James tells me that’s the oldest excuse in the book. Of course, I’m not sure what or where “the book” is, but suffice it to say, I – did – not – eat – anyone’s – homework. Besides, what is homework? Okay, so maybe I ate it since I have no idea what that is.
Oh, no! I do not like what James told me about homework. I hope you no longer have to hand in (I would have to paw in) research papers and the like, much less take mid-semester and year-end exams. I can’t think of anything worse – except I’m not even sure what exams are either.
Oh, no! Take two. Exams sound like torture. How dreadful. I have to say, I like being a dog.
This is what should be done with all homework and exams – that is if they’re still being done. Drum roll please….
Give them to me.
That’s right. I’ll gnaw on them, slobber all over them, bite into them, rip them apart, and even eat some of them. That’s right. I love to play with paper.
James asked what kind of paper. Well, I never thought about that before. But now that I am, I have to say it doesn’t matter what kind. Leave it lying around or unguarded in the trash and it’s fair game. I’ll take it and make a mess of it – at least a mess of what James might find me with. The rest will most likely be in my stomach.
Now I have to confess. I love it when we have guests come stay. They always leave the bedroom and bathroom doors open. That means any tissues or papers or candy wrappers they leave behind are quickly mine with which to abscond.
For some reason I don’t usually go far. Most likely James will find me in the hallway leading to our bedroom – yes, I sleep in the bed with James and Ron. Back to the paper – I like to lie on the carpet and use my front paws and mouth to rip into the envelope, document, newspaper, wrapping paper, any kind of paper. It’s so much fun. And it tastes good too.
Which reminds me. James wrote a poem about my making off with paper – he finds me every time – nearly, that is. Here’s the poem he wrote for your reading pleasure:
the house is festively garlanded
inside a delightfully decorated tree
underneath there are many presents
covered in colored wrapping paper
family and guests come a calling
their visits enhance the holidays
entertainments add to the joyous spirit
of the gift giving season
yet not when they absently leave
their residue lying around
for a stealth thief roams among us
my seven-month English Sheepdog
the bandit is my enquiring Ollie
who I see hankering after
discarded gift wrapping
for you possibly feel left out
yet beside you patiently waiting
packages you choose to ignore
inside are many gifts for you
of brand new chew toys
any easily accessible paper
left on the floor
in a wastepaper basket aptly named
is fair game for your enjoyment
while some documents have a sentimental value
letters and postcards
others might be considered purposefully dropped
bills and invoices due
for your and my ongoing amusement
but no that won’t do
while I’m not pleased about the mess you make
a smile does cross my face when
I realize the excuse could be true
my dog ate my homework
yet it is now the wrinkled book pages
I find unsettling when you place
your wet face in the crease
of a book on my lap
such a demonstrative fellow you are
my dear sweet loveable Ollie
such a small price to pay
I wouldn’t have you any other way
The other day when I was taking a nap, right before I fell asleep, a thought came to me. Paper is made from wood. That’s right. The twigs, sticks, and limbs I told you about earlier, are the very things used to make paper products. How do I know this? James told me. So it makes sense that I’d like paper as much as I do.
And like James said in the poem, he wouldn’t have me any other way. Well, I wouldn’t have him any other way either. (Score! A double treat fell into my mouth – excuse me for talking with my mouth full.) I didn’t say that so I could get a treat. I said it because it’s the truth.
So, when you eat something, it has to go somewhere, right? First it goes into my mouth, then my throat, then my stomach, then…. You get the picture. Why am I telling you this? Well, come back in two weeks and find out about bathrooms. That’s right, the room inside the house, not my business. I’m sure you’ve heard enough about that.
But then I don’t know if you have. You can let me know in the comment section below. I always like to hear from you, so please feel free to leave me a note about this or anything else that’s on your mind.
Until next time,
Sir Oliver of Skygate Farm (you can call me Ollie)
PS: Have a wonderful, safe, happy, and merry holiday.