When Maizie started eating my bookshelves, I went out and got her a huge rawhide. I fancied myself brilliant: It would keep her busy, so she’d stop chewing on my furniture, and help her expend some of her cabin fever energy. Little did I know that the rawhide would replace me as Maizie’s favorite thing. It’s even replaced Henry. When I get home, Maizie greets me at the door — with the rawhide, of course. But as soon as the door shuts, she doesn’t even wait for a pet or a “Hi, Booger Butt,” she just trots off to a remote corner of the living room to spend quality time with the rawhide. No more undying devotion. No more “Me and my Shadow.” Just the rawhide. You get what you ask for — I guess my brilliance came back to bite me in the a**.