In observing Oscar throughout his first 7 months with us, I've drawn numerous conclusions about his personality. I know his likes, his dislikes, what will cause him to pee on the floor, the exact moment he'll poop on the floor, how many laps he'll take before he finally lays down for a snooze, what will make him stop whining and what will make him start. In that time, I've also developed a few theories about the doodle's previous lives.
Let's start with the most recent life from which he's been reincarnated. I suspect he spent his days bussing tables. Probably at a Frisch's or Shoney's where large families with ridiculous numbers of children flock at all hours of the day and night. If my hunch is correct, he did not enjoy his career as a bus-boy in the previous life. His grudge manifests itself in his constant need to pull my towels from wherever they are neatly folded or hanging and drag them all over the floor. I will pick them up 284 times a day (no exaggeration) and he will take them down 285 times. I guess that's his way of telling the world he's "thrown in the towel" on that career?
Prior to his life as a bus boy, I think Oscar was a windshield washer. You know, the guys that walk up to your car in a sketchy area of town and as you quadruple-check your door locks and pray for the light to turn green, they start cleaning your car windows and then expect you to pass an Abe Lincoln or at least a Big Mac out your barely-open window? Oscar hates windshield wipers. He wants to fight them. A car ride on a rainy day with the doodle in tow is quite dangerous. Think Sonic the Hedgehog on speed in a 5x5 box, except you're driving on the highway at like 60mph and he's not a hedgehog, he's a doodle (thank God because that would hurt) and he's literally bouncing off the windshield with every swipe of the wipers and squealing so loud you're sure he's about to shatter any window in a 50 mile radius. Scary.
Finally, I'm almost certain he was an Ancient Egyptian scribe. Why Ancient Egyptian? I couldn't think of another ancient culture right now... and he's brown. And it probably was a sucky job, which is why he still hates it. So it's settled. Anyway, besides the occasional piece of mail, Oscar rarely chews up anything that doesn't belong to him (now, if only American Express would accept "my dog ate my mail" as a legit excuse to not pay my bill). He has, however, found any and every writing instrument within his little doodle reach and destroyed it. He even gets them out of my purse, off the counter, out of books where they're holding a page. And not just pens - he eats highlighters and Sharpies, too! Fortunately, I caught the Sharpie incident before his lips were permanently colored green.
So as you can see, the doodle may need a therapist to overcome grudges he holds from his previous lives. Or some Zoloft. But I just really need a nap!