No, you chew it. Chew it!
This past weekend the Hubster and I were in North Carolina for a wedding and it was beautiful and it was hot and we saw lots of people that we love and now we are home and Lordy I am old ’cause I have been sleeping for days and I am still exhausted and my stoopid camera broke and my pictures didn’t come out and yes I know that this is a run-on sentence please don’t email me about grammar and today I just can’t get it into gear so here’s a Grady blog.
Hubby bought some dental chews for Grady since his breath is, how shall I say… impertinent. It is unruly. It is misbehaved. At the advice of our vet we bought these very expensive rawhide thingies to scrub his breath. Of course, in order for this to work Grady would have to chew them.
The Hubby gives a chew to Grady. Grady is a gentleman, and if you say “Gentle” when giving him something he takes it so tenderly you would think that it was a baby chick. Except that analogy breaks down because if it was a baby chick Grady would eat it. He’s a gentleman killer.
Grady, having decided that he does not want to chew on this expensive item, is trying to find a place to hide it from the Daddies so that he could find it later. On the couch. By my feet.
And then I guess he tried to hide it by my backside. Whatever. Dogs are weird.
Hiding it behind the chair, in the nook part of the living room.
And here he is, pissed that I saw him hiding it, ’cause now he has to find another spot.
Grady walked around the house for 45 minutes, whining slightly, trying to find a spot to hide his rawhide. He was kinda manic. A couple days later I was upstairs in the back bedroom and Grady came in and started talking to me… “Grumble grumble whine whine grumble”. “What is it boy? Is Timmy down the well?” When I finally got down to his level I found that he had hid the chew under the bed in a box. In a box.
Yes, my boy is a genius.