Well it's happened once before, but Bruno was a puppy then, barely even two months old. He probably saw me use it, or it probably smelled like me, and anyway, he only damaged a corner of it and I didn't even have to plead my case: the gods of understanding sided with me.
But my heart leapt up (in terror) higher than Wordsworth's would (in joy) when he'd behold a rainbow in the sky at the sight of MSEL's very own, very exclusive (yellowing, old, and now out of print) copy of Giacomo D'Ancona's Critica e storia della letteratura italiana delle origini, parte prima torn to shreds and scattered all over my bedroom floor.
The stolen half-loaf of freshly-baked banana bread this morning, then the half-cupcake on the side of the road should have tipped me off to a particularly aggressive mood coming over my girl this side of the new moon. I'm not sure why I decided, today, that tethering her to the desk would be smarter than crating her.
The decision itself might not have been so intelligent, but I hope to the high heavens that at least Eska is after all that voracious (r)ea[d]ing.
It was a protest of sorts, I guess.
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