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IMAG0675Sometimes I think Sugar is a mind reader. It’s not just that she can read my body language when we are going for a walk, or that she knows just what look to give me to get an extra treat. Yes, she’s a bit spoiled. The worst part of her being a mind reader is that she always knows when I’m going to do a toy purge.

She doesn’t lack for toys (see above, re: spoiled). But she also destroys them. She has slowed down a bit, destruction-wise, as she has gotten older, but she still leaves fluff and random toy limbs strewn about. If the toy is completely destroyed, she doesn’t mind me tossing it. If, however, it has some “life” left in it- more than one limb still attached, some facial features left whole, that sort of thing- she doesn’t think it is ready to leave the house. If I think about it, I “pull” the toys while she is outside. I usually don’t think about it, though, until I’m in the midst of cleaning.

The usual scenario involves me filling a bag or basket with stuffing and bits of cloth, then trying to hide the toys that have been chosen in the bottom. Sometimes she lets them be, but most of the time she pulls them back out when my back is turned. I try to choose toys that she hasn’t played with in a while, but she seems to have a hard time letting them go, even if they are dirty and bedraggled.

This most recent purge went a little differently. The night I started thinking about purging them, she proceeded to play with every single one. All of them.

She pulled them out of her toy basket one by one, shook them, and brought them over to where I was sitting as if to say “See, I still like ALL of these!”. When I told Mr. Gecko about it, she proceeded to pick up one of the two I was planning on tossing and brought it over to me. It was easier when she completely ripped them to pieces.

I wrote the preceding at night, the day after I had started thinking about purging the toys. The next day, I was expecting a fit to be thrown, a struggle to straighten up, a surreptitious effort to retrieve the purged toys from the trash bag. None of that happened. Instead, my unpredictable little mind reader curled up on the couch and watched as I swept up all the stuffing and bits, and tossed the monkey and the turtle in the garbage. Huh.

Maybe she knows about the stuffed moose I smuggled in from the thrift store.

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