About 4 p.m. yesterday I called Mike to see how his day was going and to ask my daily question, “What’s Beary doing?”

Mike chuckled and said, “Beary ate your new shoes.”

“What?!” This is not funny. Is he laughing? My mom just bought me new black heels for my birthday, which I’d worn once or twice.

“Yea, he ate one of your shoes,” Mike said, now serious. He could tell I was irritated. “He got it out of the closet.”

I was so mad. I got off the phone with Mike angry he didn’t keep our bedroom door closed. About 10 minutes passed as I typed away at my computer. Then the guilt set — why was I angry at Mike for our little puppy’s shoe fetish? It’s my own fault. I should have fixed our over-the-door shoe rack. I should have closed the bedroom door. I called Mike and apologized. And I brought home chocolate.