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I tried going to bed early one night. Ava, my 13-year-old dog of indeterminate breed, was very restless, though—pacing back and forth between the kitchen, bedroom and living room. She finally came in and lay down, and after a while I heard lick ... lick ... tear.
Now Ava has been known to raid a trash basket or two in her day. Eat the odd paper towel, chew on a cardboard food box to get all the tasty bits. I got up, assuming she'd gotten ahold of one of those cardboard boxes or something, but I was stunned to see I was wrong.
Ava was lying happily on her bed, eating my Greek flashcards. The verbs, in fact. They are cardstock pieces held together by a metal ring—she had brought the whole ring in and was tearing off cards one by one. After I confiscated the cards, she resumed her restless pacing—probably searching for the stack of adverbs, or maybe the expletives.
I went out to the living room to open up the computer, and she lay down in front of her food dish and forced herself to eat the pricey, nutritionally balanced dog food I cruelly serve up for her. Which clearly does not ease her hunger for knowledge.
Marybeth Lavrakas, Durham