23 April 2012

My Dog is a Psychological Mastermind

Yes, you read that right. My dog is, indeed, a psychological mastermind.

I came to this realization last night as Sweetheart was making up the coffee pot and I was trying to coax the Furball out the door to do his nightly business. I was at the door, calling, reasoning, threatening and begging the dog to go pee outside. As he slowly stretched himself up from the cozy spot he's carved out for himself at the foot of the stairs where he not so patiently waits for us to go to bed, I noticed that his new and expensive grain-free food is essentially untouched in his bowl. The grain-free bit was Sweetheart's idea, not mine. I know my dog. He likes red meat, white meat and bread. Any kind of bread. Yeast breads, quick breads - it doesn't matter, as long as it's made of wheat. Grain-free. Good grief! The only time that dog runs is when he hears me get out the grain mill to grind some fresh wheat up for baking bread. It's his biweekly exercise. Kind of sounds like an earthquake as he runs down the stairs and through the kitchen to my feet, huffing all the while. I can almost hear him trying to reach out with his thoughts and hypnotize me in the goofy little voice I imagine he has. As he reaches my feet and sits there, huffing and shaking with excitement and anticipation, I sense him trying to say, "Daddy, this is the day you make a loaf just for me. A big loaf, Daddy. A fluffy loaf. You know no one else loves your bread more than me, Daddy." He does the same thing when I'm slicing bread, except that he moves faster and shakes more frantically.

So anyway, as I stand there last night trying to get him outside, I notice his food, and mention it to Sweetheart, who promptly declares Furball is stupid. Why else would he reject premium, grain-free food? And why else would we be able to actually step on his feet when we turn around and stumble over him? And why would he chew up all the comfy, fluffy beds and blankets she bought him?

Umm, because he's a genius? As she laughs, I know fear, as the truth finally hits me. My dog is a diabolical puppetmaster, carefully orchestrating the daily life of my family to ensure his total comfort and control.

Why would he reject his food? So we feel sorry for him and give him bread, woman! And why would he need dog food, when the boy shares every bite with him? And of course, the girl begs repeatedly during the day to give him treats. He has no need for mere dog food!

And how are we able to step on his paws when we stumble over him? Think about it, Sweetheart. The only time we stumble on the dog is when we're carrying food. And if we think we hurt him, we're more likely to give him our snack. Sheer genius, I tell you!

And why would he chew up all those beds and blankets? Elementary, my dear! He didn't like them. The dog has a pinched nerve. He wants a comfy firm mattress. So he chewed up everything until we bought him the right one. Now he has his comfy bed with its built in backrest and pillows and space under the mattress to store his collection of stolen socks. He managed the entire affair.

Stupid? Of, I don't think so.

He "pinched a nerve" a couple of years ago. The vet said any time he looks to be in pain, give him a pain pill. Yes, you guessed. Furball has turned my wife and I into his personal drug mules to feed his habit. Any time the day has been too rough, he looks up at us and starts huffing and drooling...and gets his pill. I wonder if we can do a doggy intervention?

As I was explaining this all to my wife last night and wondering how her eyes can stay in the socket when they roll that hard, the Furball knocked on the door to come in, and looked up at me with a disapproving look, as if to say, "Daddy, I heard you. Bad boy, Daddy."


He then plopped down at my feet with his tail towards me and began huffing and shaking in feigned indignation while staring at my wife. I knew it had worked when she declared, "No, he's just stupid!" The dog slowly looked over his shoulder at me and grinned in satisfaction, as I suddenly got the urge to bake biscuits for him. Diabolical!


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