Well, not exactly. But while here for the wedding, my dear friends Maggs and Chris gave Zillekins three noisy toys, we love the active toys for three year olds but not the noisy ones. Three. It is a measure of my deep and abiding love for Maggs and Chris that I did not murder them and bury their bodies on the back acre. They gave Zille a ladybug that makes a high-pitched squeak (and whose legs stick out when squeezed), a ball that does a medium-high squeak, and a knobbly purple heart thing that, well, quacks.
Previously when feeling bored in the mornings, Zille would go into her crate and play food bowl hockey, which involved a lot of banging around and had also chipped the tips of a couple of her canine teeth. Now when feeling bored on a Sunday morning, Zille goes and gets the knobbly purple heart thing that quacks (KPHTTQ) and throws that around instead. This is a game that involves lots of scufflings and thumpings and also, of course, quackings. Quack. Quack quack. Quack quack quack.
Zille finds this endlessly entertaining. Her human beings, on the other hand, tend to cringe when it happens because scufflequackthumpquackscufflequackquack is not necessarily what one wants to hear at 0600 on a Sunday morning when one is otherwise contemplating pancakes and laundry and a trip into town for the week’s supplies.
I love you, Maggs and Chris, but I’m totally frisking you and searching all your packages the next time you come to visit.