There's a knock at the door. Dog turns into Scooby-Doo, running as fast as he can while remaining stationary, legs flying everywhere, no traction, until he falls on his butt and slides into the wall. God, I love wooden floors.
In his quest for fun, Dog has removed our television privileges by eating the TV aerial - we can't actually receive terrestrial channels anymore. He has helped the children's art projects by eating their crayons - incidentally crayons only semi digest. They keep their individual colours while the form breaks down, making rainbow poop piles with swirls of red, yellow, green, blue, purple. He took an irrational dislike to my kitchen and tried to burn it to the floor, by somehow turning a stove burner on while we were out. Sadly for his aesthetic ideals we got back while the countertop was only smouldering so he has had to live with the decor ever since.
He also developed Houdini skills, refusing to use his crate at all. We'd put him in it and come home to find him sitting on the window-sill, tongue lolling, laughing at our frustration. Crate totally unmarked. I have no idea how he got out. We padlocked the door. We padlocked around the door. We padlocked the corners. We padlocked the floor. That crate looked like some sort of S&M fantasy, yet he still continually, magically, was found at the window every time we returned.
You'd think as he gets older he's calm down somewhat. Tell it to the postman as he spies the dog sliding down the hall every day. Tell it to my curtains, digested by a bored mutt and leaving a fancy "handkerchief" ragged hem. Tell it to the cat who will be fast asleep when - from nowhere - loco Dog bursts, demanding that Cat jumps to the highest point in the room to escape the dinner plate paws pounding the floor. Tell it to The Babe who has taken to yelling "Mer'in, SIT!" as soon as she comes in the door, since her face and the classic otter tail - that can sweep a table clean with one swipe! - are at the same height now.
He's a menace.
But we got burgled once, and Dog made a noise I have never heard before, the most blood-thirsty growl, and threw himself into battle to protect us. Crack-head burglar never ran so fast, leaving us with his bicycle, traceable, and a very aromatic smell. What a fabulously wonderful dog he is!