I’m Wrigley, the cuddly four-year-old goldendoodle. I make my home in Menlo Park with Steve and Kate and their daughter, Abby, so you might wonder why I’m named after Chicago’s Wrigley Field. I was born in Indiana back in 2020, which meant Steve had to make a June trip to O’Hare Airport to bring me to the Bay Area. I wasn’t scared, because the flight crew kindly let me stay snuggled in Steve’s arms, but he must have been pretty nervous. He was wearing a mask, gloves and goggles the whole time! My family adores my excellent self-control when it comes to my urge to chew on things. My toys stay intact and I never chomp on anything around the house, not even shoes. Tennis balls are the exception. When I see one, I have this irresistible need to destroy it in five minutes flat. Wait, did you say something about tortellini? It’s well-known that I never touch my family’s food, even when it’s within easy reach on the coffee table … but there was this one incident with a bowl of spinach tortellini and peas. When Kate went to call Abby down to dinner, the tortellini went missing, leaving only the peas behind. I wish I could help solve this case since I was the only one in the room, but I swear I didn’t see a thing. It’s a real mystery!
Calling All Dogs: If you've got quirky habits or a funny tale (or tail) to share, email your story to hello@punchmonthly.com for a chance to share a page from your Diary of a Dog in PUNCH.