Milton ate all the buttons off my duvet cover.

At least, I’m pretty sure it was Milton. It might have been Veronica who was the one I found inside the duvet cover, but it’s so much more likely that she waited until someone else did it for her that my money is still on Milton. Milton is living proof that being brainless makes you happy. I’m sure someday he’ll grow up and be very smart, but at the moment, Milton has no fear and no boundaries, which pretty much makes the world his oyster, which he would eat, along with the edge of my post-it flip chart, the pizza I had on the nightstand, my antique wicker side table, and those duvet cover buttons. Milton also chases the cat after being told many times not to, leaps from everything he stands on including the floor, and runs through leaves that are bigger than he is with wild abandon. I need to be more like Milton: the only way through it is to do it, so you might as well enjoy the ride.

On the other hand, a little self-control is a good thing. He sat on my laptop and did something that froze it. He managed to climb up on my sideboard and then tried to jump off (I caught him). And he continually gets himself lost under the duvet. One thing about having four of one breed, you really notice their quirks. I knew that Wolfie was a burrower like most dachshunds because they were bred to go down badger holes, so squirming into dark places under things is the best thing ever for them, but I didn’t realize what I’d gotten into until I had four of them crawling under the covers. Lucy the beagle mix just looks at them, rolls her eyes, and goes back to sleep.

In the afternoon, when the sun’s out, they each pursue their own interests:

That’s Veronica languishing, Pink looking for somebody to beat up, Lucy pretending she doesn’t know them, and Milton making his move on my laptop in the foreground. He’s a happy dog.

Thank God I’m out of duvet buttons.