Olive doesn't live here anymore...

As soon as Caitlin moved into her own home, she began to wean Olive away from her daily trips to the farm. Within a week, Olive was staying at home on her own.


We do miss her…Well, more accurately, The Farmer really misses her. Daisie and I feel her absence – and sometimes that is just fine. Don’t get me wrong…we love the little fiend, but we, uh, don’t mind having a break from her constant…uh, constant…interest in activities destructive and energetic. Despite Daisie’s relief at being the only dog in line for a biscuit, she still spends part of the morning waiting and looking out the window for Olive to arrive. I miss the morning naps Olive liked to take on my shoulder, and The Farmer is missing the tussles that interrupted his time in the office.

But it’s all good…Cait walks Olive morning, noon and night, so her confinement at home alone is working out very well.

When Olive is home alone, she is confined to the dining room behind the pet gate. In this area, Caitlin has floor length curtains, and floor length chair covers; her boot mat with her FatBaby Ariat boots(leather!), and her running shoes.

I thought she was asking for it…

But Olive has not wrecked a thing…she spends hours alone, unsupervised, and she has not wrecked A THING!

This is, in my experience, nothing short of miraculous.

But apparently, her miracles are site-specific…or something! During her visit here on Saturday, my coffee table was stripped of its leather-look trim in the brief moments in which we did not respond to her distress at a toy (the most precious ever!!!) being stuck under said coffee table. She also made her regular stop at the bathroom garbage can to lift some used Kleenex to shred and spread over the bathroom floor…and again there was a snowstorm of polyfill from the latest disemboweled toy.

I don’t know why she hates me. I don’t know why MY house is just a big box full of stuff to shred and chew…

As I said goodbye to her that day, I said to her: “ Why do you wreck my stuff? Haven’t I always been nice to you???”

Cait’s reply: “Mom – I think that’s the problem…”

What Caitlin doesn’t know is that I try to mete out justice – but I can’t catch the little bugger! I’ve even given a few swings to try to swat that little hiney of hers, but I always miss, and usually strain my shoulder trying…and chasing her around the coffee table seems more like a reward than a precursor to punishment.

Not to mention, it’s fairly humiliating…and amusing to other residents of this home who will remain unnamed…

My last ditch effort to protect my possessions will be to go to the country store, buy a bag of large animal parts that have been dried, or puffed, or cooked, or something, and keep them on hand to give out liberally when a certain little Frenchton comes for a visit…

It’s cheaper than buying a new coffee table…