He is sprinting around the house, butt tucked, weaving in and out of table legs, chair legs, furniture in general. The mixing pan tumbles to the floor after his boredom with the beaters lends him to explore the second shelf of the baker's rack again. Pounce. He leaps like a cat onto the pan. It spins wildly, making the sound of a whirling top.
"ROOF!" he hollers, pouncing again. He thinks this pan is an enemy focused on getting the best of him. He bats the pan with a paw, again it spins, whirling on it's metal bottom. And he's off, sprinting around the house, pouncing on the pan on his way back through.
His panting indicates no sign of slowing down. He seems to have forgotten just moments ago we went on a forty minute walk. He drank two bowls of water. He discovered a new puzzle toy that fed him food if he hit it the right way. He jumped over the back car seat net I put up--defeating the $24 dollar purchase entirely.
Around he goes. Flying into cabinets. Snatching the beat up paper towel tube and ripping it to pieces on his way by. My apartment is beginning to resemble a tornado shrewd household.
"Do you give him other things to chew on?" A friend asked, concerned that my hands had little chew cuts on them.
"Oh I give him stuff. Pretty much every piece of cardboard I let him rip to shreds. He gets my juicy boxes, toilet paper tubes, a coat hanger--well, he decided he got that one. But he's only chewed one thing I didn't want him to because he is so well equipped with chewing things."
And as I sit watching him fly around the house, I am laughing to myself. He is fully entertaining himself.
And I can not help but smile as he climbs onto the lower shelf of the baker's rack, where my microwave use to be, and decides THAT is where he is going to settle. Oh how things change. Wasn't too long ago that he slept UNDER the baker's rack.
What a happy dog.