In trouble with my wife because of my dog

Yet again, I have spent most of the weekend in the dog box.

Not because I was naughty, or overindulged, or was accused of flirting, or forgot a birthday, or underdelivered on a promise, although I may have done all the above as well.

No, I was in the dog box because of my dog. It started on Thursday, when the one who knows it all lost her spectacles.

As expected of me, I launched the biggest treasure hunt in history – not for the first time, I might add. I started searching the usual places: Under every couch and table, inside every couch, every closet, shelf and shoebox.

Needless to say, my dog was a very keen participant in this search and rescue mission.

Like a tail, he followed me on my quest through the house. He sniffed and prodded, even raising a false alarm by barking and snapping at the bedside table.

He was extremely pleased when I retrieved a three-day-old biscuit from behind it.

Next up, I searched the less obvious places, like the fridge and the freezer. History has a way of repeating itself and I have tasted success there before.

I remember very well how I found her phone in the freezer once and a brick of butter on her desk.

Still no luck. Next came emptying the dustbins.

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Not the most pleasant of tasks, but one I was prepared to complete to restore world order.

The dog thought he had hit the jackpot.

For the first time he had access to his dream treasure chest. But still no spectacles.

Friday morning and the search continued. I must admit, by that time I was starting to suspect that the dog could have been involved.

Every square millimetre of the house had been searched. I was again checking the laundry basket, nose-to-nose with the dog, when she entered the bathroom, triumphantly holding the remains of her glasses, chewed to smithereens.

The dog and I were immediately sentenced to canine prison.

Parole will be considered only once her R5 000 pair of spectacles have been replaced.