Stepford dogs

My friend "Dr. Sloth" was convinced Gordon and I adopted Stepford Dogs, since they were so well-behaved for the first year they lived here. Apparently they are now convinced they get to stay, and their true natures are emerging! Dr. Sloth is quite happy now that Sophie and Tristan are getting into a bit of mischief. The other day I walked into my office and discovered this:


The recycle box had been tucked away under my desk, to spare the dogs temptation, but clearly someone figured it out. At least they didn't completely empty the contents onto the floor, unlike last time.

"What, me? I didn't do it? What? What's this in my mouth? Nothing. It's not a piece of Kleenex box. Not at all! Well, maybe it is, but I was walking by and it JUMPED into my mouth. I couldn't help it. I am innocent!! INNOCENT!!!!!! Where's my lawyer?"

Yesterday I was making dinner and Tristan sauntered in with a granola bar wrapper in his mouth. Uh-oh! I checked my office and found that SOMEBODY (I blame Sophie) had knocked my little trash can off the top of my bookshelf. The shelf is not very high; the top is at dog-head height, but I was hoping it was enough to dissuade the dogs from garbage-picking. Wrong! Rubbish spread all over my office floor... thanks, kids. Today I am going to buy myself a tall trash can with a lid. Apparently I need a recycle box with a lid, too.

These dogs are obsessed with paper. Last night, Tristan came up to me with a bit of toilet paper hanging out of his mouth. He'd gone into the bathroom and ripped a piece off the roll!


Meanwhile, I have my perfect little angel...

...well, perfect except for the fact that every morning around 5:30 or 6:00 am, she jumps on the bed and starts gently whacking me on the face with her paw. When I pull the covers over my head, she gets under them and starts biting gently on my knees and elbows. Yeah, she's hungry, but we are trying to tough it out and not respond to these subtle requests, otherwise this will be continuing for the next decade or two.

And oo-er, it was -37 C when we got up this morning! (For you non-Metric types, when the temp gets down to -40, it's the same in Fahrenheit OR Celsius.) For the past few mornings, Gordon and I have been loathe to leave bed before the furnace turns on (it's on a timer and is set to 16 C at night.) So G makes me guess the outside temperature, then checks our weather station thingy when he goes to the kitchen. I have guessed the temperature correctly for two days in a row now. For my prize, I would like a trip to the Caribbean. I'm waiting.