I was in the bedroom getting ready for work when it became strangely quiet. After ignoring it for a couple of minutes because it was, well, quiet, I heard a little noise that was vaguely familiar. I called "Ray. Ray. What are you doing Ray?" No response. No jingle of dog tags. No happy, good dog walking in to the room. That familiar feeling of Oh No-ness started to creep over me.
I was fastening the back onto my earring when I walked into the upstairs hallway. Ray was lying down with his back end toward me, his front end was picking at something. I got close enough to see.
Ray had Gregg's hapless black, tasseled loafer between his paws (there are two links there to Ray's other run-ins with loafers). The loafer was, once again, de-tasseled. I picked up the shoe and removed the tassel from Ray's mouth (y'know, they just must have good mouth feel or be fun to chew on). It didn't look too bad. I figured I could find a cobbler's near the meeting I had to attend and see if they could re-attach the tassel while I waited.
When I got out of the meeting I called my BFF, Joanne and asked her to Google cobblers in the area (what did we ever do before the advent of cellphones and the internet). She helpfully provided me with multiple listings for shoe reparists. I went to the closest. I explained the situation to the man working the front desk, showed him a picture of Ray, and asked if he could re-attach the tassel while I waited. The man showed me pictures of the litter of shih tzu puppies that his dog had just had and retired to the back to pass the shoe on to little old shoemaker. Ten minutes later he handed me Gregg's shoe wrapped in a plastic bag. "Whoever fixed it before didn't do it right," he said, "Now, it's like new, he'll never know." I paid the man and thanked him profusely
I'm sure Ray thought he was doing Gregg a favor by pulling that faulty tassel off of his loafer. But just in case Gregg doesn't see it that way, I think I'll just keep this under my hat.