Just Wondering . . .

How is it that The Dog, the astonishingly brain-dead dog, the dog so incredibly stupid that she has been skunk bombed three times, can walk up to The Shoe Buffet, aka the shoe rack in the master closet, and effortlessly pick out the one pair of shoes I bought in a moment of shameless self-indulgent shoe lust?

To use as a snack?

How does she know that the really good shoes live in boxes, wrapped in tissue paper, just waiting for her to find a way to make it up to the shelves?

I want a dog that eats ugly, smelly sneakers, dammit.