in his jaws) as if to say, "Oh, but I'm so cute. Wasn't this a fun game we played? Don't you want to end it with a nice tummy rub?"


It's a good thing I love him.