When I told my husband how certain I was that I was going to fail my upcoming exams, he calmly and cheerfully announced that if that happened, he would pack up all my shoes and ship them to Alaska (the better to get me barefoot and pregnant; shoes, after all, are a common prophylactic in the South).
"My shoes are all strappy sandals," I retorted. This is Texas, after all.
"Oh, well, I'll send them Mexico instead."
I did not fail that round of exams, and got to keep my shoes.
Then came the Dog Monster. The Dog Monster does not understand conditions precedent, and therefore does not care that I passed my exams. She does not care that I am allowed to keep my shoes. She continues the war on my shoes.
She started with the Via Spigas. She went straight for the most expensive pair of shoes I've ever bought. Those were some gorgeous shoes. And she didn't stop there. Oh, no. Cheapo flip-flops, ancienty boots I've had and loved for years, slides I've had for only a couple weeks.
Some I was able to repair. The shoe repair people laugh when I pull out my poor mangled shoes. They ask what kind of dog I have. I know a lady who used to rotate cobblers, she was so embarrassed at how frequently her dog got into her shoes.
I haven't gotten to that point yet.
Some I have been able to replace, through the magic of online shopping. 6pm.com, zappos.com, yes, they all know me. They also ask what kind of dog I have, as they watch me buy and re-buy shoes. Right before Christmas, I put the Dog Monster for sale on Facebook, offering her as a fully integrated shoe disposal unit. Only my sister-in-law made an offer on her. She offered my sister's cat.
I had selfishly gone on a trip, and forgotten to unpack immediately upon my return. While I was out, Dog Monster stuck her oversized nose into the suitcase, and delicately tugged out one little sandal. When she tired of gnawing on it, she pulled out its mate. When I came home, I found the soggy second sandal still warm from her attentions.
Since then, I have scrupulously put away all my shoes (it's only taken eighteen months to learn this lesson).
And tranquility reigned.
I underestimated my companion's wilyness. She is, after all, descended of the Alaskan Malamute, a hardy and old breed that can have been made hardier and more resourceful by its emigration to North Texas. The Dog Monster knows how to improvise.
I got an e-mail from Nordstrom's: FREE SHIPPING on Sandals. I love free shipping. Free shipping is like the pink icing of online shopping: you know it's not as good as it looks, but who's gonna stop you? Certainly not your sense of shame. Well, certainly not my sense of shame.
I'm looking at sandals, quite happily. I've picked out a couple pairs I like. Ooh, a little pricy. Maybe I can find a better price elsewhere:
Nope. No better price. $167.95 is kinda a lot for sandals, but they're so cute. And there's free shipping!
I'm getting ready to pull out my credit card, when I remember the last thing I used it on.
I got to drop $211.60 on a trip to the vet and some horse pills to treat the Dog Monster's bladder infection.
The Dog Monster has figured out how to destroy shoes before they even enter my possession.
My only consolation: the Dog Monster can't read and therefore doesn't know that the peanut butter jar says "creamy." The "crunchy" peanut butter is just creamy peanut butter with a couple pills crammed into it.
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Later I did a web search and saw that he was on the board of directors of the Toastmaster corporation and his goal was driving up the price of the stock. Rated.
Elisa, thank you. Your condolences are very much needed. The Dog Monster doesn't see many children, but she has already learned that they are likely to leave delectables such as chocolate penguins at face level.
Mumbletypeg, she really doesn't need to love me quite that much.
Deborah, the Dog Monster will take a nice fragrant sock too, if there's nothing else around.
I'm waiting for the spambots to try and sell me shoes.
I once had a lab that ate my imported Art Tatum cassette ($39.95 from Turtles Record and Tapes) and then suffered from irritable bowel syndrome for a week as a result. Dark days, those were. And smelly, too.
And . . . after a close examination of Dog Monster's photo, particularly his eyes, I'm convinced he's not entirely domesticated. Definitely more wolf than border collie. He may see your shoes as some strange life form that latches onto your feet and carries you away from him. I know that would upset me, if I were a dog.
T. Michael, the great thing about sales on Facebook is that you know the buyer. I wouldn't want the Dog Monster to be dropped among strangers, and I'm sure you feel the same way about your son. You do have a significantly smaller pool of customers though. And I don't know where you got Border Collie. My dog is 100% Grade A North Texas Malamute. And a girl. (Do you really think I'd slap a purple collar with a pink heart tag on a male dog? Really?)
Harlee, apparently. What I don't understand is her fondness for the heels over the actual leather parts of the shoe.
I love your ending!
Blue, thank you. My cat likes to attack nocturnal rug demons. She's very good at it.
diary, thank you. I feel pretty smug, I tell you, tricking her with the peanut butter.
Fun to read your writing, as always.
There is a reason I now have only closed cabinetry in the living room.
They chew on shoelaces and leather straps on shoes as well. I have to store all my shoes in plastic storage bins to keep the feathered imps of Satan out.
Gwool, since she doesn't chew on the shoes while I'm around, there's absolutely no point in whacking her on the head over it. She wouldn't understand why--out of no where--I'm attacking her with her chew toy.
As for the nocturnal rug demons? They are invisible to the human eye, but the Cat knows of them. The Cat knows.
Cindy, the Dog Monster luuurves cats, all cats. She is sure they all love her back, and doesn't understand why they don't want to play with her. She would never growl at a cat.
Leeandra, the Cat's current specialty is nocturnal rug demons, but that doesn't mean that she wouldn't take on a feathered imp of Satan too, if the necessity were to arise. (Plastic bins for shoes, hmmm . . . a possibility. . . )