The Daily Digital Photo
Chronicling the life of Clayton and Spenser, with memories of Scooter

October 4, 2007


Up until a few days ago, Spenser's squeaky toy tactics were pretty much squeak and destroy. Rid of its squeaker and its stuffing, Spenser had no interest in the toy unless Phillip re-stuffed it with one of the squeakers we buy in bulk. Scooter made these toys his own, he never cared if it squeaked, as long as it fit in his mouth so he could carry it around he was a happy camper. A few nights ago I was tidying up the house and could not find Spenser. This meant he was outside, but he wasn't howling so what was he doing? He could be eating grass, which is what he does when his stomach is upset. Or he could be stalking a groundhog or a skunk, oh dear. While I was considering the possibilities, Spenser walked through the doggy door, looking none the worse for wear, but he was restless, pacing the rug as he does when it thunders. But there was no thunder. He was inside less than a minute then turned around and went back out. Curious, very curious, but not enough to warrant investigation so I went upstairs to get ready for bed. When I came back down to say goodnight to Phillip, Spenser was nowhere to be seen, and I decided that someone should go look for him and that someone should not be wearing pajamas, so you-know-who took the big flashlight and headed out to the yard. (I would like to say he was a man on a mission, but actually he was pretty annoyed that I had recruited him for this task.) He was back in under a minute, with a smirk on his face and a very dirty squeaky toy in his hand. "He buried it," Phillip explained, "and he was in the process of digging it back up." What universe was I living in? Spenser doesn't bury toys, he destroys them in fifteen minutes flat and then ignores them. It's like the laws of physics, you can't change it. But the evidence was in front of me and it was filthy, so while I took it out to the trash (this is from the dollar store, you'll remember, and there were nine more of them on top of the fridge), Phillip distracted Spenser with a snack. You know what happened next, right? Spenser went on a search and recovery mission for the squeaky toy, poor boy. And I went upstairs to bed, with my new world view spinning dizzingly around me.