Life With Dogs: The Stockpile

Sweetpea has spent her morning trying to stockpile a horde of food and treats. Sweetpea (a.k.a Sweetiepea, Pea, Pea Soup, Sweetie, Mama Dog, etc) is my thirteen-year-old chihuahua. She's a sassy, stubborn little dog that everyone seems to love and adore. Most of my friends who "hate" little dogs, always end up liking her. Most say it's because she's adorable, cute, tiny. I say it's because she has mastered the art of manipulation, and uses her cuteness to her advantage.

Normally the horde my little gremlin has accumulated wouldn't bug me. Most of the time, it's filled with treats or bits of kibble. I tend to leave it alone. Today, however, it was not allowed - as I had thawed some venison as a nice breakfast for both of my little pooches. While Pea was most definitely excited for the venison, she was also keen on hiding bits and pieces of raw meat all over my house. Which makes me angry to no end, and trust me - she knows this. She knows that while hiding a pizzle stick is okay, hiding bits of meat is not. This has been the standard and routine since she was a small puppy I held in my arms at sixteen, which she honestly upheld until age eleven. Which is right around when she tossed a lot of her commands into the "mm, maybe" bucket. Along with recall when she enters her obligatory yard shenanigans mode.

As I leaned back against my counter in the kitchen, a cup of green tea in hand - she stared back at me with a piece of venison in her mouth, the piece sticking out on both sides. Watching me keenly, wondering when I'd be distracted enough so she could slink away and bury her piece of meat somewhere totally inconspicuous.

It ended up being a 15-minute staring competition.

Her little chihuahua eyes feigning innocence might have worked on my family, friends, loves and ex-loves, even strangers - but I knew exactly what she was up to. It is the same look she gives to my friends when we're out walking and she's "Oh so tired" with a paw lifted up, and they always fall for it. The moment I turned to do dishes, or use the bathroom, or really anything that took the attention off of her - she'd softly walk away, as if not to be heard.

Her little body shook and trembled as I said, "Where did you hide the rest of the meat, of it if you're not actively eating this piece?"

Her little brown eyes bore back into mine, a full-body shiver washed over her. She maintained her stance in the kitchen, not moving a muscle other than the tremble that all chihuahuas seem to have. My other dog sat beside her, half focused on me - more focused on the piece of meat in Pea's mouth.

I sighed, tended to my tea. I was surprised in the short second I looked away from her, she didn't flee for some abyss of the apartment I could not reach to stash her newly given treasure. As I walked away to check their kennel and my piles of laundry I was sorting for any signs of meat scrap, I noticed Pea had dropped the piece of meat. Bingo! I thought to myself, dreading where I would find the other pieces of meat she did not consume. I had really hoped it was more a matter of where I found it, and not so much when. Laughing as I searched, because I could tell by the sounds in the kitchen - Jazzy had swooped in and stole the piece of meat right underneath Pea's nose, and that Pea wouldn't notice. Pea was worried I'd find her stash.

You'd think that in the nine years - almost ten - that Jazzy has been alive, Pea would have come to terms with the fact that Jazzy is the dog equivalent of a Hoover or Dyson vacuum. I had to come to terms with that fact when Jazzy was 6 months old and consumed nine of the Halloween sized Oh-Henry candy bars my Grandmother left out.

Thanks to Jazzy, I don't often have to clean the horde of food that Pea accumulated, because there is generally not a trace of her stockpile left.

Sweetpea, in her feigned innocence, made a chihuahua equivalent to the pikachu face when she finally noticed her horde is gone.

Sad days for the smallest dog of the bunch.