Well, add one more to the list.
This story starts with the dogs, two giant Great Pyrenees who are, at the grand old ages of ten and eleven, well into their doggy dotage, and fools for treats. They’re particularly fond of something called Pup-Peroni, a dried dog treat pressed into, and smelling like, pepperoni sticks. (What’s in it? I don’t even want to know.) But they’ll do almost anything for a nibble, and it’s my go-to approach when I’m trying to get them back in the house–“Xena! Levi! I have a yummy for you!”–and it never fails.
The other day, I opened the door and called the dogs home, a bit like Mary and the Sands of Dee but without (at least so far) the dreary ending. As is often the case, Psymon was keeping me company, sitting on the windowsill next to the door, and interestedly watching the proceedings. And also as usual, I had my stick of Pup-Peroni, which I’d broken in two and laid on the counter, one piece for each dog (they’re quite expensive, so I do this to save money).
Levi came in first, and was jonesing for his dinner, so I got that out and filled up both dog bowls, then went back to the door to call Xena. By this time, I noticed, Psymon was gone. And so, when I went to pick it up and give it to Xena, was the other stick of Pup-Peroni!
I didn’t make the connection at the time (I’m a geezer, and my mind, although still very trusting, is neither as quick nor as perceptive as it once was, a situation that occasionally gets me into trouble with those who like to take advantage–I have found that simply acknowledging this fact is the key to World Peace, at least inside my own head), so I just assumed it was my doing, and that I’d got it mixed up in the dog’s dinner, and that I’d dropped it in one or the other bowl along with the food. I went and got another piece for Xena, called her, and in she came.
Today, I was making one of my favorite breakfasts–a salad composed of baby spinach leaves, dried cranberries, chopped pecans, bleu cheese crumbles and pomegranate dressing, and as I stepped on the rug in front of the cupboard where I keep the pecans and cranberries, I felt something lumpy underneath.
With some trepidation, because one never knows what one will find in such circumstances, although the worst–a mummified mouse–hasn’t happened since the end of World War Mice several years ago, I pulled back the corner of the rug and took a look. This time, what I found was–the lost piece of Pup-Peroni!
The little so-and-so must have carried it across the house, all the way upstairs, and hidden it in what he thinks is the most secure place possible.
I’ve put it back for now, and will leave it there, just because I’m interested to see if he’ll realize I’ve sussed out his little secret, and to see what his next move will be.
What a clever boy.