The Dog and The Shoes

M's left sneaker and one of my attractive pink fuzzy martini slippers are missing, and we suspect Theo the dog. He likes to carry things outside. I have to watch him carefully in the morning when I let him out, because he'll almost always try to carry something out with him. Some mornings I'm more vigilant than other mornings: if I'm too bleary eyed to have grabbed my glasses I can't see him anyway, much less what he's carrying. He's particularly insistent about bones: whenever he gets a piece of rawhide, he gets terminally excited and demands to carry it out. He doesn't bury things or anything like that, or at least he's never been known to, he just leaves them in the yard. At any given time, say now as a random representative of time, a time that just so happens to be like 3 in the afternoon when I'm totally procrastinating doing all the various things that I should be doing and which I actually wrote down neatly in a list this morning because it's a new year, dammit, and I'm going to get organized and get my shit together and not spend hours on the internet like the loser I am, there are 3 stuffed animals, 2 rawhide bones, a flip flop, part of a cardboard box, and a drenched and unhappy sock out in my backyard. But no slipper or sneaker, which is baffling. They're not under the couch, or under my bed either, although I did put the Christmas wrapping paper box under there yesterday in a rare display of timely housekeeping that should make Martha proud.

Baffling, I say! Call in the dog detectives! I want my slipper, and M (who is not to be blogged about, oops, I forgot, let's just say a random member of my household) needs his shoe.