She would explode

How, I wondered, could the docile angel who accompanied us to our New Year's Eve party last night transform into the demented hellion who started barking at 5:30 this morning?  At the party, she calmly allowed herself to be admired and petted, then she sat quietly on her leash at Steve's feet as he drank champagne and downed Jenny's mini-crabcakes. When it was time to sit down for dinner, we transferred her to the kennel we'd brought with us, where she slept quietly until I extracted her to share in the midnight cheering and hugs.

But a few hours later, the Devil Pup was stirring. When she barked us awake around 5:30, Steve lurched out of bed to take her into the frosty darkness and then park her in the kennel in his office. When I got up around 6:45 a.m. to dispense breakfast, the demonic transformation was complete. After she ate, she wouldn't poop but attacked Tucker and me, circling us and lunging and snapping in a manner that made me think of some furry, 4-footed barracuda. I stupidly had failed to leash her, so she raced away when I tried to scoop her up and get her back in the house. She snatched the belt of my robe and tugged with all her might, then she tried that with various electrical cords. I decided to take her for a walk to burn off some of the manic energy, but that beautiful little companion of two days ago had vanished. She sat, mulish, refusing to budge. We returned to the house, where she raced into the living room and peed smack in the middle of the rug.

Steve believes that after all the exemplary behavior last night, she has to race around like a crazy puppy. "Otherwise, she would explode," he says. "We'd hear a boom and walk into the room, and all we'd see would be puppy fur, splattered against the walls."

We have one final party of the season to attend this afternoon. We're taking someone with us, but I don't know if it will be Angel Puppy or Demon Dog.