I’m a bad Dad. OK, Patty & I don’t have human children, so I’m more accurately a bad dog-Dad…before my morning coffee at least. There; now that I’ve accepted responsibility for the following story, I can proceed with a tale of extreme animal cunning worthy of a Cuba Gooding Jr. film ( a recent one.)
Indie is an absolute twirling nutcase at breakfast and dinnertime. I mean it; she literally twirls around until I feed her, and If I don’t hand-feed her a little of her food at a time, she can’t keep it down. To clarify, “there will be vomit.” Bear, on the other hand, greets food-time with all of the excitement of an episode of “The Mentalist.” As a result, we occasionally mix in some wet dog food to make it more palatable for him. Indie gets a little bit of wet food too, because in theory she’s a good dog…in theory. (Are you with me so far? ’cause I can write this paragraph again.)
Well, in my usual pre-coffee stupor the other morning, I accidentally left the open can of wet dog-food on the kitchen table. Fast-forward to later that day: Patty & I were in the kitchen when I suddenly remembered the little matter of the open dog food can. Unfortunately, the can was nowhere to be found in the kitchen. A quick, expletive-laden search of the house revealed a notably empty and (might I add) horribly mangled dog food can on the living room floor. At least, I ASSUME it was dog food, since even the label had been ripped off…the freaking label! We didn’t reprimand her, since the whole thing was pretty much my fault anyway. By the way, we didn’t reprimand ME either, (except for the grammar in this sentence.)
On the bright side, at least we know Indie can open cans with her teeth, because you never know when that’ll come in handy.
