I had to imprison Napodog today; he has figured out that while he is not allowed in the kitchen whilst I am home, that while I am away, there is no one to scold him and keep him from sticking his face into the garbage can, like a tiny hobo, to scavenge and rule his kingdom of filth. Several days this past week, I have come home and he has slunk to the front door to greet me, like he knows he’s done wrong and now has to face the tribunal. He will peek around the corner, survey the damage, and gauge my fury from a safe distance while I clean up peach pits and shredded saran wrap.

…He is lucky he’s cute or I’d have a new rug the approximate size of a twenty-pound dog.

Today, he didn’t even wait for me to leave the apartment. I was brushing my teeth and was struck by a fleeting premonition; one of those moments when you simply know something is happening that oughtn’t. Then I heard it: the sound of a tiny cheap aluminum garbage can with a pirate on front sliding across linoleum by act of dog nose.

“DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOG!” I cried, with all the fury of a Spartan (only one with softer abs). He bounded around the corner with yogurt on his face, completely unconcerned about hiding the evidence.

So now he’s doing hard time in his cage while I’m at work. I wonder how long it will take for him to become institutionalized?