Dog Food, Part I

Our neighbors decided to up and move out one day, and among the things they left behind was a german shepherd. He was still chained to a tree on about three feet of chain, and wasn't really inclined to barking or whining. It was about a week before we realized that the poor thing had been left behind.

We organized an expedition, planning out different strategies to handle a possibly frightened and/or vicious dog, and crossed the fenceline. What was left of his chain was too rusty to use, and he was really a very friendly dog, so we locked him in our cellar while we all went out to the hardware store to get him a new chain. (Don't worry, folks, our cellar is a happy little kid-safe workshop.) While we were paying for the chain, we realized that our new dog would also need to eat, so our next destination was the grocery store.

We were surprised to see him staring at us out the kitchen window when we returned to our yard. Everyone argued with each other that somebody forgot to close the cellar door, but we were all sure it was closed when we left. Mom was the first one up the stairs. Unlocking the door and opening it, we all saw what had happened.

Six square feet of kitchen floor was half of an inch deep in sawdust. Not woodchips, or even shavings, just dust. In the middle of the pile stood the german shepherd, tail wagging and tongue hanging out the side of his mouth, happy to see us. Between the dog's two front paws, half-buried in the dust, was the cellar doorknob. The full width of the 36-inch hollow-core door had literally been pulverized, from just above the doorknob to the floor. The only thing left of the door was the spine, where the hinges attach, and of course the top part that he couldn't reach. I'm sure he would have shredded the rest of the door if he had something to stand on.

We named him Duke.