Saki: Pen Eater

At least he didn't eat the wires—this time.

Saki eats whatever’s available. A sock, a couch, a banana, a pen. He doesn’t distinguish. It’s all good. See those paw prints on the floor? Those are Saki prints left over from his pen-eating endeavor. We all thought he was chewing on one of his toys—of which he has like one hundred, or maybe just ten. But, all the time, he was sitting under Joan’s computer desk—chomp, chomp, chomp—chewing on a black fine-point Uniball pen, dribbling ink all over his front paws, turning his tongue an unsightly somewhat Chow-Chow gray, looking very cute, looking like a little doggy angel who could do no wrong.

A long bath ensued. Then came the blow-drying, the tub scrubbing, and the ink removal. He still doesn’t get it. A toy, a pen, a ball, a tree, a chair leg—it’s all within the realm of juicy eating possibilities.

I marvel at the way the world itself is Saki’s silver lining. It's a special talent, I guess.

Best wishes, Juno