Luck of the Dog

She’s a thief, our little dog. Juno is her name and she is both cunning and bold.

I will frequently eat in my office as my wife watches brain meltingly dumb TV. She called me down the other day and I stupidly left my door open a crack.

That was enough for our intrepid canine burglar. She vanished from the living room so professionally that neither of us saw her leave. She’s a stumpy little cockerpoo and I consistently underestimate her stealth. It like she’s running cat software on dog hardware, evidenced by the fact that she can fall off the back of the sofa when she’s asleep.

Anyway, on this particular occasion, after a discussion, I exited the living room to find her half way up (or down) the stairs panting like she’d just run a marathon on those stumpy little legs. I could swear there were tears in her eyes, dark patches of fur below where her normally white coat was wet.

I looked at the dog and then at the door to my study which was now wide open. Oh shit. Surely not. On my desk sat a shiny clean plate where not ten minutes before had been at least half a kilo of vindaloo curry and rice topped with a huge hot chilli pepper. No sign of the pepper either. Gone, stalk and all.

I wonder what went through her mind halfway through her stolen feast when the heat really started kicking in. Did she stop to think, fuck me this purloined banquet is biting back? Or did she just wolf it down so fast that the funereal heat was only beginning to build when she finished?

Either way, I have never seen a ten kilo dog scarf five percent of her weight in spice in one sitting.

I sat next to her on the stairs. She was in no condition to move and I couldn’t berate her as I didn’t catch her in the act – she wouldn’t have known what I was scolding her for. I could have given her some milk to take some of the heat out of her tongue but I got a strange sense of satisfaction watching her eye watering panting as my belly rumbled over my lost dinner.

That was six months ago – she has since given up stealing meals. Perhaps there is a lesson there for other pups.

She is still a thief in other ways. When a family member arrives home, they are presented with a gift. It could be a sock or a shoe, a t-shirt or a toy. Sometimes even the toy isn’t hers.

If you are new to the house then you will first be soundly barked at before you are accepted and then she will disappear in a flurry of panting and skittering claws before bringing back a goodie for you.

On one horrifying occasion, that tribute was a pair of dirty knickers.

She may not steal full dinners anymore but she remains an opportunist. The three second rule is of no use when you have a one second dog.

We were in the kitchen. My wife picked up the wishbone from the chicken we had the other night. “Right, we’ve had a shitty year, let’s wish for something.”

“OK, I’m up for it.”

Juno wandered in and sat down to watch.

My other half held the bone in the air between us, pinkie curled around one leg of it. “Thing is, it doesn’t matter who wins, ‘cause we always wish for the same things anyway.”

“Really?” I said. “Well, If we’re both gonna wish for a blowjob and a sandwich, we can dispense with the chicken bone.”

She smacked me on the shoulder.

I pinkie grasped the other leg of the bone.

She sighed. “I’m going to wish for something nice.”

I started the countdown. “Three, two, one…”

“Pull!”

Now, my wife is competitive, much more so than I, so she yanked hard on her side of the bone. Whereas, I’m the immovable object in the room.

The bone snapped.

I was left holding a shard, she had a shard and the bit in the middle – the deciding bit for who gets the frigging wish – goes flying.

We both tracked the wishbone as it sailed through the air and hit the ground at our feet.

Juno didn’t even stand up. It was in her mouth and down her throat before we could shout, “Don’t eat that!” Which we did anyway.

The dog choked briefly, hacked once and then licked her lips and looked up at us, tongue hanging out.

We cracked up. Best laugh we’d had in ages. Wifey was in tears.

Maybe that was Juno’s wish.

As a metaphor for life at the moment, that played out with uncanny accuracy.