So, the dog got in the Halloween candy. I don't think he ate many, but who knows. I was out on the deck and wondering why he wasn't complaining to join me. When I came back in he was near the chairs in the little kitchen sitting room and ran up the back stairs. I came on up to play hearts (I really am addicted to hearts on the computer...I must apologize to everyone I ever looked askance at for playing computer games) and instead of staying in the office area he went down the upstairs hall--odd for him.
Shortly I heard bern in the kitchen. "Who got in the candy and left some on the floor?"
"Not me," I said, though if I had known it was there I would have--but not leaving evidence on the floor.
She comes up and grabs Bela by the ears and smells his breath.
"Chocolate breath", she said.
He ate wrappers and all so we've been watching for the evidence--besides the breathalyzer test--of his pilfering. (If you own a dog you know where you find such evidence...nuf said....) No wrappers yet so maybe, if we're lucky, he only ate one or two....But he was restless last night and kept me awake for several hours moving, scratching nests on the floor, jumping on the bed and laying on my head, panting, stuff like that....
The other Puli we owned, back when we were childless and clueless, had a terrible sweet tooth. When we lived in Alexandria, VA and I was going to seminary, he would find ways to snatch sweet stuff from surfaces he shouldn't have been able to access.
Once he got a bear claw--you know, one of those pastries about the size of your head--off a side table and when I came in he plunged into a corner and ate it as fast--actually 'faster'--than you can imagine.
That night he jumped on the bed and threw up on my head.
When we called the dog trainer for Bela's home visit and subsequent lessons (none of which took!) he asked, "What kind of dog do you have?"
I said, "a Puli...."
After a moment, he replied, "Why?"
He did tell the other dog folks in the obedience class that "there's more dog in this Puli than in all the other dogs here."
At the time I took it as praise lavished on Bela's head. No more....
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- Under The Castor Oil Tree
- some ponderings by an aging white man who is an Episcopal priest in Connecticut. Now retired but still working and still wondering what it all means...all of it.
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