Mobley's Ticker-Tape Parade

I'm mostly done raising my three children. I know we still have a long road ahead of us - even as adults, they'll still be our children and we'll be there for them come what may. But, gone are the days when if I turned my back for a minute I turned back to find children covered head to toe (between the toes, actually) in marker or someone with a new haircut (Shay curtesy of a very pleased Kit), or wearing a newly decorated shirt (Kit again, wielding her scissors).  I shan't again find baby Shay covered in paper towels (deposited by his siblings) while sleeping in his crib, or a naked Harry covered by the dozen books he tore to shreds (before undressing himself) as a prelude to his afternoon nap. And I must say I'm happy that I'll never again take my own time-out to calm down only to find that my dear darlings found every towel and wash cloth they could, soaked them and threw them around with wild abandon (apparently) while I sat downstairs, trying to breathe so I could make it through the day with three small children.

I love that they're teenagers now (okay, almost a teenager in Shay's case). I love talking about politics, current events, and our philosophies of life with them. I love to see them reaching for more independence and working to make sense of the world and themselves in it - and, finally realizing, that adults are just people, no different than them. 

So, why oh why oh why, have I saddled myself with another toddler? A four legged one at that, who has no hopes of ever growing up and becoming mature or independent. 

I love Mobley. I truly do. I love his beautiful furry brown body. I love looking at his regal jowls (they're my favorite part of his body). I delight in seeing his front paws when he stands and places them just so, like a ballerina in first position. He's got a great smile. He's a gentle soul. And up until two weeks ago, he was great company.

Now (I think it's the cool fall weather), he's a demon with the terrible twos. He took a flying leap on Saturday and snatched a fig newton right out of Harry's hand. He's been picking my papers off the table and tearing them to pieces. He barked for almost a solid five hours when Kit's friends were over the other night (we realized later that he might have missed Andrew, Kit's one friend who will play with him). But today, was the worst yet. 

Perhaps it was that Mobley sensed a holiday of sorts. I was mopping the floor. My bi-annual mopping. A cause to celebrate (certainly for him as he loves a good sponge). I thought Hank might have himself a silent celebration that I'd finally gotten to it (he who likes a clean house). I was feeling alternately happy that I had the energy to mop and was taking care of my family by doing so, and chagrined I was so darn proud of doing this at all, when I know that to have a clean(ish) floor, with five people and a dog living here I should be mopping it weekly (fat chance). I was also pondering whether living in a place with a floor this dirty qualifies as camping out.

The celebration started predictably enough. Mobley was In the house, out of the house, back in the house tracking muddy footprints on the newly mopped floor, back out of the house. You get the picture.

Then I went downstairs to clean the floor cloth we keep under Mobley's bowls.  Big mistake. I could hear the sound of paper being ripped. I couldn't quite get it - I'd put all my papers away (not an easy chore, that). I came back upstairs to....

The whole downstairs filled with shredded paper! A ticker tape parade of paper! Paper covering the floor in the great room, living room and den. Wet paper shreds stuck to wet floor. And a gloriously happy pooch shaking the remains of a ripped paper grocery bag. And laughing (yes, Mobley laughs - especially when I catch him doing something he shouldn't and he knows he's faster than me and not nearly as dumb as I've made him out to be, so he knows there's no way I'll be able to stop him until he's good and ready to stop. Which in this case...ah, I think you know what it was in this case.)

I finally remembered seeing a bag of shredded paper next to Hank's desk.  The good news is that no one is going to steal our identity. Nuh-uh. Mobley to the rescue. Just another dog protecting his master. And throwing himself one heck of a ticker-tape parade.