I Have Not Finished

It looks like somebody put a hand grenade in a cloud. Piles of white fluff all over the living room floor. See, my dog isn't a dog but another avatar of Shiva. She destroys. Her non-toy tastes tend toward the pricey with fifty dollars being the common minimum value of things that she'll test the durability of, however, she isn't immune from slumming it up on occasion. For things that she is supposed to chew on she prefers soft and fluffy because hard plastic toys simply don't offer the same aftermath portrait.

This time she got ahold of Santa, the topper for a stocking full of chew toys that Virginia bought her for Christmas. The death depicted on my floor is surely enough to place me on the naughty list for the next several years. It didn't help that Santa had a squeaker in his head which gave her a reason to explore. Marine biologists say that sharks don't mean to bite so many people, they simply investigate new things with their teeth. I believe them. After removing the plastic disc with the precision of Dr. Roger Rabbit she felt the need to ensure that no other noise-making tumors were threatening Saint Nicholas. Now the sad, eyeless, bearded carcass is staring at me from the floor asking me how a benevolent God could allow such atrocities. I have no answer for it for because I haven't finished The Shack yet, but I resolve to at least donate to the relief fund. The money doesn't buy me relief though because I know that I should get on a plane because the airport is still intact. While I have no special skills to offer I have two strong hands and endless resolve. I can move rocks and honor the dead. The twisted threads that held the eyes judge me from the floor and I cannot meet their gaze.