Poor Rory. He's had two days of gorgeous weather with the doors open, free to come and go. Free to bring a forest's worth of twigs and sticks and logs into the kitchen. My house smells like wet wood. The temperature is dropping this evening and rain is coming, so I closed the doors. The trail of playthings leading from the toybox to the door is just an indicator of boredom. NOTHING competes with chewing wood into itsy bitsy pieces. Except maybe chewing the charging cord for the laptop.