Destruction As An Art Form

I bet you thought this post was going to be about art, poetics, the nature of the universe, or something ramblingly philosophical like that.

It's not. It's about Corgis. One who shall remain nameless pointed out I've been sadly remiss in the general worship of my four-legged companions, and I was about to get my Corgi Adoration card revoked. I grabbed my camera, but the guys were too busy engaging in some passive-aggressive destruction to do any posing. Preoccupation, thy name be Cow Ear.

Max, attempting to subdue an ear bigger than his head.

Cartilage-y, chewy, and apparently oh-so-entrancing, I buy them by the dozens. The Corgis obligingly destroy them as quick as possible, saving me the need to step on slimy-sharp bovine parts too often, and keeping me indebted to the UPS man who delivers the ears to our door. Regularly.

Merlin, taking the safe approach and gnawing around the perimeter

I tell myself it keeps their teeth clean, but that's only part of the reason. Who could resist the expression of bliss on the face of a Corgi with a brand new chewy ear? Max and Merlin carry them about like kittens, trade and steal them from each other, and occasionally bury them beneath the couch cushions, not to be found for months. Forget rubber toys, hooves, tennis balls, rawhide or ropes - dried up, dessicated cow ears are the pacifier of choice for the canine set at my house.

Max, really getting into his work

Anubis D.Cat, on the other hand, thinks a crinkled up page of my novel is the best play toy Evah. Who am I to actually finish the last three chapters and deprive him of his fun? That's my story in its wadded up, batted around the house, cat-slobbered, just before the dog ate it glory, and I'm sticking to it.

Anubis, on observing the chew-a-thon: "I gave up a spot on LOL Cats for this?"

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