Sometime last month, Kris came up to me and asked me, "Are those Heather's clothes in our room?"
I had just moved the basket of Heather's clothes from our room to her room, maybe an hour or so before, so answered, "No, I already moved them."
He was insistent, however, and asked me to look at the clothes. Fine, I'll go look at the clothes. I already put them away, why do I have to look at the clothes again? I stomped into our bedroom.
To find Heather's pajamas, and a pair of underwear all chewed up.
The underwear explained the bumping noises I heard earlier near her door: they were Bella rooting through her clothes basket.
So, I went over to Heather's door, and knocked on it. After she answered, I tried to explain through the door that, well, Bella really likes the taste of women's dirty underwear, and, well, could she please keep her bedroom door closed so that Kris' dog didn't eat all of her underwear?
She couldn't undertsand me through the door, and yelled, "What?"
At which point, Kris burst into laughter at the awkwardness of my delivery. Hi, my dog likes dirty underwear, but only girl underwear. How's that for an ice breaker at parks?
I opened the door and was barely able to explain everything; Kris' laughter making me laugh, too. Heather laughed, too, and, okay, dumb dog.
This weekend, we washed, dried and nearly folded every piece of laundry we own that wasn't already on our bodies. I did my "Count the underwear and see if you need to buy more" ritual when we had finished the laundry.
I then went online to buy more. On Kris' credit card.
In four days, I'll have 24 more pairs of underwear.
Which will probably last me a month.