Our dogs have alternate personalities. Layla is a sweet southern lady and Charlie is, well, I guess a little like this dog, sounding like a lovable doofus who is crazy about food:

“The maple kind, yeah?”

I also just finished the first book of Harry Potter. I know, I know, I’m like, a billion decades behind. Anyway, perhaps it was meant to be so I could be introduced to this “Like a G6″ Harry Potter spoof and love it:

The word “Hufflepuff” has never sounded so bad ass.

For the record, I’ve never heard the original song this is parodying and yet I am still sure I’d rather be walking around singing “Like it’s Quidditch” than whatever it is the actual song says.

It’s amazing how much she looks like a golden retriever from one angle and a border collie from another. And her ears are just so adorable!

We spent a lot of time standing on Rob’s porch while he kicked the ball and she ran off to chase it and bring it back.

The Krupickas also have a 15-year-old cat named “Peake” (and recently lost a cat named “Chesa” – get it, Chesa, Peake and Bay). She didn’t come out while I was there, unfortunately. But I am told she is “the loudest, most people-friendly cat you’ll meet.” She is relentless in her insistence on being pet, getting right up in your face. And then, when you finally give in to pet her, she’ll drool all over you. Lovely!

Rob told me that Peake was born on a farm and I pictured a barn cat sleeping in bails of hay. Then he added, “A shrimp farm.” Maybe her early life wasn’t quite as I imagined.

After meeting Charlie I learned very quickly that if he insists there is a small piece of food hiding somewhere (say behind a shut door or underneath the couch) then that something is most definitely present and Charlie is not resting until it is in his belly. Many times Charlie has sat in front of a closet, clawing under the door, trying desperately to squeeze his snout through the oh-so-small opening. He will stare at me with a pathetic look, whining, until I’ve opened the door for him. “There’s nothing there, Charlie!” But sure enough, once the door is open he’ll find and gobble up the lone piece of kibble and happily trot off. I no longer doubt him.

So this morning, when I heard Charlie whining and clawing under the couch after eating his breakfast, I knew a piece of his kibble must have fallen under there. Standard operating procedure for situations like this says I slide the couch out and let him wander around behind it, sifting through the dust and dog hair to find his stray kibble. And sure enough, he quickly found his kibble and wandered off.

Meanwhile, quietly watching all of this was from the front of the couch was our little Layla, so innocent with her giant Cavalier King Charles Spaniel eyes. A few minutes after replacing the couch I heard lighter scratching coming from the couch area. When I walked over I saw Layla’s little butt and tail waving in the air as she had her nose shoved underneath the couch, clawing for who knows what.

I just stood there and shook my head. Layla looked at me, expecting me to move the couch for her. “That’s not how things work in this house, Little Girl, ” I informed her. Under our roof, your nose has to earn its couch-moving respect. If Charlie was satisfied that all the kibble was gone from the couch then so was I.

Fortunately, Layla quickly got the message and decided a nap was a better way to spend the rest of her morning. If there was indeed kibble left behind Charlie would not have given up so easily. The little girl has a long way to go.

Well, a hoarder lives amongst us. Our little Cavalier has a problem:

This is about a week's worth of collecting, all done by her.

A very common conversation in our house goes something like this:

Me: Have you seen my [article of clothing]?
Melanie: Did you check Layla’s crate?

Are there dog hoarding specialists? Should we seek help?

Or perhaps Layla is smarter than we think and she’s secretly running a business selling all these items on eBay. Hey, that’s my shoe! It’s not for sale!