As the More is More Mom, I’m all about … more celebrating Wrigley’s birthday! This week commemorates his eighth birthday. Milk-Bones and rawhide for everyone!
How much is that doggie in the window?
Well, actually, we didn’t find him in a shop window. Perhaps you can tell by just looking at his perfectly square, regal head, and his beautiful, angelic face, that Wrigley is (of course) a purebred chocolate Labrador Retriever. In other words, he hails from … Wisconsin. I mean really, for a dog this special (read: naughty, but lovable), one must pay top dollar and travel five hours round-trip by automobile. One of our most favorite things about him (other than his charming, winning, dear, sweet, and funny personality) is his enormous block head. It is so big, that people frequently mistake him for a Rottweiler. While he is my baby, I am thrilled to pieces that I didn’t actually give birth to him the old fashioned way, because that head would certainly have been a real deal breaker as it made its way through the birth canal. I have nightmares just thinking about it!
At the tender age of eight (Fifty-six in dog years—he’s older than both of his parents!), he is just as naughty now as he ever was when he was just a pup—which is plenty naughty. When he was a little guy, I would always tell him that if he didn’t shape up, I would take him to Chinatown where they would make mu shu Wrigley out of him. At nearly 100 pounds, that would have been some pretty good eating.
One of Wrigley’s favorite pastimes is to swipe things that don’t belong to him. He’s surprisingly quiet and cat-like for such a moose of an animal. He loooooves it—almost as much as a good belly rub (and who doesn’t love a good belly rub?)—when you chase him around in circles after he steals something. Oh, he lets me know when it’s go time. The chase is on when out of the blue, I hear an enormous thud upstairs, and then I hear him tear down the hallway. He’s got something that doesn’t belong to him, and he can’t wait for me to find out what it is! Sometimes he does these things for the sport of it, and other times he just can’t help himself. Once, when Amanda was little, we were having lunch while we watched one of Nick’s baseball games. She was eating a lovely sandwich, made from very thinly sliced leftover filets, while sitting in a folding chair. Before we knew it, Wrigley had quietly snuck his enormous head between the chair and the armrest, and was nibbling at her sandwich from the underside. She never saw him coming.
Like any good Lab, Wrigley’s been up to plenty of mischief during his first eight years. He once ate the armrest off of the door of our car—down to the metal stud. Twice he has eaten a tray of brownies. The vet’s office informed me this was not a lethal dosage for an animal of his size. When I inquired what would be a lethal amount, they did not respond, and I think they may have reported me to DPFS (Department of Puppy and Family Services). Seriously, when I brought him in for his eleven week check up, the doctor was running behind schedule due to an unexpected bunny rabbit emergency. When I told them I couldn’t wait any longer because I had to pick up my human children from school, they said I could leave Wrigley with them for his check up, but that he was so darn cute he might not be there when I returned. I told them, “Don’t make any promises you’re not willing to keep.”
Those animal lovers are crazy! I once had to bring them a stool sample, and they thought nothing of the fact that I had dog poop in my Kate Spade purse. I am quite sure Ms. Kate Spade had never intended her beautifully crafted handbags to be used to carry doggie stool samples.
