Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Are You Smarter Than A Golden Retriever?
There I was, sleeping the sleep of the drugged in the middle of the night. All of a sudden, Scully goes nucking futs, barking her fool head off. I levitate from the bed for a second, gather my wits....
SCULLY! Shut the hell up! What's your problem????
"Heard something. Sure of it. In the kitchen." She wanders over and lays back down as though nothing happened.
So I get up, wander down the hall in my boxers, gaze into my darkened kitchen and living room.
Nothing.
Thankfully, I had no problem getting back to sleep. This morning, I hobbled on my bug-infested leg to the kitchen to brew up a pot of joe. Half asleep, I felt something crunch under my feet and looked down.
WTF?......Crumbs? Brownie crumbs?
An empty tray was sitting on the counter, where last night sat a tray of brownies. They had been reduced to a scrap of cellophane and a gazillion little brown crumbs stretching into the living room.
Dammit, Scully!
Scully has an addiction. She can't help it. She's powerless over food items left on a counter top within her reach. When we leave the house, we make sure everything is pushed back where she can't get it. She's eaten entire loaves of bread, leftover pizza, and bags of candy. Once, she ate about 14" of very pricey Italian dry Salami, and on one memorable occasion, the day before our niece's wedding, a sizeable portion of wedding cake.
But she never strikes when we're home, only when left alone. Until last night.
So I bring her into the kitchen to survey her handiwork.
You proud of yourself?
"What? You think I did this?"
Who else? You had motive, method, and opportunity. Oh, and might I add, a lengthy record of prior crimes?
"Maybe. But that doesn't mean I did this one. What evidence do you have. Prints? Trace? Fibers? Hair? DNA?"
Evidence? I don't need evidence. I OWN this place. Hell, I own YOU. I say you did it.
"What are you, Stalin all of a sudden? Don't blow smoke up my tail. You're a civil libertarian and you know it."
Well, you're the dog. There are no other dogs here. I didn't knock brownies onto the floor and eat them. Mom didn't knock brownies on the floor and eat them. Who does that leave, smart ass?
"How would I know? Just because I'm the only one here this morning doesn't mean I was the only one here all freakin' night, does it?"
What are you trying to say? Some other dog broke in here last night, made this mess, then locked the door on his way back out?
"Hey, I don't know how it happened, I just know it happened. I even know when it happened. Hell, I tried to tell you last night, but all you did was shoot the messenger and then make some half-assed patrol. You didn't even turn on the lights! How would you know who or what was in here?"
You little sneak! You set this up! There was no one here! You barked just to give yourself an alibi, didn't you?
"Shake yourself, pal. I'm a freakin' dog. Pavlovian perhaps, but I'm not capable of that level of logic, rational thought, or problem-solving. Good God, man, I'm a golden retriever! We're only fourth on the dog intelligence scale!"
Look, I know you did this, and I'll find a way to prove it.
"Whatever. But don't even think of using that stupid cat for an eyewitness. She's a total quisling. She hates me. That slut will do anything for a can of tuna, and subornation of perjury is a felony, my friend. You'll be in more trouble than me. Now let me outta here. I gotta shit."
I could only shake my head, open the door, and let her out. She got halfway out the door, paused, and looked back:
"And on a related matter, that whole dog-biscuit-on-the-nose thing? The one where you make me sit there like an idiot until you tell me I can have it, that you think is just so-o-o-o entertaining to all your Parrothead buddies??"
Yeah, what about it? You LOVE that.
"No. I don't. I just don't want to embarrass you in front of your friends. It's actually demeaning. Stop it. You should know by now that I have poor nose/eye coordination. You ain't exactly Jerry Rice yourself, you know."
Sorry. I had no idea.
"Well, DUH. Now, I'll be done in a second here. Go get the shovel, genius."
I made a silent memo to myself to cut Scully way back on her TV time. Especially CSI, no matter how much she whines.
|
SCULLY! Shut the hell up! What's your problem????
"Heard something. Sure of it. In the kitchen." She wanders over and lays back down as though nothing happened.
So I get up, wander down the hall in my boxers, gaze into my darkened kitchen and living room.
Nothing.
Thankfully, I had no problem getting back to sleep. This morning, I hobbled on my bug-infested leg to the kitchen to brew up a pot of joe. Half asleep, I felt something crunch under my feet and looked down.
WTF?......Crumbs? Brownie crumbs?
An empty tray was sitting on the counter, where last night sat a tray of brownies. They had been reduced to a scrap of cellophane and a gazillion little brown crumbs stretching into the living room.
Dammit, Scully!
Scully has an addiction. She can't help it. She's powerless over food items left on a counter top within her reach. When we leave the house, we make sure everything is pushed back where she can't get it. She's eaten entire loaves of bread, leftover pizza, and bags of candy. Once, she ate about 14" of very pricey Italian dry Salami, and on one memorable occasion, the day before our niece's wedding, a sizeable portion of wedding cake.
But she never strikes when we're home, only when left alone. Until last night.
So I bring her into the kitchen to survey her handiwork.
You proud of yourself?
"What? You think I did this?"
Who else? You had motive, method, and opportunity. Oh, and might I add, a lengthy record of prior crimes?
"Maybe. But that doesn't mean I did this one. What evidence do you have. Prints? Trace? Fibers? Hair? DNA?"
Evidence? I don't need evidence. I OWN this place. Hell, I own YOU. I say you did it.
"What are you, Stalin all of a sudden? Don't blow smoke up my tail. You're a civil libertarian and you know it."
Well, you're the dog. There are no other dogs here. I didn't knock brownies onto the floor and eat them. Mom didn't knock brownies on the floor and eat them. Who does that leave, smart ass?
"How would I know? Just because I'm the only one here this morning doesn't mean I was the only one here all freakin' night, does it?"
What are you trying to say? Some other dog broke in here last night, made this mess, then locked the door on his way back out?
"Hey, I don't know how it happened, I just know it happened. I even know when it happened. Hell, I tried to tell you last night, but all you did was shoot the messenger and then make some half-assed patrol. You didn't even turn on the lights! How would you know who or what was in here?"
You little sneak! You set this up! There was no one here! You barked just to give yourself an alibi, didn't you?
"Shake yourself, pal. I'm a freakin' dog. Pavlovian perhaps, but I'm not capable of that level of logic, rational thought, or problem-solving. Good God, man, I'm a golden retriever! We're only fourth on the dog intelligence scale!"
Look, I know you did this, and I'll find a way to prove it.
"Whatever. But don't even think of using that stupid cat for an eyewitness. She's a total quisling. She hates me. That slut will do anything for a can of tuna, and subornation of perjury is a felony, my friend. You'll be in more trouble than me. Now let me outta here. I gotta shit."
I could only shake my head, open the door, and let her out. She got halfway out the door, paused, and looked back:
"And on a related matter, that whole dog-biscuit-on-the-nose thing? The one where you make me sit there like an idiot until you tell me I can have it, that you think is just so-o-o-o entertaining to all your Parrothead buddies??"
Yeah, what about it? You LOVE that.
"No. I don't. I just don't want to embarrass you in front of your friends. It's actually demeaning. Stop it. You should know by now that I have poor nose/eye coordination. You ain't exactly Jerry Rice yourself, you know."
Sorry. I had no idea.
"Well, DUH. Now, I'll be done in a second here. Go get the shovel, genius."
I made a silent memo to myself to cut Scully way back on her TV time. Especially CSI, no matter how much she whines.
