Buford, whose whole name is Buford T. Justice after the Jackie Gleason character in â€œSmoky and the Banditâ€, is my grand dog. Heâ€™s not quite a year old, but since my youngest son, his owner, took a job that keeps him on the road, Buford stays with his grandmother and me. We treat him just like one of our own. Actually, his grandmother is much too lenient with the pooch. Several times lately I have come home to find a whole roll of chewed-up toilet tissue scattered across the floor of one or more rooms. And Buford would be stretched out on the floor destroying whatâ€™s left on the little cardboard core. â€œGood Lord, Honey. Has Buford been busy? I didnâ€™t know you could make that big a mess with just a single roll of toilet paper.â€ â€œLet him play with it, Honey. Iâ€™ll clean up the mess, when he gets through. He got the brand new roll all by himself, and it took him all morning. I didnâ€™t know he could stand up so straight on his hind legs. He got it off the shelf above the commode. You know we had to stop leaving toilet paper on the rollers weeks ago. That was no challenge at all. He just stood there flat footed and ate the whole roll. In the meantime, while heâ€™s eating toilet paper, heâ€™s not chewing on my shoes or the furniture.â€ We learned to hide the toilet paper in a cabinet in the bathroom, and not bring it out until it was actually needed. A few days ago even this ploy proved to be inadequate. Buford follows me and his grandmother every where we go. He just hates it, when weâ€™re not in the same room. But the other day he followed me into the bathroom, where I had serious business to conduct. At the conclusion thereof I secured a roll of tissue paper from its hiding place, and endeavored to conclude the affair. Buford would have none of it. His face lit up like a kidâ€™s at Christmas, when he saw what I was holding in my hand. Without even blinking, he lunged for it open mouth first. Buford has a number of chew toys, which he eagerly brings to me every day for a period of tug-of-war and keep-away playing. His eyes had that same glint, and it was obvious he considered the toilet tissue in the same category as any of his other toys. So every time I tried to secure a small piece of the tissue for my own purposes, I had to avoid Bufordâ€™s rushes at the roll, or play tug-of-war with the paper in order to get it back. So there I was trying to finish my business, while at the same time fighting off a relentless attacker, who had mayhem in mind for the poor, defenseless roll of paper. I won, but just barely. But Buford had the last word. Saturday night I had been working at home all day on a training manual I have been trying to finish on a pretty strict deadline. My wife, Bufordâ€™s grandmother, was in the front part of our apartment watching TV or something. I got up from my desk and needed a bathroom break. As the Nigerians say, â€œI had to get comfortâ€. Lapsing into a brief state of laziness, I failed to shut the door to the bathroom, before I raised the lid and commenced securing some comfort. Buford came sauntering in. He paused at the commode, stuck his head over the edge of the toilet bowl, sniffed a couple of times and obviously identified the smell. Then in one continuous motion he hiked his leg, peed on my foot, turned, and sauntered back out the open door.