Mischief Managed

I know we've been focused on the girls a lot for the past few posts - think of the puppy-centrism as way for you to peer into my life, because a lot of my real life focus is on the girls, too. It's really sad that now, of all the neurotic wolfdogs in my house, Bast is the well-behaved one.

If you're wondering where this nation-wide cold front came from, it's because Hell just froze over.

Bastas, the good dog? My standards can sink no lower.

Part of it has to do with sheer number - the girls are literally double the trouble. They also have zero manners and routinely mess in the house, bite me, destroy things, and steal anything that even remotely seems edible.

Don't be fooled by their ovary-melting cuteness. Those are demons asleep on my couch.

As the girls gain strength and energy, they've become more active and can now play with Bast, much to his delight. Any time I step outside and call them all to me, every neck that pushes into my hands for scritchies is coated in a thin layer of slobber.

Three's company, too.

Despite being worn out playing Uncle to the girls, Bast somehow still finds the energy to sabotage me on the regular. With autumn firmly in place and winter peeking around the corner here, my winter boots became the object of desire, and Bastas the Amazing Klepto waited for a lapse in vigilance to steal them.

Unfortunately for me, I was not home at the time of the theft. My best friend, who was watching the crew for me overnight, let me know he had pilfered my kicks but that she was able to retrieve them before any damage was done. They only suffered the indignity of being buried.

Preparing to face the cold this morning, I dug out my boots from their hiding place in the closet and pulled them on, only to have the shit scared out of me as my foot touched something that was decidedly not-boot. I up-ended the shoe...

Damnit, Bast.