Dogged by unfriendly family pet

Family Man


 

 

Dog is not man’s best friend

My dog is a stalker.

He follows my wife everywhere. If she’s on the couch, he lays at her feet. When we go to bed, he goes to her side. Even when she goes to the bathroom, our loyal beagle waits outside the door. He’ll barge in if she doesn’t close the door all the way.

It doesn’t matter that I walk him most, pet him all the time and play with him more than anyone in the house. He goes to my wife.

So why doesn’t he stalk me?

I suppose I have my privacy. My wife can’t go anywhere without our dog in tow. It’s too bad he’s often a trip hazard. But still, isn’t dog supposed to be man’s best friend?

I watched my wife to see what she was doing to get all the love. Maybe her attention was more sincere than mine. I’d change that.

The next day while in the car, my wife was eating Cheetos in the passenger seat, and out of the corner of my eye, I noticed something orange in her hand as it plunged into the depths between the seats.

That’s when it dawned on me: The dog stalks the wife, I thought, because she drops food scraps for him. And he knows it. So he waits under her feet and follows wherever she goes.

At the dinner table that evening, I observed something else to back up my theory—the dog was loitering under my 14-year-old son’s feet. And there went a morsel of food, a result of my kid not leaning over his plate when he ate. Everywhere else, the dog was after my wife’s snacks. And I saw her provide.

I began carrying my own goodies, sliding a piece of bread or a slice of cheese the dog’s way when no one was looking. I kept food in my pockets at all times, and he followed the scent wherever I went.

The dog never left me alone. Even when I stopped carrying, I couldn’t have peace. I was tripping over him down the hall and he practically took down the bathroom door one afternoon I was in there. My wife seemed sad that she’d lost her friend. I told her what I’d done.

“That’s not nice,” she said. “He doesn’t love me for the food. I love him. I pet him. I talk to him.”

“Make no mistake,” I pointed out. “That dog is not man’s best friend. His allegiance is to food.” When I pointed out our pet’s new movements, she couldn’t help but realize there’d been a shift in attention.

“I guess I have had more alone time lately,” she said with a smile. And she walked away with a cool satisfaction. And now, even though I no longer give the dog food, he still won’t leave me alone.

Call me a jerk, but I’ve seriously thought about planting treats in my son’s clothes pockets.

E-mail Michael Picarella at michael.picarella@gmail.com. To read more of his stories, pick up his book, “Everything Ever After,” at www.MichaelPicarella.com.