Death to Cave Beds

    We bought cave beds for Ivan and Dasa several years ago. I washed the covers now and then and they were still in good condition when we adopted Tiegan and Miles. The life expectancy for a cave bed in our house shortened considerably when we brought Miles home. The one remaining cave bed from the first set is shredded. The other was too mortally wounded to save. The second set of cave beds is in critical condition. They will be able to maintain their positions during the summer when Tiegan and Miles lie on top on them, but when fall comes along, the battle-worn cave beds will have to be replaced with fresh intact models. We will pull them from the front lines in the kitchen and put them in the living room where there is less action. The beds are not damaged (yet) but the covers are in tatters. 

 

     Our house used to be dotted with dozens of little free range dog beds. Now, fluff-filled dog beds are so endangered as to be nearly extinct. Miles seems to feel they must be destroyed. This is a mission to which he devotes much time with impressive results. Stuffed animals must also be destroyed, and we quickly learned we cannot leave stuffies out to gambol about the house when we are away, because the kill rate is alarming. The real concern when returning home to daily stuffed animal massacres is that the carnage might contain only partial remains which could pose a very serious threat to the Miles puppy’s health. So all stuffies are put in their basket to rest in safety atop a cabinet until we are home to monitor the proceedings

     We now introduce only the sturdy stuffed toys for dedicated chewers. Their survival rate is much higher and I don’t feel quite as though I’m sending innocents to the lions’ den. In the evening, Tiegan stands in front of the toy basket and looks at us expectantly. If we do not respond without delay to our Princess of Sunshine and Magic, she places one dainty white paw on the cabinet and looks at us again. If we are still so incredibly negligent in our duty that we don’t jump up to fulfill her wishes, she makes a small sound, something like a squeak crossed with “ahem,” which causes me to spring to my feet and start tossing the basket’s inhabitants on the rug for her perusal. When it’s time for bed, I round up the toys and send them safely to slumber in their basket until their presence is again required.