At least, that appears to be my Miniature Schnauzer Gracie's idea of pure joy. I've had a bad cold for the past week and my nose runs non-stop when I lay down. It's horrible. Stuffy nose, runny nose, sore throat, sore nose, coughing, sneezing. I hate colds. Anyway, I've blown my nose so much I gave up on Kleenex's and moved to toilet paper (ahhhh . . . thick Charmin feels so good on my poor nose!). The roll goes with me in the car so that I can blow my nose on my daily commute, to the end table while I'm on the couch and to the nightstand when I sleep (or try to, anyway). Toilet paper has held a certain fascination for Gracie since she was a puppy. Well, paper of any shape or form, has fascinated her, but toilet paper is particularly tempting, so I usually keep it out of her line of sight. Apparently, I forgot to do that Thursday since I was feeling better and didn't have to take it with me in the car for my morning commute.

My cell phone rang about 3:55 Thursday afternoon. My dear daughter was home from school. I answered the phone with a smile and a cheerful, "Hey, kiddo!"

Her voice was hard to read at first. In trouble? Bad day at school?

"What's up?" I asked.

"Your dog really made a mess today."

Funny how she's always "my" dog when something happens. I asked, "Which one?" I knew it could have been either of them, though Gracie is usually the instigator of trouble.

"Gracie," came the prompt reply. "And I know it was her because she's hiding behind the coffee table."

I groaned, "What'd she do?" (and why, if she knows enough to know to hide, does she not NOT do whatever she's hiding for???)

"Unrolled the toilet paper. It's in the living room, your bedroom, your bathroom-"

"OK," I cut her off, not really wanting to know how many square feet of our house was now decorated with slobbery toilet paper. "I'll deal with it when I get home."

My daughter giggled and said, "I think she had a lot of fun, Mom!"

I'm sure she did . . . without a doubt, she probably had a grand ol' time with one end of the toilet paper clutched in her mouth, head held high as she raced around the house, probably urged on with excited barking from the other one. There are days I would love to be a fly on the wall . . .