At two year old, Babar still displays his puppy cuteness once in a while but sans his tasmanian devil-like energy which nearly drove hubby and I to the mad house when he was just months old. Our house has resumed its peace and order which in two years I have almost forgotten what  feels like. He also stopped stealing pillows and wrestling with it. I can make up the bed without keeping the pillows inside the closet or out of his reach. I can again display my favorite Indian cushions on the sofa without its guts getting ripped out.
I have also returned my books to a low bookshelf ( almost level to his snout) and arrange it together with some wooden knick knacks we collected during our travels without worrying them being knockdown and chewed to pieces. I even placed some hard bound books on the coffee table without the fear of him snatching it and tearing the pages apart. Oh how I mourn the literary casualties my book collection suffered during one of his manic moments. A book of short stories by Saki lay wounded and spineless somewhere in one of the cabinets. Baudolino by Umberto Eco is defaced, hidden in between his other books. Continue reading →