The Nylabone police

Like so many topics in the dog world, the jury is split on Nylabones. Some folks won’t let their dogs near them because they swear Nylabones cause fractured teeth. Other folks love them and feel they are safe chew toys. Phoenix is the first dog I’ve ever owned who would give a Nylabone the time of day. He got started on them when he was a baby and was trying to eat my house. Compared to carpet and extension cords, Nylabones were the definition of safety. He’s loved them ever since. When he’s running around the house, he usually has a ball or a Nylabone in his mouth.

Phoenix’s newest Nylabone is shaped like a dumbbell, with knobby ends and a rubber-covered bar in the middle. I’d never bought one like this before and Phoenix immediately fell in love with it. Except for meals, I don’t think he put it down for the first three days. Or nights.

Time: Midnight
Place: our bedroom
Scene: Everyone is asleep. Sort of.

Sound of a dog chewing a Nylabone drifts up from my side of the bed.

Me: Groan.

Phoenix: Nibble-nibble-gnaw-scrape-growl-chomp.

Me: Phoenix?

Phoenix: Nibble-nib . . . uh-oh.

Me: Are you chewing on that Nylabone in here?

Phoenix: No.

Me: You’re a terrible liar. You can’t chew on your bone in the bedroom in the middle of the night.

Phoenix: Why not?

Me: It keeps the humans awake.

Phoenix: Too bad.

Me: Yes, it is too bad. Bring me the bone.

Phoenix: Bitch.

Me: Get over it. Bring me the bone.

He reluctantly brings me the Nylabone. I put it next to the clock radio.

Phoenix is now standing by the bed, his head resting on the mattress, about 2 inches from my nose.

Me: What are you doing?

Phoenix: Staring at my bone.

Me: Go lie down.

Phoenix: Old Jedi mind trick. You will give me the bone.

Me: You are insane. Go to sleep.

Phoenix: Noooooo! Bone!

Me: I can’t sleep with you staring at me.

Phoenix: Gimme the bone. I’ll quit staring.

Me: You sound like the grinder-mixer when you chew on that thing. (For the non-agricultural among you, a grinder-mixer is a large machine used to prepare livestock feed. It is, well, loud.)

Phoenix: Sorry.

Me: You are not.

Phoenix: I’ll go chew it in the living room.

Me: No. Then it will sound like a grinder-mixer in the living room in the middle of the night.

Phoenix: Bitch.

Me: You’ve made that point already.

Phoenix: Staring. Staring. Staring.

Me: You’re making me crazy.

Phoenix: Yep. (Tail swishes)

Me: I’m putting your bone on top of the headboard where you can’t see it. If you wait until I’m sleep and then jump up there and grab it and stomp on my face, I will put you in your box for the rest of the night.

Phoenix: You’re really crabby.

Me: Sleep deprivation.

Phoenix: Then go to sleep. Go . . . to . . . sleep. I’m being good. See?

Me: I love you but I don’t trust you.

And that explains why there was a Nylabone in the refrigerator the next morning.