I have long suspected that Barrett, the younger of my two Labrador retrievers, has suffered from a canine form of obsessive-compulsive disorder. A small oversight in packing for a recent weekend getaway confirmed my suspicions, and revealed the true depth of her affliction.

The signs have been there all along, and they haven't always been negative. I always knew that dogs thrived on routine, and Barrett as a puppy just seemed like an extreme example. Her meals, bathroom breaks and crate time had to occur each day in the proper order or else she was thrown out of whack. The first time we left her home out of the crate, she shredded a paperback book. We thought she would like her freedom, but she was happier with the safety of her routine.

Funny thing is, her "disorder" probably helped her during house breaking. It only took three or four repetitions for to learn that the yard was for peeing and pooping. After that, she relieved herself immediately upon bouncing out the door. She was trained within a week. No more accidents.

As she grew up, we started noticing more bizarre behaviors. You know how dogs spin in circles before lying down? Barrett started to spin before eating. Then she needed to spin before going for a walk. And then before walking down the stairs. Spinning seemed to be her way of dealing with excitement and anxiety. The sound of kibble clanging in her bowl would induce one excited rotation. The prospect of descending the steep wooden stairs at my parents' house? That required three, five ten or more spins. It got to the point that any staircase, even one she wasn't afraid of, required a spin before she descended.

I've written in the past about how Barrett, unlike just about every other member of her breed, has no interest in fetching. We were faced with the problem of how best to focus all this nervous energy. Barrett loved to chew, but she would devour rawhide bones in one sitting, causing all kinds of intestinal distress. We tried the big Nylabones they make for aggressive chewers, but she didn't get enough satisfaction from the little chunks that her chewing dislodged.

Finally, my wife discovered a green plastic bone shaped like a toothbrush that Barrett would gnaw on for hours. It was promptly discontinued. Luckily, through a quick search of online retailers, we wee able to buy several years' worth before they sold out. The bones became Barrett's security blanket. Now, when we invite her up on the coach, she hunts for a bone, spins in a circle, and hops up, dropping the bone in my lap for me to hold while she chews.

Whenever we took the dogs on a trip out of town, we always made sure to pack one of these green bones. Always, that is, until this past Columbus Day weekend. Somehow, in the rush to pack up our stuff, drop our son at his grandparents' and drive to Maine, we had neglected to pack a green bone. Our negligence became apparent when Jen invited Barrett up on the bed. Barrett paced around the room, refusing to join Jen without something to bring along.

While we found her refusal somewhat comical, Barrett was clearly disturbed. She kept circling the room, looking repeatedly under the beds and in the bathroom for the bone that was a three-hour drive away. We ended up having to scrap our afternoon plans and drive to the pet supply store, hunting up and down the aisles for the closest approximation to Barrett's discontinued chew toy.

Luckily, the bone we returned with was close enough. She grabbed the offering out of my hands and sprinted to her bed, where she spent most of the afternoon grinding it into tiny bits of plastic.