Our next outing was to the toy store. The one that lets you bring your dogs inside. With the understanding that you’ll keep your dog leashed, I know, but trust me, keeping all six leashed would have been—worse.

So we went in after I made sure they understood they could each buy one thing. One thing, got it? Okay.

This was Snookums’ first time, and she was a little afraid, so I had to go with her to pick out her toy. I set her down, and she toddled up and down the aisles, looking back to make sure I was still with her, to make sure she was still with me. We went right through the stuffed toys aisle, and through the treats aisle, past the grooming aids, and the fashion accessories to—the cat section? There she discovered a bin full of squeaky mouse toys. She didn’t just stick her head in and get one. Of course not. She jumped right into the bin. All nine pounds of her. Once in, she pounced—squeak!—and pounced again—squeak! She giggled at me. And pounced again—squeak! I reached down and picked her up, one moist squeaky mouse in her mouth. She burrowed into her snuggly thing, completely disappearing. Squeak! Okay, one down, five to go.

We found Hunk and Little Miss at the collar and leash display, sitting politely, though with controlled interest, waiting for me to get what they had their eyes on. They couldn’t reach—well, they could, but they weren’t going to. Good dogs. I moved my hand—squeak!—from one item to the next until I got a bark. From Little Miss. At the thick black leather studded collar. Okaaay. A few seconds later, Hunk barked. I had my hand on the pink rhinestone encrusted collar. Hm. Either they’re engaged or they’re experimenting with cross-dressing. Then again, far be it for me to our stupid gender categories on dogs.

Chum came trotting around the corner, a smallish basketball in his mouth. Of course. He’s a ball dog. Or maybe he’d just watched Air Bud a lot.

Kessie found us next, dragging something, with great effort, ass end in the air. I couldn’t see what—ah—a 100-pack of bright fluorescent green tennis balls.

Okay, off to the checkout. We stood in line. Squeak! The cashier smiled, as she dealt with the customer ahead of us. Squeak! She smiled again and snuck a glance at the lump in the snuggly thing that was Snookums. Then it was our turn.

“Hi, how are—” Squeak! “What have you got in there?” She babytalked to Snookums. “Let me see,” she coaxed, “what have you got?” Squeak! She gently pulled back a corner of the snuggly. A teeny little nose appeared. Then a teeny little muzzle appeared, jaws clamped tight. “Have you got a mouse?” Snookums shook her head back and forth, a tail hanging out of her mouth.

“Do you need me to get the tag for you?” I asked.

She looked at our line-up. “It’s only a buck. Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay, thanks.” I reached down then to get Kessie’s bag of tennis balls. She wouldn’t let go. Silly me. What was I thinking? I picked her up then, still holding on to her bag of tennis balls, and set her on the conveyor belt. She stood there, the bag as big as her. The cashier activated the belt. Surf city, here we come! She scanned the tag as Kess went by.

Chum was next in line. He put his paws up, set his basketball carefully onto the belt, and gently rolled it toward the cashier with his nose. Okay, he had watched Air Bud. A lot.

Hunk and Little Miss walked past next, each with the other’s collar—or not. They graciously allowed me to take the collars, get them scanned, then give them back.

Then we heard a crash over in the stuffed toy section. Spunky Doo—where was Spunky Doo? Dare I call him? And hear half a dozen more crashes as he came racing to answer my call? No, give him another couple seconds. We heard another crash, a little closer. That made just two, please note. Then we saw him bounding around the corner and—what the—? He was wearing his toy. A giant purple furry octopus was somehow wrapped around his neck, its garish head appearing to rise out of his own, making him look like some ridiculous two-headed cartoon alien. And he had a huge caveman rawhide bone in his mouth. Must’ve been three feet across. That was two things. But okay. The brontosaurus bone was probably going to save a dining room set. He got in line with us at the checkout, relieved to have made it in time. With no idea how ridiculous he looked. Then again, given the grin on his face, he was probably perfectly aware of how ridiculous he looked.

Seeing that it was his turn, he eagerly stepped forward. Whack! The brontosaurus bone wouldn’t fit. Spunky Doo backed up and stepped forward again. Whack! Oddly enough, it still wouldn’t fit. He backed up and stepped forward a third time. Whack! (Then again, about that dining room set…) Hunk, until now sitting patiently beside Little Miss on the other side of the checkout, lay down. This was going to take some time.

“If we don’t help him, how many more times do you think he’ll do that?” The cashier asked, barely concealing her laughter. Good question.

Spunky Doo backed up again. “No, wait!” I reached out my hand. He looked at it curiously, then he looked up at me, then back down at my hand, the octopus head bobbing up and down as he did so. What? Hunk groaned.

“Give. Let Go. Release.” No response. “Look, it won’t fit sideways, give it to me, and I’ll carry it through for you, the other way.” Oh. Why didn’t you say that?

So we got Spunky Doo through the checkout and then headed out to my car. Once there, everyone looked pointedly at Spunky Doo’s brontosaurus bone, then at the car, then at the bone, then at me. Right. Someone’s liable to get knocked out. Probably me. I opened the trunk and put the bone inside. Spunky Doo jumped in after it, his purple octopus head bobbing up and down. No—okay, yeah—no, get in the back seat, you.