It was a goner before I even got there. How he got into my work bag and picked my favorite pen, I’ll never know, but the flap laid back and the tops of four of my five pens in the bag stood ready to help me work, but my favorite pen was gone.
He hid as soon as I started looking in my bag.
He guarded his crate and his bed with downcast eyes.
“Did you eat my pen?”
His head rested on his paws and under his chin, I saw the mangled tip.
“Give.”
He didn’t move.
“Give.” I said a little more forcefully.
He licked my hand trying to play nice.
I lifted his head only to discover what was left of my favorite pen.
I still haven’t found the insides.