I have continue to discover that my dog is not merely street smart, she’s practically the valedictorian of the school of hard knocks.
After the power outage last week, I began to throw away questionable food items, including a rinsed and reheated version of the failed gnocchi recipe I attempted to make. Apparently, Smidge liked the gnocchi more than Cairo, as she managed to rip open the trash Friday and eat the leftover pasta, as well as two sticks of butter I had thrown away.
Before I go on, I’ll add I called our emergency veterinarian and they determined since she was acting normally, without labored breathing, lethargy or other symptoms of the “stomach flip” that she had probably gotten in to something or had too much dinner. I called my dad, who let me know *someone* had ripped up the trash Friday. I went through the trash bag and… well, the butter wasn’t in there. I didn’t realize the gnocchi was not, either.
I found both items like the grand prize of an Easter Egg hunt, starring my house. The gnocchi had been thrown up on Smidge’s secret lounge (a pillow with a satin case under my bed) and I discovered the butter on two throw pillows when I went to lay down on the couch Saturday morning as my hot cocoa cooled.
But neither my buttery surprise, nor Smidge’s bloated belly that she didn't seem to notice because of past pregnancies, were the amazing feats here. No, that was the fact she got the food stuffs in question from the trash can.
Picture a metal trash can, kitchen height, with a foot pedal. The dog, a hearty Chihuahua, slightly misshapen by breeding but otherwise of standard height and length, pulled the bag lining the trash can out to get those delicacies.
Folks, that means my dog had to stretch her full body length, use the foot pedal, and grab the edge of the bag with her teeth, all at the same time.
She’s not a regular trash bandit… she’s a trash bandit mastermind. A career trash bandit.
I can get pretty pensive over my dog’s mysterious past, but her previous behaviors already showed that she has previously fought for her meals. And she fought for that butter and that pasta. She fought and she won, and since she didn’t end up hurting herself, I guess I can be glad I have one smart, happy pupper.
But the trash can is going on stilts.
