Slaughterhouse Daycare

Each night at bedtime, Richard or I gather up the plush toys, chew toys, and marrow bones Willie has strewn throughout the house during the day.  We toss them all back into his crate in the kitchen to keep Willie company for the night — and to keep him occupied in case he wakes before we do.

Each morning before dawn I rise and head directly to the kitchen; Willie is awake by the time I get there (he’s heard me stirring overhead); he wags his tail though he’s not especially anxious to be released; if I busy myself with the kettle or any breakfast prep, he’ll lay his head back down and curl up to catch a few more minutes of sleep.  Once I open his crate, however, he goes right to work.

With efficiency and a great sense of purpose, Willie removes all the items in his crate – each stuffed hedgehog and fox, every engineered chewy and worked-over meat bone – and redistributes them throughout the house.  This must be done first thing, and each object requires a separate trip.  Like a child emptying a toy box, Willie returns again and again until his crate is empty, and I can’t help but smile at the sound of his rapidly approaching and receding footsteps – punctuated by the occasional squeak from a toy.  He seems so industrious and determined – as though this is a responsibility and one he takes quite seriously.   When Willie finally settles down for his morning shift of chewing, our house looks like a cross between a day care center and a butcher shop, with toys and bones strewn throughout the entire ground floor.