I
have often wondered what our dog does all day when left alone in the house. It’s puzzling, to say the least. The simple answer is that if I want to know, I could get a pet cam. You know, those camera systems people set up to spy on their pets? We even acquired a system but admittedly have never set it up. A coworker utilizes one and had to leave her desk quickly one day when she saw her pups tearing into wrapped Christmas presents from under the tree, which gave me pause. I mean, do I really want to watch my dog destroy something in real time while I’m at work? Not to mention the disruption. There I’d be at my desk shouting at my phone, “Don’t you do it! Do NOT even think about it, Daisy! Put it down now! No, No, NO!” Distracting doesn’t even begin to cover it.
Why would I assume that she would engage in mischief? Well, it is a proven pattern that when our 90-pound shelter dog, Daisy, is left home alone, she gets up to stuff. There are clues. She has taken things from the countertop—sometimes even left paw prints on its shiny white surface. When I say ‘things’ I mean apples or oranges swiped from the fruit bowl, bananas by the bunch, loaves of bread, opened padded shipping envelopes—that sort of thing. Basically, whatever she wants to move around.
“I am offered hints to where she’s been and what she’s been up to by the evidence left behind.”
Before we installed child locks (dog locks) on the doors throughout the house, our Daisy rearranged things from the food pantry. She didn’t destroy any of the things she took out. She didn’t even eat them. She just removed them from the pantry and placed them on the floor. I came home from work to find a bag of flour with just a couple punctures in it, a container of cocoa powder (lid undisturbed), an unopened extra-large bag of dark chocolate chips (thank goodness), and a stick of Crisco (not even misshapen). All were arranged on the floor, but not damaged or consumed. The imagined nightmare of Crisco, flour and cocoa powder could have been a housekeeping challenge to say the least, but not when the mischief is orchestrated by our Daisy dog. She doesn’t seem to be motivated by destruction or hunger—just curiosity. It might be that she does these things out of boredom, or simply because she can. It’s all in a day for her.
Because we are well aware that she gets up to stuff, we never leave the house without tending to her basic needs (food & water). In Daisy’s case ‘basic needs’ includes setting up at least two puzzles for her. Lately, it’s those stuffies that roll or fold out to reveal little pockets where we tuck away tiny treats, and close with Velcro fasteners. She has a snail and a turtle. She loves them both and drags them about the house once the treats are consumed. I know this because I have to hunt for them every evening lest they get dragged outside and under the deck. I need them again early the next morning.
We do limit her access to certain vulnerable rooms: the bathrooms, for instance, and the office. The rest of the house is completely available to freely roam. I am offered hints to where she’s been and what she’s been up to by the evidence left behind. She has her favorite napping spots, where I assume she spends quite a few hours each day. She likes the corner of the couch. I know this because she knocks the throw pillows onto the floor every day. She likes the guest bed as is evident by the very rumpled throw that covers the surface. It’s usually askew or pawed into the shape of a cinnamon roll. She likes the big chair that sits under the front window. I know this because I discover the faux sheepskin that protects the suede rearranged and a pattern of nose prints on the window above. She likes our bed—same telltale pawing of the throw. And she likes laying on the floor in the living room in front of the fireplace. I only know she’s done this if I’m home and she finds me with a very warm belly.
And so, upon returning home after work and greeting her, I make a circuit: I open the bathroom doors (the rooms get chilly in the winter if the doors stay shut), I tug the covers back into place on both the guest bed and the master bedroom, I tidy up the chair under the front window, clean the nose prints off the front window, pick up the throw pillows off the floor, locate and tuck away the puzzle stuffies, and refill her food and water bowls.
As I look around the living room, my eye lands on the bookshelves. They are packed with books that could provide endless entertainment, if only Daisy could read. Imagine if she chose to read instead of what she actually does all day. I wonder what she’d pick. You can tell a lot about a soul by the books they choose to read, and there is much to choose from. There are informative books on travel, outdoor survival, and some lovely art books. There are rows of fiction novels ranging from mysteries to political suspense to romance. There are classics and a whole collection of Calvin and Hobbes. On the bottom shelf are picture books for the grandkids, and even some floor puzzles to while away the hours. She could be doing so much more with her day.
I can always tell when she’s been agitated in our absence. For instance, if a moose has decided it wants to bed down or wander the property, the nose prints on the windows become bark marks—spray and smeared nose prints. The ottoman is out of place, sometimes by feet, as if she’s used it like a springboard. The mattress in the master bedroom has been found completely crooked, as if she’s sprung off of it with tremendous force. And the lower part of the other windows facing the back all have many smeared nose prints. She’s had some sort of adventure and all I see is the evidence left behind to try to piece together what has transpired. The bottom line is that whatever she gets up to in a day, and the more things that appear in disarray upon my return, the more I know. And yet, so much more will remain a mystery. Perhaps all the guessing I do in tracing her movements and picking up after her is really her leaving a puzzle for me to solve.
