I have good boys. They are really good boys when I am holding some sort of food. They sit quietly and make eye contact. I am pretty sure they are also trying to communicate their “goodboyness” telepathically much like I try to telepathically get my husband to bring me ice cream on a Saturday night. (He isn’t a good boy and seldom brings me ice cream, but, whatever.)
I have had such good boys that I had even thought that it was time to maybe test letting them stay out of their crates when people were sleeping or at work. After the last few days, I still love them but they won’t be allowed free rein any time soon.
Maybe it’s the weather, but several bad habits have resurfaced in the last few days. Three pieces of mail have been shredded, a kitchen towel (how in the world did they get a kitchen towel when they aren’t allowed in the kitchen??) has been ripped to tiny pieces, and they absconded with Dad’s yicky, dirty socks.
Today was a stormy mess and so they weren’t able to get rid of some of their extra energy. Maybe, just maybe, they aren’t incorrigible and the storm is why they have gotten grounded for life today. Before Dad went to work, they had the opportunity to stay out of the crate for 10 whole minutes before Mom and younger humans came home. That didn’t happen. Instead, the terrible trio stole one of my shoes and ran outside. This caused Dad to have to go outside and be the angry participant in a game of keep away. (Here, I have to be honest and admit that I would have liked to have seen that and had a bit of a giggle.) Because of this, they lost 20 minutes of freedom and had to go to bed. Bummer.
And then Percy regressed. I don’t know it was Percy, to be fair, but based on the offense, it’s pretty likely. Frustrated youngest child came in with two dollars, or rather one full dollar and pieces of another dollar that had been retrieved from Haas’s droolly face. Oldest child wasn’t missing money. Youngest child stashes the money in a secret hiding place. Where did the money come from? Very mysterious. Also, as a teacher, I could use a mysterious source of money. I could buy so many pencils and books, and… oh wait, youngest kid pulls another dollar from a slobbery dog face.
“That’s three dollars! Where did they get three dollars?” kid asks.
Then, I remember. I had three dollars floating loose in my purse. I never have money, and apparently, I still don’t. Those stinkers went through my purse! Ugh. These boys.