Yesterday, as I described the juvenile delinquents in action, I made a comment about a screw being missing and mused if they had stolen my tools. You scoff. But let me explain why . . .
It is the fall of 1993 and my very first Siberian, Nikita, is laying in the yard chewing on a toy. The other dogs, Cocoa and Ginger, are off playing. I am planning on mowing the grass, but, unfortunately, am working on the lawnmower instead. Doesn’t matter. It is a beautiful fall day and I am enjoying watching the young puppy Nikita enjoy some freedom in the fenced yard (as opposed to her run since she is still learning manners).
Coming to a critical component in the lawnmower, I reach to my right for a screwdriver. My hand touches only grass. I look over and do not see the tool. Anywhere. Now that is funny – I am sure I had it. After a few minutes of searching, I shrug, go into the garage, and grab another screwdriver.
Settling back down, I work for a while, lay the screwdriver down to my side, work some more, and reach for the screwdriver. Not there. Huh? Ok, this time I KNOW I had it, so now I am convinced I am missing two. Where in the world could I have put it?
Suspiciously, I scan the yard. Toward the back on the hill are Cocoa and Ginger. Nikita is laying in the grass about 20 feet away from me still contentedly working on her toy. None of them look out of place.
I search and search, but no tools. I go back to the garage and get a third screwdriver. Work for a few minutes, lay the screwdriver down beside me, and continue working. Except I am really looking at the screwdriver out of the corner of my eye. And, within seconds, the grey and white muzzle comes into my vision and picks up the screwdriver.
In disbelief, I am watching Nikita – who, mind you, is no older than 4 months – walk across the yard with my screwdriver in her mouth. She enters her run, walks over to her dog box which is elevated off of the ground and places the screwdriver under the box. She then walks back out to the yard, finds her toy, lays down and returns to chewing. No emotion, no skulking, no running around. Simple, mechanical mischeviousness.
I get up, walk into her run and lift the dog box. She is instantly beside me snorting her disgust – not fair, not fair. Under the box, I find not only my three screwdrivers, but also various other tools and artifacts.
In telling the story later that day, I joked that she was building her own toolbox so that she could dismantle her run, open the door to the house, raid the refrigerator, and generally create havoc at her own pace. As she grew older, and I got to know the Siberian Husky breed better, I kept telling the story, but stopped joking that she was building her own toolbox. It had become a much more serious thought and worry.
You have Siberian Huskies. Do you know where your tools are?