Three years ago, we brought home our Golden pup. She’s from a litter of five, and we spent the first few weeks of her life visiting her and her sibs at the breeder trying to decide which one belonged to us. By the eighth week, we had to make a decision. This was it. So, off we went on our umpteenth country drive to Goldenland.

In the end, it was simple. We didn’t choose our pup, she chose us. She came and plopped her fat little Golden butt on my sneaker, while the four other little pups rolled and tumbled and chewed each others’ ears.

I looked down at this white furball on my shoe and said, “You’re gonna be a Gracie Allen, aren’t you?” Her little shoulders were shaking with laughter, I’m sure, and a “Lady, you don’t know the half of it.”  Gracie Allen has lived up to her name in every way. She’s a smart screwball who’s not afraid to make a fool of herself, much like her beloved namesake.

One of these blogs, I’ll tell you the bee story and the cliff story and…

Today, I’m thinking she’s not the only Gracie Allen in the house.

Who would do this? One year, Mr. G, honey gave me my very own little office toolkit. I’m sure it was self preservation. The message was clear. Keep your hands off my big red toolbox. And, he meant that in the nicest possible way.

My little blue toolkit has some pliers, a hammer, and screwdrivers with different heads on them that coordinate very nicely with screws with different heads on them, a glue gun that I’ve never quite gotten the hang of, and a tape measure, which I have gotten the hang of — love that automatic retraction button  — and a bunch of other stuff. I must say, I’ve used the hammer quite a bit. It’s great for spiders. However, if you give me anything like this you should put a skull and crossbones on it, because I’m sort of one socket short of a full wrench set, if you know what I mean, and I’m sure you do.

This brings us to the staple gun. I love the staple gun, as in true love. I needed the staple gun this morning in the worst way. What I couldn’t remember was whether or not it was loaded with staples. So, I took the little safety thingie off, held out my hand, pointed the staple gun at it, and fired.

Yes, there were staples in it and, yeah, there are no words. The answer to the question, Who would do this?, is me, me, me. Don’t tell Mr. G, honey. He thinks I’m smarter than that. Okay. Maybe not.

So, Miss Gracie. When you sat on my foot, it was just one Gracie Allen recognizing another.

I’m on the road today.

Elen