This exhaustive (and I’d guess exhausting to anyone reading more than one or two of these posts) account of Cedar’s life would not be complete without a short review of her criminal record. 

Already expunged, because of lack of photo evidence, are the visiting sweater incident, and half of a Birkenstock. In the former, Katie’s friend Izzy tried to be gracious about the hole in the beautiful hand-knit wool sweater she brought as her main warmth layer on her first trip to Alaska. Later in the summer, Cedar proved with one of Katie’s favorite sandals, that cork and leather are digestible. And of course, there’s the Permanent Fund Dividend check incident. (On the topic of money, she recently weighed in with her opinion of $2 bills. )

But this latest chomp, the island of Unalaska out of my new t-shirt commemorating our Kayak Club days out there, makes me wonder whether it’s time for some consequences. (The problem, of course, is that I can never catch her doing the dirty deeds, so a scolding after the fact doesn’t seem to do the trick.)

The experts might suggest that she has anxiety, born from too little exercise or too much separation. I’m gonna have to pack it in as a dog owner if that’s the case. 

Months ago, I mentioned to a friend that Cedar might have a shoe fetish. He sensed I was using the word wrong (and I was), reminding me that the word has a very definite sexual connotation. The more I mull, the more I wonder whether Cedar may have a special relationship with shoes that needs some exploration. Maybe I could get her a juicy, sexy shoe or sock poster to put up near her bed, so she can have some alone time? 

For now I guess I’ll ground her for the time it takes me to post this, leaving her to contemplate the consequences of her excesses, with the help of a book to allow her to embrace “the healing (heeling?) power of melancholy.”