Max is a big dog. Like, a hundred and fifteen pounds big. He's also silly, and gentle, and very much enamored of things he finds on the floor. If it's something interesting enough (a sock, a stuffed animal, the cork from a wine bottle), he'll bring it to me, sticking out of his front teeth, with his neck arched like a horse's and do the "I found something on the FLOOR!" dance. It's hilarious to watch a dog almost as big as I am, lengthwise, do something so damn *cute*.
Max does not chew the things he finds on the floor. He simply takes them outside, lays them down, and looks at them. Then he goes off and yells at the mailman.
This morning, I returned home to find that the cats had partially opened a box I got yesterday in the mail. There were three foam packing peanuts on the living room floor. I looked at those, shrugged, and went to let Max in for a minute to say hi.
Max disappeared into the living room and returned to the kitchen with a strange expression on his face. I wanted to keep him in, since it's starting to rain and he (despite his size) is a Delicate Flower, but he kept looking at me and looking at the door. With this strange expression.
Finally, after I refused to let him out, he did the "I found something on the FLOOR!" dance.
And spit out, with a "bleah" worthy of Snoopy, one small unharmed foam packing peanut.
After which I got a series of disappointed, vaguely depressed glances from His Majesty.
Because, of course, one styrofoam peanut is worth taking outside to the rain and simply looking at for three minutes.