A month ago, I described in my column how joyful/fearful I was as I anticipated an extended grand-dog-sitting gig. I predicted the Christmas tree would get knocked over. Holiday miracle: It didn’t. But everything else took a direct hit. Socks have been stolen out of laundry baskets, gloves swiped off tabletops, rugs moved across rooms. The newly refinished wood floors have been “broken in,” and REM sleep cycles have been annihilated.