The Little Pack

At 3 and 1/2 years old (she has been with us for 2 1/2 of those years), Cheyenne has suddenly learned to bark. Until this point, we have heard quite a  melodious range from little Cheyenne–from yodels, howls, aroooos, sighs, yips, snarls, moans, and groans, but never a true bark. Sure, if there is a stranger in the neighborhood, she dutifully (and may I say gleefully) sounds the alarm–with a howl. A few weeks ago, I thought I heard her bark, but doubted myself. Today, there was no denying either the sound, or source. She was not shy about about it in the least, it was a loud, proud, assertive bark, that she seemed to delight in making.

We came home from a hockey game tonight to find that Cheyenne has struck again! I guess we were due, it has been quite some since we came home to a chewed up pair of shoes, or some other type of destruction. My husband had left a box of Dots on the kitchen counter–inside a gift bag and in the middle of the snack bar. She loves jelly candies. Strange dog. Anyway, we came home, to find the bag knocked over but still on the counter and the box of Dots missing. Pieces of cellophane and the box were strewn about the living room and we found only 3 Dots. I looked everywhere for a hidden stash but couldn’t find any. Because her little sides were bulging out, we are quite sure that she consumed the rest… So we are faced with one of two scenarios:

1. Archie knocked the bag over and Cheyenne capitalized on the turn of events, making her an opportunist.
2. Cheyenne is far smarter than we give her credit for and she some how managed to reach the bag herself, either by contorting her body or by striking a deal with the other animals to help her get to them.

I don’t know about you, but I am leaning towards #2. Also, you may wonder how we know for sure Cheyenne is the culprit. Just trust me on this one. Over the years, Cheyenne has gotten into many things, including a bag of cough drops and a bottle Pyoben gel within days of each other requiring back to back calls to the vet and subsequent humiliation. Also destroyed: many pairs of shoes, a latte, an entire loaf of banana bread and a jar of cocoa butter to name just a few…

Turns out that explains everything, and I mean everything about Cheyenne. Her absolute Tasmanian devil-like destruction, her strange sounds and inability to bark, her hunting instinct, the way she chases the kitties (how many times a day do I say “Cheyenee, quit chasing the cat.”, “Cheyenne, you leave that cat alone” and my personal fave, “Cheyenne, don’t eat the kitty!”), the fact that she hates water, grooms herself and trims her toenails, her utter lack of interest in retreiving toys, and of course, her supreme intelligence, yet complete incapability to learn, um, almost anything. I had absolutely no idea just how unique these animals are until I started reading about them, and now I am obsessed. Someone needs to start a support group for us poor souls, and if noone else does, then I will.