We have two thieves in our family. One is more egregious than the other, sneaking off to do the dirty deed, then slinking to our house, happy with the spoils, thinking she’s brought something important home that my wife and I should be proud of.
The theft is from our neighbors, one up at the end of our long gravel driveway, and the other through a strand of trees and on a slight hill. Both neighbors appear oblivious that things disappear at a regular pace from their yards.
It’s dog bones we’re talking about. One of our dogs might as well put the burglar’s mask on and pretend she has a role in the TV series given how frequently she snorts around and comes back with fresh loot to deposit on our front step, tail wagging.
She thinks we should be proud. We don’t praise her. But every time (a slight exaggeration on the word “every”) we head up to get the mail or newspaper, Pepper finds a new gift for our house.
This appears to be her job. I don’t know why dogs do this. I understand they enjoy gnawing on bones, sharpening their teeth and doing their best to suck the marrow out. We buy big-ass bones for both our hounds on a regular basis. Is that enough for them? NO! Of course not. They must steal to appease their inner beast.
It must have something to do with the hunt. By foraging and finding one themselves, it satisfies some inner animalistic urge in the animal. They sniff around, get a feel for the terrain, look out for the enemy (the dog of the house under attack) and then pounce, pulling off the heist and sprinting through the woods with their booty.
The body language of Pepper when she returns home cracks me up. She gives us the “aren’t you proud of me look,” drops is so we can check out whether the bone meets our standards (I presume anyway), then picks it back up and clicks her nails across the hallway to her bed in the front room to begin her assault.
Do the neighbors’ bone taste better than ours? Are they fresher? There’s no way to tell.
We’re thankful our neighbors don’t complain. I can imagine their conversations.
“Dear, what happened to that hip bone we gave Rufus last night?”
“It should be in the backyard. She ran right out of the house after we gave it to her.”
“Well, she’s begging for another one, and I checked all over the yard this morning and couldn’t find it anywhere. I must be blind.”
Nope, you’re not blind, nor out of your mind. You’ve just been hoodwinked by the dog burglar.
We no longer have to buy dog bones because of Pepper’s relentless raids. Working undercover, she slinks over to search for something to steal, returning home repeatedly with new unearthed goodies.
She’ll be back, sniffing each neighbors’ bushes, eyeballing the turf, sprinting to grab her newest toy and returning to her master like a proud mama. “LOOK WHAT I STOLE.”
Good thing there is no dog prison. She’d be locked up for life.
The theft is from our neighbors, one up at the end of our long gravel driveway, and the other through a strand of trees and on a slight hill. Both neighbors appear oblivious that things disappear at a regular pace from their yards.
It’s dog bones we’re talking about. One of our dogs might as well put the burglar’s mask on and pretend she has a role in the TV series given how frequently she snorts around and comes back with fresh loot to deposit on our front step, tail wagging.
She thinks we should be proud. We don’t praise her. But every time (a slight exaggeration on the word “every”) we head up to get the mail or newspaper, Pepper finds a new gift for our house.
This appears to be her job. I don’t know why dogs do this. I understand they enjoy gnawing on bones, sharpening their teeth and doing their best to suck the marrow out. We buy big-ass bones for both our hounds on a regular basis. Is that enough for them? NO! Of course not. They must steal to appease their inner beast.
It must have something to do with the hunt. By foraging and finding one themselves, it satisfies some inner animalistic urge in the animal. They sniff around, get a feel for the terrain, look out for the enemy (the dog of the house under attack) and then pounce, pulling off the heist and sprinting through the woods with their booty.
The body language of Pepper when she returns home cracks me up. She gives us the “aren’t you proud of me look,” drops is so we can check out whether the bone meets our standards (I presume anyway), then picks it back up and clicks her nails across the hallway to her bed in the front room to begin her assault.
Do the neighbors’ bone taste better than ours? Are they fresher? There’s no way to tell.
We’re thankful our neighbors don’t complain. I can imagine their conversations.
“Dear, what happened to that hip bone we gave Rufus last night?”
“It should be in the backyard. She ran right out of the house after we gave it to her.”
“Well, she’s begging for another one, and I checked all over the yard this morning and couldn’t find it anywhere. I must be blind.”
Nope, you’re not blind, nor out of your mind. You’ve just been hoodwinked by the dog burglar.
We no longer have to buy dog bones because of Pepper’s relentless raids. Working undercover, she slinks over to search for something to steal, returning home repeatedly with new unearthed goodies.
She’ll be back, sniffing each neighbors’ bushes, eyeballing the turf, sprinting to grab her newest toy and returning to her master like a proud mama. “LOOK WHAT I STOLE.”
Good thing there is no dog prison. She’d be locked up for life.
