28. So Much For The Toast

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It's a common sight for me to be standing in my backyard singing, "I don't care what you have"…

I have a working theory that while I'm out, selling glasses, making money to pay the bills and buy the biscuits, Target spends his days at home plotting his shenanigans.  Let's be clear, Target isn't highly destructive.  This is not the product of a high energy dog that has been left frustrated and alone to figure it out himself.  This is a smart dog, that knows his mama and loves to play with her.  As per usual, how I feel or may react to said shenanigans is usually a second thought... or maybe a third or fourth thought.

Before my inbox is flooded with comments about "getting my dogs out for exercise" or "wearing out his brain" to solve this problem (it's not really that big of a problem), when this started I did exactly that.  I assumed that our current routine wasn't meeting Target's needs and I ran him (and myself) into a coma like stupor.  When I left for work, Target was settling down for what, I believed to be, a peaceful nap.  This morning ritual did absolutely nothing for me at work, I zombie-walked through the day and all the crazy exercise seemed to do was level-up Target's organizational skills.  I came home to the dining room chairs "herded" into the middle of the kitchen, my dirty laundry had been unpacked from the basket and my... ahem... underpants... had been strategically hidden in the cushions of the couch... So strategically in fact that they weren't found until I had a date over for dinner a few days later and he dug into the couch cushions looking for the remote.  This coined the phrase "Surprise!  It's Panties!" that I have never quite been able to live down in a few social circles to this day.

 On other days, Target has played "jail-break" and opened the latch on Comet's crate.  I believed that perhaps Comet had been upset, crying, trying to get out and Target had come to his rescue.  However, after talking to the upstairs neighbor who had been home all day and hadn't heard a peep; it's more than likely that Target wanted somebody to play with and didn't want to wait for me.  This is potentially the most destructive trick Target plays on me because Comet with his insane and sudden anxiety will destroy my house, potentially hurting himself, which is the reason for the crate in the first place.

Ever since he was a puppy one of Target's favorite games has been something I call "Look, I've Got The Thing!"  This is when he picks up something that he's not sure if he's supposed to have (a pop bottle, a cloth from the laundry, a piece of broccoli) and he very obviously shows me that he has it (or "Look, I've got this thing").  If I show even the slightest reaction beyond a Vegas-level poker face, Target knows that it's "game on". 

He will constantly come closer to me holding the "forbidden object", show it to me then dance (or gallop depending on his choice of venue) away.  This creates a stand-off of epic proportions.  A dancing Target, "don't you want this?", "look what I've got", "don't you want this mama?", then an immediate "PSYCHE" followed by zoomies when he believes I've gotten too close.  Going by the theory that "any attention, is good attention" and ignoring him, results in him intensely watching me while he starts to rip apart what he's holding.

It's a common sight for me to be standing in my backyard singing, "I don't care what you have" as Target lies in the grass, watching me intensely and tearing apart a 2 litre pop bottle, label and all (sorry recycling depot).  The majority of my socks have holes in the toes because socks are perfect for holding between two paws and pulling apart when mama breaks the rules and doesn't pay attention to him.  Target doesn't know this, obviously, but socks also make the best ripping noise which mama can't help but react to, therefore, reinforcing how much fun this is!

Socks, socks are especially fun when mama is trying to get ready for work.  They can be stolen from next to the bed, taken out of drawers and even whisked right off of feet.  I can't count the amount of times I've been rushing to get ready for work, searched my bed for socks I just put out and look up to see Target standing in the hallway, peeking around the bedroom door holding my socks in his mouth.  After all, the best games are timed events!

A few months ago, I was on my way home from work and decided to stop and pick up a few groceries.  I have spent the later part of 2021 and the beginning of 2022 trying to get into shape and eat healthy, however, on this day I really wanted toast.  Lightly toasted, white bread, slathered in butter and dripping with raspberry jam.  My grocery bags were heavy and when I got to my front door I had to search through my purse to find my keys.  Meanwhile, I could hear Target snuffling underneath the door.  For a split second, I thought this was odd.  Normally, Target would be sleeping on the couch or down the hallway and I will release Comet to wake him so we can go outside for play time.  But, before I could think too hard about it, I found my keys and opened the door.

I barely had it open when Target sprang out the door, grabbed the loaf of bread from the top of my bags and tore off across the yard.  I put what was left of my groceries in the house and headed back out to the yard.

Target had retreated to the back gate with the bread bag dangling between his teeth.  He was waiting for me, like this was a game we played everyday.  His floppy, airplane-ears were perked towards me and his tail wagged in a slow, seductive, serpentine.  I went to the stairs up to the deck and leaned on the rail.  The extraction on this one was going to be tricky.

I decided to try the straight forward approach first.  Target is usually pretty good if he gets ahold of something that is dangerous.  If I immediately and with force tell him to drop something, he does. The energy is different, he knows I mean business.  I strode towards him with confidence and firmly signed “drop it”

Nope

Just as I reached out to grab the bag, Target ducked to the left, shot underneath my arm and sped off across the yard.  I flailed in his direction, missed by a mile and let out a frustrated growl.

“Aarrrgghfffplll!  What are you, the carb police?!”  I yelled after him.

I took a breath and turned back around.  The same picture only in reverse.  Target standing near the front door, bag in his teeth, wagging.  So much wagging.  The worst part was, now he knew I actually wanted what he had. 

I had played my hand too early. 

Time for a different approach.  I held my hands up in the air and shrugged.  I signed “ok, you keep it” and leaned against the fence.  I yawned, looked around the yard, inspected my shoes.  When I glanced up at him Target was looking at me, confused. Where was the running?  Where was the thrill of the chase?  This wasn’t any fun.  His head was slightly tilted, one floppy ear was pointed in my direction and his lip was curled up in a confused “huh?” expression.  This wasn’t what he was expecting. 

He put the bag down, knocked it over with his nose and sat down politely.  If I didn’t know him better, I would have thought that he was offering it to me, but this was no truce.  I continued to ignore him.  My hope was that if I was a convincing enough actress, he would think I had no interest in the bread, give up and go find some other mischief to get into.  Or, if I pretended to be interested in other things around the yard, he would abandon his prize and come to see what I had found that was so interesting.  Occasionally, I would glance in his direction and he would be watching me.

That’s ok dog, I thought, I have lots of patience.

After a few minutes, when I looked at him.  His expression had changed, rather than confusion or even invitation, now he was squinting.  His ears were flat against his head and his tail had stopped wagging.  He was analyzing me now.  How much did mama really want her toast?

In one sudden movement, he bowed down, grabbed the bag between his paws, the plastic in his teeth and tore the top of the bag open.  With the bag still between his paws he stood up and looked back to me.

Now?  Now that it’s open does mama want it? 

The tail slowly wagged again.  He looked pleased with himself.  I tried unsuccessfully not to wince at the violence in his movements.  The top pieces in the bread bag are throw aways anyway right?

I crossed my legs and stretched, trying to make my wince look like stiff legs. 

Target didn’t buy it. Swiftly, but delicately, he stuck his head into the bag, grabbed a single slice of bread and unceremoniously tossed it in my direction.  It flew through the air and landed on the path in between us with a soft “thud”.  We stood opposite each other at 20 paces like dualling adversaries.  Instead of bullets, Target shooting bread and I shooting dirty looks.  We both looked back and forth between each other and the discarded slice in the dirt.  His blue eyes glistened, his tail wagged furiously and with every few minutes I spent ignoring him, he would let out a small huff in my direction.

This was going too slow for Target.  He needed to up his ante.  He pulled out two more slices and flung them in my direction at the same time and almost in the same motion grabbed another one, taking a chunk of the bag with it.  One of the pieces landed too close to him and he picked it up again and chucked it in my direction.  Just in case I hadn’t realized at this point he was taunting me with wanna-be-toast.

I walked towards my vegetable garden, trying to give the impression that I was ignoring him and in return he sprawled out on the path, loaf still in-paw and started to gum the top of the bag.  His drool drizzled down both the inside and the outside of the bag, coating the remaining bread.  He watched me meander around the yard, slowly getting closer and closer to where he was sitting.

I picked up a mangled pop bottle from the previous day's shenanigans and tossed it casually across the yard.  Target's ears perked up and he stared off at it, trying to decide if he wanted to keep playing with his new game, or chase after the bottle.

While he was distracted with the bottle, I dove at him, ready to grab him and win back my bread.  At this point, my dreams of toast were destroyed, but at least if I caught him before he threw more slices, it would save me having to clean up millions of pieces of it from the yard.  Target snapped back to attention and zoomed out from under me just as my hands made contact and slid out of my grip.  In his haste to escape he accidentally grabbed the closed end of the bag and zoomed away leaving a trail of bread slices streamed out in his wake.

“Stupid slippery dog!” I yelled after him, poorly throwing a discarded piece of bread in his direction.

He reached the back of the yard again, then looked down to the now empty bag in his mouth.  He gummed it a little and surveyed his masterpiece.  There were bread slices strewn across the grass in every direction.  Some of them had torn in half, other pieces were dirty, and some even looked like they might still be ok to eat (if I didn’t know just how damp with dog drool they really were).  Better yet, the rain had started.

Target looked at the yard, looked at me standing by the front door with folded arms and an unimpressed expression, then looked up at the sky.  He curled his lip in disgust, dropped the bag he was still holding and after a final sniff at a nearby slice of bread, trotted towards the front door.  If it was going to rain, it was time for dinner and playing with Comet.

Target picked his way carefully down the stairs to the door, then sat politely, wagging his tail and waiting expectantly for me to open the door.

“You’re kidding, right?” I asked him.

He wagged faster.

I sighed, went down the stairs, gave his head a gentle pat and let him inside.

“So much for the toast” I shrugged, before grabbing a garbage bag and heading back out to the yard.