Buried Treasure

So I will return to more indagations (is this an English word? Spellcheck thinks not...) of the dark side of love soon. But for now I wanted to follow-up on yesterday's post about Sancha's spaces. But first a transition, by way of seemingly unrelated anecdote.

After my father died (2002, suddenly and unexpectedly), my mother found a locked safe in his closet. My parents led very separate lives (my father had converted the basement of their house into his own gym and study), so it is entirely conceivable that my father could have skeletons in his closet (literally) and my mother wouldn't know about it. Anyway, my mother didn't know the combination, so they had to call a safe-breaking company to come blast it open. This takes a while to coordinate, and in the meantime, there was much speculation and anxiety. What was in that safe? Porn? Meth? Jimmy Hoffa? In the end, it turned out to be guns and survivalist/paramilitary catalogs. All legally registered (the guns, I don't think you have to register catalogs). My dad was ex-military, and he liked to go shoot for target practice, but he was also very pro-gun control and not a Unibomber type at all. So this was his dirty little secret/hobby/little-boy fantasy.

So, back to Sancha. As I mentioned yesterday, she had in the last year occupied my Target tub of sweaters. I resigned myself to never wearing those sweaters again (fortunately they aren't too necessary in New Orleans) and that was her space. Sancha never showed any interest in toys or balls, but she loved a good rawhide, and I always had some in store to give to her when she seemed interested. I often saw her devour them to a gelatinous stub, but I do admit noting that the outlay of rawhides often exceeded the gelatinous stubs discovered around the house. I didn't really pause to think about what she might be doing with the rest, just assumed she chewed them when I didn't see. Going through her sweater box today, however, I found some decidedly non-sweater objects buried like ancient indigenous potsherds at various levels going down to the bottom. Here is the result of today's archaeological dig:

 

I wonder if she forgot about them, or if it gave her comfort to know that they were there. As I look at my bed, I note a laptop, a stuffed raccoon, and three books. We had a lot in common.