And the award for worst Christmas present received goes to my poor, innocent puppy. My husband, with good intentions, bought our dog a brand new bed for his crate. It was plush and comfortable. I could have fallen asleep on it. It had raised sides for his little head to rest upon (he loves a good pillow). It fit perfectly inside his little bin. River was excited about it as well. He immediately laid down on it, tail wagging with a stamp of approval.
The next day I arrived home from work to find the luxurious dog bed had spontaneously exploded into a million pieces, making River appear as though he were trapped inside a homemade snow globe. It took two garbage bags and a thorough shop vac cleaning to restore the living room to a habitable state. I’m sure he was just trying to delicately “fluff” his bed when the incident occurred. Who buys a self-imploding dog bed? Thankfully he was uninjured. I just picture the defenseless animal taking a snooze and then wham! Attacked by stuffing from every angle.
I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact that he’s a retriever, a breed known for chewing anything and everything they can fit in their mouth for the first five years of life. I’m sure the fact that his first dog bed died of the same fate is pure coincidence too.