I love my dog. He is a European Boxer. You know, the ones with the smooshed noses. The ones that are "so ugly, they're cute." We named him Duff. No not after Homer Simpson's beer of choice. After the Scottish word for "dark." He is such a calm dog. And a quick learner. However, he has some serious separation anxiety. He can't be left alone in the house, or car, or anywhere for more than five minutes.
Do it and we reap his destruction: garbage cans turned over and riffled through; bras, hats, shoes, toys torn to pieces; a puddle of drool; and yes, we even stumble across poop and pee in the unlikeliest of places (like on the couch). So we've taken to tying him up with a metal chain around a metal support beam in the carpet-less room of the basement. We tried a metal cage, but he is such a determined beast that he always found a way out (even through lock and rope).
When we do get back to him, it takes a good ten minutes for him to calm himself down. A process which sometimes involves him throwing up because he has gotten himself so worked up. It's always a pain having to clean up after him when we get home. But there is at least one part of the clean-up process with which Duff is willing to help: eating the vomit that he expelled moments earlier.
This afternoon, I had to run over to church to get some copying done. Ruthie wasn't home. I didn't want Duff running around outside by himself. We already lost one dog that way. So I quietly slipped out of the house and left Duff there, unchained. I wouldn't be gone long.
I was gone longer than I anticipated.
And, when I got home, there was a panting Duff to greet me at the door, an overturned garbage can in the kitchen. I don't know about the basement. Honestly, I'm afraid to go down there. And yes, there was the remains of a puddle of vomit.
My question is, who's the bigger fool? The dog for eating his vomit, or me for leaving him unattended.