The Dog Shouter

John went to Bible study, so I was on my own for supper tonight. I fixed a couple of peanut butter sandwiches. This shouldn’t impress you. But in the time it took for me to walk from the counter where they lay to the cabinet that holds our plates Claire had snagged one of the sandwiches and eaten half of it. Two, three seconds tops from grab to drop. Now that’s impressive. Even more impressive is the nerve she showed when I turned to catch her red-handed. She looked me in the eye, dropped the mauled sandwich and pranced out into the living room as if her nonchalance might convince me that I hadn’t seen her eat half my dinner. All of this happened only minutes after she’d eaten an entire bowl of her own food.

Claire and I have discussed before that all of her paws should be on the floor most of the time. Acceptable exceptions are when her belly needs rubbing or when she’s located some especially wretched mess to coat herself in during our absence. Additionally, I’ve mentioned to Claire, frequently in fact, using many words that begin and end with hard consonants like “don’t” and “dammit,” that her feet accomplish nothing of value when propped up on cabinets. Now, as slow waves of deep disappointment erupt from my bowels, hanging in the air like thunderclouds, Claire stares past me, ears twitching back and forth with a level of disinterest equal to that of an eye-rolling teenager. It is a response I’ve seen from her before.

No matter how earnestly I explain all the reasons why the same tongue she uses to lick her ass should not be licking my food, nothing in my nonsensical blahbity-blah-blahs convinces her that a clean sweep of the counter when given the chance isn’t a good idea. In fact, quite the opposite has proven true for her in the past. I must confess that, like Claire, I too find doggie dialogue ridiculous. I know she doesn’t understand a word I say. She knows she doesn’t understand a word I say. I can’t be the only one wondering what the point of all the noise is. So, what to do?