There are days when I’m sure Della is going to turn into a lovely dog–good natured, well behaved, gentle–and then we go to the dog park. In theory, this should exhaust her completely, leaving me with a sweet dog sleeping at my feet.
In practice, she comes home and pinballs from destructive act to destructive act. The bit of carpet to wipe your shoes on? A lovely chew toy. The paper bag from the wine store? A projectile. The steel feet on the coffee-table? better than rawhide.
And when you are just about resolved to choke her, she flops down on your cold toes, emits a satisfied groan and promptly falls asleep.