Tornado

I could see Turbo standing in the picture window when I was several houses away, quivering with anticipation, ears perked up. I had a difficult time getting past him so that I could get into the house and shut the door to keep a certain kitty who climbs trees from running straight up the neighbor's oak, but as I managed to eek past, I discovered what happens when you leave a greyhound alone and then get home from work later than usual.

The entire living room floor was covered with stuff. Grace's shoes were everywhere, along with a pair of shorts, a long blue strip of plastic, the shredded remains of a buffalo jerky package, crumbs of buffalo jerky, and one of those little car packs of windex wipes. That had also been chewed on, almost as though doggie logic told Turbo that since the packages were about the same size and made of similar material, they must both contain buffalo jerky. It didn't appear, though, that he'd managed to puncture the package and poison himself.

I said, "My, you were a destructive little doggie today!" and he wagged his tail in cheerful agreement.