To deal with Link's leash decorum, I carry treats on walks. I used to carry them in my shirt pocket. They're dry and not smelly... at least I didn't think so. Link hastens to differ.
It was really an accident, y'know? A totally, totally accident. And I thought it was Ok because my Dad saw that his shirt got out of the laundry and he didn't say anything. But then he washed it, and when it was dry, he started yelling. "You ate my shirt!"
He was in the basement and I hoped he was yelling at somebody else and if someone else was gonna get blamed that's their problem but there's no way to get in the basement except the stairs and I was on the stairs, so I guess not and anyway then he starts coming up the stairs with his shirt that I ate and he looks really mad so I went looking for somewhere else to wait but he followed me and waving his shirt and saying, "You ate my shirt" like it was the first time he said it each time but it wasn't so I ran into the kitchen but he came in the kitchen and put his hand through the hole I ate and said it some more.
I won't do that again. Probly.
I knew it wasn't a good time to say so, but it was his own fault. He takes treats with us on walks. He wants me to learn to sit down when I want a treat so he says "Sit" and does this thing with his finger like sticking it in honey and I sit and I get a treat. They're cool treats, stinky liver that's all hard and crunchy, and I don't mind the sitting part except it doesn't work sometimes, when I sit and sit and he doesn't get it. So I don't get it. Get it?
Anyway, at night he puts the treats in his shirt pocket and in the morning, when he has on blue jeans (only they are black. Go figure) he puts them in his pants and you can guess the pockets smell really interesting so one day I was super bored. I was so bored I counted the flickers in the back yard and threw the pillows on the floor. He doesn't get mad if I throw the pillows, only if I eat them. But they don't smell like stinky liver treats, so I didn't.
Then I smelled it. The treat smell. It was coming from the laundry and I just looked and there was the shirt. Good thing it wasn't his "blue" jeans, cause he really gets mad about them He yells at them sometimes when they won't button.
I don't know what the big deal is. He has about eleventeen black shirts. At least he didn't say, "It was my BEST shirt!" Whew. But I stuck my nose in the smell and I thought maybe, just maybe, there was still some old leftover treats so I kind of bit down and it tasted like treat shirt, so I ate the shirt part to get the treat part. There wasn't much treat part but it was on a lot of the shirt part and I didn't want to waste it.
Now he won't let me in the laundry room when he's gone. Talk about bored.