After several months of being a perfectly behaved puppeh, Mister Fusspot has finally succumbed to the alluring appearance and piquant aroma of my shoes. This, despite there being enough pet toys littering the floor for us to open our own Petco.

I used to keep all my shoes in their respective boxes stacked in the closet, but for a long while Alan was on a work schedule that didn’t require him to get up until several hours after I left, so I got into the habit of leaving the shoes I wore to work most often just under the edge of the bed. This way, I didn’t have to wake him by turning on the lights and rummaging through the closet. Mister Fusspot has discovered my shoe stash, however, and has gnawed up a ballet flat and a sneaker. Wasn’t it clever of him to gnaw one shoe each from different pairs so I have to replace both sets? He seems to prefer right shoes, incidentally.

I sighed as I surveyed the damage to my ballet flat and prepared to toss it in the garbage, remarking to Alan, “I guess I’ll have to hit the shoe store this weekend.” (I wear those black ballet flats a lot.)

Alan’s eyes widened and an electrified look of realization came upon him. “I get it now! I’m onto you, missy!” he exclaimed. “I’m wise to your cunning plan! [pointing a quivering index finger my way] All this, ‘oooh, let’s get another dog’, ‘I want more puppies’, ‘can’t we get another dog pleeeease?’ was simply a ruse! You suspected this would happen, in fact you counted upon it, and you introduced that Chihuahua into our house just so you could buy more shoes!”

Damn. Stone cold busted.