It Started with Slippers

Usually, it is Toby who is obsessed with my slippers. He carries them around the house shaking them vigorously - a throwback from the days when a canine needed to snap its prey’s neck in order to survive. Yet, although Toby takes great delight in stealing them, slobbering on them, and shaking them - he only does it in my presence, an attention getting game of sorts. And since neither Leah nor Meadow has shown any interest in my slippers, I have never felt the need to keep my foot coverings hidden away.

Until I received a new pair of slippers for Christmas. Delightful beige Dearfoams, lined with fur. Fur similar in appearance to the silky coat of a rabbit.

Judging by the way Meadow regarded them when she first spied them on the kitchen floor, I’m pretty sure she dined on rabbits during her time on the lam. She stopped, riveted, staring at them alertly, with obvious longing.

A moment later, one of them was in her mouth. Perhaps it hopped there, because, I swear, I never saw her move.

When I took the faux rabbit from her and replaced it with a toy of her own, she lay chewing her bone in quiet contemplation, for about a minute, before springing again upon the unsuspecting slipper.

I reprimanded her and took away her prey. “This is yours,” I said, handing her the Nylabone once more. “Chew on this.”

She turned her nose at the unappealing plastic, but remained prone on her mat, sneaking furtive glances towards my slippers, stashed beside the sofa.

A second later, another slipper somehow found its way back to her maw, without making so much as a whisper. Even as a youngster, Toby had never been capable of such stealth.

Scolding her again, I slid the slippers on my feet and stood to get a drink. As the water flowed from the faucet, I felt it, a strange sensation at the back of my heel. I looked down, and discovered Meadow gnawing on my foot! Or at least, on the slipper that enveloped it.

“Meadow, No!” I gasped, unable to hide my shock. “That’s my foot!”

Although she relinquished her hold and wagged her tail sheepishly, her eyes told the truth. If it meant obtaining one of those slippers, she’d chew off my leg.

To the store I went, and I returned home armed. I laid the slippers gently in the bathtub and doused them with a heavy stream of bitter apple spray. Cunningly, I left them in the middle of the kitchen floor and watched Meadow’s shocked reaction when she took the bait. Her tongue shot out of her mouth, her muzzle contorted in unmistakable disgust, and if she were physically able to spit, she would have done so then.

Once her revulsion passed, she shot me an accusing glare, but she let the slippers lie.

Smug that I had found such a swift solution, I left her free to wander the house, while I squirreled myself away in the office to work on the desktop computer. A short while later, I heard a dog chewing with the hard grinding sound that could only be plastic. Sure enough, when I stuck my head out the door, I saw Meadow contently gnawing on a Nylabone.

Ten minutes later, I checked again, just to be certain. She glanced at me innocently, while continuing to savor her own property. I left her alone to enjoy it.

About fifteen minutes elapsed before I heard the tear. It was distinctive, a ripping, shredding sound that could never stem from a Nylabone. Fearing the worst - that one of my new slippers had met its untimely end - I peered around the doorframe and blinked in surprise.

Meadow, the dog who had not touched any of my possessions since we adopted her last June, had deconstructed one of my fifty dollar zip-up Ryka oxfords in a matter of minutes. As I mournfully cleaned up the remains of my favorite mud-shoe, I shook my head in remorse. Maybe I should have just let her devour the ten dollar slipper?