where's my shoe?

Some time ago, in a fit of pique, my dog took one of my new shoes and hid it somewhere. I suspect that she may even have buried it in the back yard.

This annoys me tremendously. You see, I have problem feet--the kind you can't really fit very well, and that nearly always hurt even when the shoes do fit--and those shoes were really comfortable. AND cute.

Now I have only one.

It's in my closet now, awaiting hopefully the return of its mate. And in the mean time, I'm wearing Tevas--because that's all that fits.

My dog and I have always had, shall we say, a vexed relationship. She is very bullheaded, and doesn't take kindly to the idea that I am a human--and therefore the leader in this relationship--and that she is a dog.

We have ongoing struggles about who is going to lead during walks. We have ongoing issues about the hierarchy in the family line-up. When I hug my daughter, she's right there, butting in. If--god forbid--my daughter should vacate her bed during the night, the dog hops right up in there in her place. There's no returning once that spot has been left--not for no reason, no how, as Chaucer would say. It's hers.

And if you should annoy her, she always gets even. She HAS to have her walk every day. Or else. She MUST have her lovies. No guests allowed--that makes her jealous. Usurpers are not taken lightly at all. She lets this be known to all, loudly and in no uncertain terms.

And so my shoe is gone. I've gone through the entire house. I've even gone so far as to systematically organize closets I would otherwise never have touched in a million years. Every day I look at the dog and I ask her, "Where's my shoe?

She's buried it. One day I'll find it, mildewed, smelly, and chewed.

It makes me so sad.