call of the wild

Tiny bits of fluff and faux fur have invaded our floors as of late. No matter where I look, there they are, the not-so-subtle reminders that our little chupacabra has discovered the joy of totally de-stuffing his toys. Gone are the days of merely inflicting mortal wounds. This chupacabra's phaser settings are now set to total evisceration.

It may sound odd, but I am charmed by manifestations such as these of Baxter's instinctive behavior. Traces of wolf, all packed into a cute sausage body, tempered by sweetness and innocence. I love when he's chasing bunnies, gleefully yipping at ear piercing levels, with legs furiously spinning in pursuit. I love when I see signs of the wolf that was in serious de-stuff mode, having left all the innards of fluff and plastic for the rest of us while he optimistically searched for the creamy edible center. And I love how he never tires of his toys, even when they are deflated and in pieces.

It used to be that just snips of thread and scraps of fabric disrupted the canvas of our flooring, but Baxter's chupacabric contributions of nibbled extremities and puffy white fiberfill whispers lend much needed depth to our growing masterpiece. Eighteen years in the making, the canvas of our floor says as much about us as any biography ever would. Watch out world, a little wolf lives here.