Madam Bigglesworth

I was talking to Sam on my way to work this morning, and he posited an interesting theory: that my Labrador, Madison, is in fact much smarter than I give her credit for (eg, the crash helmet, safety harness and insatiable love of squeak toys are all part of an elaborate ruse). Not content to merely shatter the paradigm I have of "lovable pet" he went on to suggest that, in my absence, my faithful companion has devised a Houdini-like means of escaping her crate, whereupon she celebrates by cavorting around my apartment, careful not to make any messes lest I become wise.

I had nearly dismissed this absurd notion from memory when an interesting turn of events gave me pause. My International Technical Communication class was canceled this morning because Dr. Malone is sick, and so I came home approximately an hour earlier than normal. When I opened the door, I was warmly greeted by an unrestrained canine, who took one look at me and, shoulders slouched, retreated to her crate.

I can't help but wonder: if I had come home an hour later, would I have made the same discovery? Could I have forgotten to lock one of the doors, or is my dog an evil genius? Further, am I in danger? I like to think that I've built great rapport with Madison by continuing to feed her and care for her, but I'm afraid some of my intentions may have been misunderstood. I didn't worry at the time how she wouldn't understand that the humiliation of a bath was good for everyone, nor did I worry about the vehemence with which I scolded her when she messed on the carpet. Suddenly, that she shredded a DVD copy of "Monster-in-Law" seems much more significant. Though she perhaps is not yet conversant in English, she may have merely been expressing refined taste in cinema.

The days of blissful ignorance are over, I'm afraid. My dog has matured, and now I've got to apologize for a conspicuously missing uterus.