I still remember the morning I walked downstairs to find my favorite running shoe floating in the water bowl. Not chewed. Not shredded. Just… soaking. My Golden had carried it downstairs, dropped it in his water, and was staring at me with that classic guilty-but-not-really expression. The shoe was ruined. He didn't care. That was about four years ago. And honestly? I thought it was a phase. Puppy stuff. He'd grow out of it. He did not grow out of it. By month eight, I'd lost count of how many socks I'd pulled out of his mouth. He'd steal them off my feet while I was putting them on. He'd fish them out of the laundry basket. He'd find them in places I didn't even know socks could hide. And the shoes — oh, the shoes. He didn't chew them. He just took them. Carried them around like trophies. Hid them under the couch. Dropped them in weird places around the house. I tried everything I could think of. Longer walks. More fetch. Yelling "drop ...