When we got Milo, he was just the tiniest thing. He was terribly frightened of walking down stairs, which we finally figured out was due to the massive amount of skin he had on his head. Every time he pointed himself down the stairs, gravity would pull all that extra skin over his eyes so that he was temporarily blinded. He couldn’t get up onto the couch without assistance. He fit nicely into Mike’s lap for naps. He was so cute we could hardly stand it.
At this time, we were unskilled in the art and necessity of crate training, so we would leave the dogs to free-roam while we were out. Looking back on it, this was not one of our more brilliant ideas. We had just bought some new furniture from a trendy boutique around the corner from our flat in Chicago, and so I’m sure you know where this is going. It seems that most of the stories start out this way: “One day, upon arriving back home, we found [chewed bits of any number of foodstuffs, unidentifiably alarming remnants, mysterious fluids of unknown origin on the walls]….” This story is no different. We found that our new sofa chair had been most inconsiderately un-upholstered. Large sheets of velvet lay on the floor like throw rugs. All of the upholstery staples were curiously absent and never were found. I actually found a priest in our neighborhood who moonlighted as an upholsterer, and who kindly reassembled our new chair and offered to cure Milo of evil outside influences. The priest did a good job on the chair. We still have it. Milo, however, is still susceptible to outside influences.