When I round the hallway corner in the morning, I sometimes hear my dog Molly subtly step off the couch after trespassing there overnight. When I walk away from a half-eaten paper plate of food, Molly glances back at me, strategizing when she might make a move based on my positioning in the house. When she is in the backyard and her nose is sniffing perilously close to something it shouldn’t, she searches for my face peering at her through a window.
These examples indicate secret agent DNA might be built into dogs. But if such training is part of canine culture, then one particular class is horribly absent from the curriculum: the art of rummaging through trash.
I returned home to find the contents of a garbage bag lined up along the kitchen floor as if a parade passed through. No one did this other than the dog and yet she made no effort at a cover-up. She made a mess and left it all behind as if convinced I would believe a strong wind seeped through or the invisible man stopped by for scraps.
Go through the trash but for goodness sake, if for no other reason than pride, put the Hefty bag back together again. Whatever pooch acts as president over the canine world needs to take bold action and finally address this flaw in dog sneakiness.
Until then, the same set of circumstances plays out. The homeowner returns and scolds dog, who slinks away for a dumpster diver that took place hours ago. Please, for the dignity of dog kind, bring in a consultant if necessary.
If a dog can sneak a nap on the couch and carefully time out when to swipe a plate, he or she can certainly cover her tracks to and from the trash.
I’ve generally beloved pet dogs, but I used to be nonetheless surprised at how wonderful my new Labradoodle is. I just wished they’d look for a various identify for them!