Patti Soldavini

Archive for March 3rd, 2012|Daily archive page

The Incredibly Nimble Cookie Thief

In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 03/03/2012 at 10:36 am

"What happened to my cookie?"

As I sat in my office, working at my computer the other night, I heard the familiar sound of packaging crinkling as it was being spindled. I sensed a semi-frantic effort to get to its contents. Without hesitation, I bolt upright in my chair and yell “OLIVE!” She is of course, nowhere to be seen. The crinkling continues unabated. “OLIVE?” I repeat loudly in the hopes that my voice distracts her momentarily. “OLIVE! I MAY NOT HAVE EYES IN THE BACK OF MY HEAD BUT I DO HAVE EARS THERE.” Silence. For just a few seconds. More crinkling. I race down the hallway and into the second floor loft-style dining room. From this vantage point, I spot my pooch standing in the living room below like a deer trapped in the headlights of an oncoming car. A white plastic wrapped oatmeal raisin cookie dangles from her mouth precariously, held in place just barely by her tiny, perfect porcelain incisors. Her pupils are dilated to the size of pool covers. Her tail wags energetically if slightly apprehensively. I interpret this as a dare to come downstairs and try to retrieve the package from her. Another showdown. To be effective, it requires that I channel Julius Caesar. “HERE I COME, OLIVE. DROP IT. DROP IT NOW. NOW!” As I approach her, she goes into pre-flight mode. All at once, all four legs tense, bend and she lowers her whole body. She is preparing to take off. The end of the wrapped cookie is still safely clenched between her teeth. “OLIVE. DID YOU KNOW THAT RAISINS ARE POISONOUS TO DOGS?” She just stares at me, trying to anticipate my next move. I reach out and gently grab the other end of the wrapper. “OLIVE. LET GO.” And after thinking about it for a few seconds, she does. ‘GOOD GIRL, OLIVE.” I examine the wrapper and unbelievably there aren’t even any holes in it. And the cookie has not been crushed. As I walk upstairs into the kitchen, I open the wrapper and eat the cookie before Olive can see me.  Unless of course, she has eyes in the back of her head.

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