One Christmas around age 11, I thought I was going to get a puppy for Christmas. I craved this responsibility in theory, and made sweet, juvenile preperations for its arrival. A small scale stocking was crafted from felt, pennies were used to purchase rawhide at WinCo, Name lists were penned- both male and female; but the real cream was a little dog bed, foam lined, flannel blanketed, cardboard boxed- with a small round clock duct-taped to the outside, facing in. A lulling method, the ticking of the clock, dulled by a layer of cardboard, was supposed to trick them back to their Mother's bosom. Anyhow. The anecdote goes on to say, that I didn't get a puppy. Instead I got a damaged dog with a lot of hang-ups and annoying energy- who was far too giant for my little bed; but Occasionally, I would hold the clock to his ear- "be soothed!". This only seemed to excite him.