Dog Stories II: My dog missed me..a lot

So we’re at the airport reuniting with my husband, and he says, “You know, the dog missed you–a lot.”
“Really, what do you mean?”
He explains that Winston moped for a day after I left, then carried all his toys and bones into my office and hung out there, waiting for me to return.
And then, this afternoon, he’d gone into the bathroom and found a razor I’d used to shave my legs, carried it into our bedroom, jumped onto the bed with it, and chewed it up.
“So I had to watch the quilt cause there was a lot of blood,” my husband concludes. “I guess he took it cause it smelled like you.”
“Is the dog all right?” Zack and I both exclaim. “Did he swallow the blade?”
“I don’ think so–He seems fine,” my husband says, “but I bought hooks to hang all the razors.”
P.S. When I got home last night, the dog seemed absolutely fine–he was so happy to see me he did backflips. This morning we went for a long walk, and he was bouncy as ever.