The dogs were being wonderful on their walk tonight, like usual. About halfway along our route Magus picks up a pinecone, as he does. He’s happily carrying it; occasionally I hear a shomp when he readjusts his grip on it. We get back to the house and I look at both dogs to make sure they’re not carrying anything. Magus looks like he is, so I say, “Magus, let go.” Twice. Nothing. So, we go inside.
I have them sit so I can take off their collars and leashes, and I notice Magus is holding something. I cup my hands under his mouth and again tell him to “Let Go.” He drops half the pinecone in my hands. I chuck it outside.
I get them unharnessed and head to the kitchen to wash my hands. I come back into the living room and see a dark thing on the floor, right in front of Magus. Even though I don’t have my glasses on, I know it’s the top of the pinecone. I pick it up and chuck it outside.
I once again head to the kitchen to wash my hands. I’m finally heading to the living room, about to settle onto the couch with my laptop when I step on something wet. Rather, somethings wet. The shattered and crunched remainders of the pinecone, firmly encased in slobber, scattered in a one-foot radius of where I normally sit.
There’s really no point to this story. Just that I had to pick up the same dog’s same slobbery pinecone three times in as many minutes.