Everybody warned me but I didn’t listen. “Dont turn your new dog into a food whore”. ‘Dont give her any human food scraps. She will be fine with just dog food”. Of course I nodded… One of my last dogs, Lucy the dachshund waddles like an early contestant on Biggest Loser and looks more like a stuffed sausage or rump roast than something that was bred to hunt badgers. Hana, my Scottish Terrier and co-therapist in San Francisco would go out at nite and beg Italian meatballs off the kitchen staff at the pizza place next door. I had to retire her from active duty in my private practice due to her non-stop farting during my psychotherapy sessions with clients. Worse yet was Huck the Chow puppy who went rogue during a school carpool pick-up attacking all of the kids in the back of the Suburban for their leftover Lunchables and after-school snacks. I’ve never seen a small dog lock onto a Hi-C juice box before and then refuse to let go even as it was being beaten senseless with a Ninja Turtle backpack. I wont elaborate any further by mentioning the time sneaky Simon the mini-dachshund levitated himself using some unknown form of spiritual practice or extraterrestrial technology and nabbed a perfectly cooked filet mignon off a patio table. The point is I should have known better after all these years of dog ownership.
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Recently, after I got Harmony, the Black Lab puppy, I rationalized giving her bits of string cheese and an occasional bite of Black Forest Ham due to her emaciated condition. She was a rescue dog barely rescued from a “kill shelter” in Alabama. I dont know why but Alabama is apparently like the canine equivalent of Auschwitz. Dogs disappear there in droves and are never seen again. So, I felt sorry for Harmony and I didn’t listen to reason. Her sweetness and gentle nature belies her cunning. I already detailed on Facebook the incident last week in which she stole my fried chicken breast from Kroger, took it upstairs to one of my kids bedroom, ate it like a ferocious she-wolf and then hid the remains under a dresser by pushing it with her nose. I know this because I saw it with my own eyes and could hardly believe it. I guess in retrospect I was still in deep denial. By the way, Harmony lies about her food crimes like a seasoned psychopath. Her soft eyes, cocked head and happy slightly-drooling smile show no sign of the conduct disorder and character issues lurking within. I want to believe her. I really do. But then this just happened today. Around noon time I fed her a “dog food only” meal. Then I decided to grill myself some turkey burgers on the barbie. I thought I heard her sigh when I put down her bowl full of Iams Premium dry bits. The quick look she gave me seemed to say, “Ummm, what’s this dude?” or “Hey, how about some turkey or lamb gravy, baby?” Of course I wrote it off as just my imagination and/or free-floating Jewish guilt. I proceeded to season my patties and flame-broiled them. Unfortunately, when they were done i put them on a plate on my granite kitchen counter thinking to myself, “This dog is no dachshund. Sure, she has those long beautiful Labrador legs and amazing sense of smell but surely she could never get up THIS high to nab these burgers while I plug in my phone upstairs…right?” Again, Harmony looked at me with her radiant angelic face said, “Certainly not!” Well, guess what. Two or three minutes later I heard a big crash and when I yelled for her and screamed, “What was that?!” (as if she would answer…duh), all I saw was a black blur as she went bounding out of the kitchen area while smacking her lips. By the time I got there all that was left was a broken dinner plate from Target. The pound and a half of grilled turkey burgers was gone like a magic trick. I didnt even get a T-shirt. Now i dont know if I will ever trust her again. I would say I feel violated but I know alot of this is my fault as I clearly enabled her unhealthy sense of doggie narcissism and entitlement. Maybe I should go to a 12-step program but I dont know which one is best suited to dog owners who spoil their pets rotten and then pay the price in poo-poo. Hell, with all the garlic powder, Monterrey steak seasoning, and liquid smoke I put on those burgers I’ll be lucky if I dont end up scrubbing carpets all nite. Perhaps I should just consider it an act of helicopter puppy parenting penance.
captaincliff 