OK, not entirely. But darn close.
My dining room is in transition (a polite way of saying I can't afford decent furniture) into what I'd like to be a study where I can do most of my work on a table that could also serve as a dining table during those, like, 3 times a year when people eat in this room. (Snacking while I google doesn't count.)
Anyhoo, in an effort to organize all the paperwork I've brought home from my office I made tidy stacks on the floor and meant to spend an afternoon listening to 'This American Life' archives and sorting all the stuff into some sort of system that would fit on a table in the corner.
You see where this is going, of course.
The dogs never touched the piles.
Til just now, when they made it the site of a spirited wrestling match--sloshing the papers everywhere, probably enjoying the added excitement of a slippery texture beneath them--and then B-dog snagged a page from my gradebook and chomped through Pei Lin C. to Geraldine L.
I can appreciate that this sort of thing would horrify a non-dog-person (NDP), but all I can say is "Yeah, I left the piles on the floor" and appreciate this spectacular mess.