What a funny dog my Frankie is.

The other day, we got attacked by these two racoons. Lots of fur flying, weird animal sounds, me trying fruitlessly to kick the larger racoon, etc. Lots of unwanted (for me) drama at the end of a nice walk just yards from our gate.

So yesterday, two+ weeks later, Frankie and I were at the pet store buying him food and whatnot, and I see this adorable fuzzy racoon toy. When you squeeze (bite) its tail, it squeaks, and when you squeeze (bite) its mid-section, it goes “wonk.” He’s gonna love it, right?

So, I introduce it to him when we get back home, and he plays with it a bit; seems a tad surprised that it wonks sometimes and squeaks other times, but then doesn’t show much interest after that.

Later that night, as usual, he’s asleep in the front yard while I hack on the computer or watch hulu in the living room in the back of the house. So ungrateful. Anyway, he shows up after a couple of hours at the open door of the living room that leads out onto the back deck. I notice his nose is very dirty. Hey, I asked him if he’d been digging, but like a typical teenager, OK, in dog years technically he’s 21, he refused to answer.

This afternoon, while hacking out on the front porch, I realize I don’t see the racoon anywhere. I start looking for it. I can’t find it. Then, I discover this:

Yup. The silly git buried the cute little fuzzy racoon toy!