Meet the Airedales

Fortunately, my in-laws don't read my blog, so I can post this without warnings.

As in-laws go, I'm extraordinarily lucky. My mother-, father-, and sister-in law are all warm, intelligent people I'm happy to know. Even the aunts, uncles, and grandmas are good company! My relationship with my Airedales-in-law is slightly less agreeable, however.

That's right, Airedales-in law, as in, plural. As in, more than one.

Imagine a dog with the ebulliency of silly string. Make it waist-high, with gangly legs and a piercingly loud bark. On its back legs, it can reach the countertop to eat freshly baked brownies. One shake of its tail, and wine glasses rocket off tabletops. Now, multiply by two.

Say you have one Airedale? Okay, you're slightly imbalanced, but maybe you have a ranch. Or a vermin problem.

Two? You're certifiable. Call the psych ward.

The antics of Fiona are the subject of this comic strip. She's only about two years old, and she has a whopping case of separation anxiety. When left to her own devices, she tears apart whatever's handy: sock, shoe, camera, seat cushion. Most famously, she ate the carpet off the stairs the day after it was laid down, which was, incidentally, the night before our wedding. So along with caterers, guests, and a burgeoning bridal party, there was a carpet repair guy there in the milieu, trying to fix the damage before the photographer showed up.

They're dogs that provide the plot to stories of great disaster you'll tell for years.