It seems as though ‘dear, sweet’ Sam is going through some sort of regressive mental state again. A couple of nights ago I heard a faint but odd noise but after a long day of listening to people babbling about nothing and the usual sounds of a city, I didn’t think too much about it. You know how it is–your mind is on auto-pilot and you kind of turn it off as just part of the mundane noises of life.  At first I thought it was something going on in the neighbor’s yard.  But it persisted and it got louder.

What in the bloody-blue-blazes was that noise?!  Grr–it was driving me crazy.  When I pinpointed where that sound was coming from, this is what I found…Sam standing near my beloved GoldPfeil and freshly assassinated wallet.  It was especially treasured by me because (1) it was made in Offenbach, Germany, a suburb near my hometown, Frankfurt and (2) it was a very expensive gift from my son when he first started working at a luxury leather shop as a young man, many years ago. It was such a beautiful wallet, so soft and sumptuous, small but well-organized and beautifully worn with a whole history with me.  I had planned to switch it out that evening and had left it on the guest bed in the morning and was going through the mail after I got home (I know my bad).

The crime scene :(
The crime scene 🙁

And a very contrite looking face was standing near the remains.  Sam knew he was in trouble the second I asked him “what the [blank] did you do?” He dropped his head and immediately left the room.  Crestfallen, I mumbled something like “oh god, where did I go wrong?” or something to that effect with a few more expletives thrown in there as happens often with this silly dog.

Sorry, I just can't help myself
Sorry, I just can’t help myself

At 9 years old it seems inconceivably weird that Sam has regressed back to being a 3 month old puppy trying to relieve tender gums from teething.  I don’t know what it is, but he has this absolute love affair with murdering soft buttery and beloved leather items.  This latest incident was not a first though.  He’s chewed up a black clutch I’d had for eons, an equally loved day-timer case as well as a few more notables.  All in the past couple of years.

What’s a poor fur-mum to do?  Has your pupster destroyed something in his later years?  Any suggestions short of not ever reading the mail again out of sight of that stupid dog??!!  😉