From the "Serves You Right" department...

So this morning, I'm talking on the phone.

Murphy is showing a fair amount of jealousy towards the phone, and when I talk on it and ignore him, I can almost expect him to act up and try to get my attention.

Well this time, as I was talking, Murphy spied a pair of BDU pants on the floor. He grabbed them and began to shake them from side to side.
"Stop that," I said.

"Who, me?" said the lady on the phone.

"No, the dog," I explained as Murphy retreated with the pants in his mouth, taking himself out of my immediate reach. Once safe half-way across the room, he began to beat up the pants again.

But as I strode towards him to recover them, suddenly I head a loud "CLACK!", followed by a surprised yelp from Murphy, who dropped the pants. I grabbed them up before he could get another grip on them, and as I did so, I felt something heavy in the pocket. It turned out to be a loaded 8-round Wilson Combat .45 magazine. Apparently as he was shaking the pants, the pocket containing this magazine had whacked him solidly on the side of the head. I stomped my foot at Murphy, who ran out of the room and took up a post in the doorway from whence he watched me as I finished the phone call.

Ironically, I was on the phone with his new vet, making an appointment for him this afternoon for a basic check-up and micro-chipping.

EDITED TO ADD: Murph got his microchip. And he didn't even flinch as the vet drove that honking big needle into his neck. Now he'll always be identified as my dog. Guess that means I'm gonna have to keep him.