Teddy, I swear to god, sometimes that dog…

So he’s always eaten weird things at the house. He once took two TV remote controls while I was out of town, chewed on them a bit, and left them under a sprinkler for two days (somehow, they still work).

Another time, when he learned he could use his height to his fiendish advantage, he ate an entire chocolate brownie, requiring a late-night scramble to the emergency room of my vet.

But cotton. Teddy always cottoned to cotton.

Paper. Underwear. Sweatpants. Bath robes.

Then he took a hankering for, of all things, money. And, apparently, the bigger the bill, the better. When I left a $5 and $1 bill on the foyer table, he ate the $5, in half as precisely as a frog dissection. The $1 was left untouched.

This week, Teddy went for the big score.

I got up about 9 a.m., padded toward the living room. As I opened the bedroom door, I discovered my floor tiled in plastic: credit cards, driver’s license, insurance card. It had been three days since he’d been home, thanks to a quick trip to Atlanta.

And I realized: He ate my wallet. Must have smelled the billfold (perhaps a bouquet of  ass and leather?), decided it was a premium rawhide, and ate my wallet. At least he left me my driver’s license, but it was a lot of cash: $164 from the trip. Seven $20 bills, a $10, two $5 bills and four $1 bills (my obsessive compulsive urges demand I order my bills, largest to smallest, and I remembered ordering the stack before the flight).

Then, a break in the case: The ID cards led me on a bread-crumb trail to my wallet, tucked in the cushions of my black leather couch (how he has not passed that through his bowels remains a mystery).

Or what remained of my wallet. Teddy went to town on it.

But when I opened the wallet, the biggest surprise: He left me the four $1 bills.

Mom suggested I check Teddy’s poop for the money, and couldn’t help but crack I could still try to spend it (just lay a turd on the counter at 7-11 and ask for change for a $20).

Yet, I can never hold a grudge against the guy, who simply wants to taste the world.

After a few choice words for him, Teddy took a timeout in the backyard.

Normally, this would not be punishment for him, so thick his coat. He’ll often nap outside to enjoy the winter air, a stark difference from the boiler room Esme and I tend create inside the house.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But if he sees me — anywhere — he wants to be there, too. I’ve seen him sit in the rain when I’m in the backyard. My house is a sauna, but he pants his way through without complain. He leaps into any car I’m driving with unwarranted confidence, unrestricted trust.

And now, he is at the back patio door, awaiting forgiveness and re-entry. He must know me inside out: I could never stay mad at Ted. Not even for $160 cash. I still melt when I think of what that boy has brought to my life.

Teddy, I swear to god, sometimes that dog…