Notes from Maine - 2021/07/25

It was nearly the perfect heist. 

Yesterday morning I got out some supplements for Finn. He takes a big “chewable” pill as a joint supplement. Finn is acutely attuned to sniff out things that are “good for him” and he will not go near them. A giant dog with giant appetites, Finn will exercise tremendous self-control and eat around the chewable pills if I put them in his food. So, I got out two of the supplements, put them on the counter to feed to Finn separately, and went to get food for both Finn and Albert (the little puppy).

When I came back, there was only one pill on the counter. At seven months old, Albert is not very big. I thought that I had dispensed two pills, but clearly there was only one. I got the jar, shook out another pill, and started to set it down next to the first.

That’s when I saw the light reflecting off of a tiny wet streak on the counter. Bending closer, I understood what it was—a tongue print. Little Albert had somehow gotten his little tongue onto the counter and snatched the pill. Sure enough, as I turned around to find him, I saw him returning from the living room while licking his chops.

Albert is a swiper.

Back when he was a puppy, Finn was a swiper. I would be working on a project and reach back for the hammer or screwdriver. Swiper had swiped it. I would have to track down little Finn and figure out where he had stashed my tool before I could get back to work. 

By far, the sneakiest dog I’ve ever met was a Labrador named Beau. After I moved to Maine, Beau lived most of the time with my grandparents. That was his favorite place anywhere. When parents lie and say that a dog went off to live on a farm in the country, this is the kind of place they envision. It was a big farmhouse and barn on more than a hundred acres. Beau would sometimes wander down to the lake and take a swim. I would get back from work and find the German Shepherd on duty, guarding the house diligently. Beau would stroll home thoroughly soaked after spending the afternoon at the shore.  

One year, a poacher shot a moose in the woods near the house. We never figured out where they left the discarded parts of the carcass. Beau found them. He would come back with a giant leg bone and a furiously wagging tail. 

A mile down the road, the neighbors kept their dog on a long rope. Beau would go down and play with that dog. The neighbors reported that both dogs had a lot of fun, but somehow all of that dog’s toys migrated down to our house. The neighbors kept getting their dog new toys and Beau would steal them, one at a time. 

I can’t imagine turning my dogs out for the day at this house. It seemed normal back then. Everyone in the neighborhood knew Beau and where he lived. He never got into any real trouble. The German Shepherd I had back then wouldn’t have dared leave the property without permission, but that was his rule, not something that I enforced. He stayed exactly within the mowed portion of the yard and the driveway down to where the pavement changed. If I walked across the road, he would sit on the edge of the property and wait to be granted permission to come along. 

Down in the suburbs in Virginia, there are an incredible number of rabbits, deer, and foxes wandering around compared to when I was a kid. Fifty years ago, there were dogs left out all day. Some were in fenced yards and some just wandered. I have to imagine that the change in wildlife is due to the fact that everyone has their dogs confined or in daycare all day now. 

I miss Beau’s hijinks, but there must have been at least one or two people who found him annoying. One winter day I came home and my grandmother reported that Beau had been a very bad dog. We never found out where he had stolen the package of frozen chicken from. It wasn’t from our freezer. My grandmother found him sitting with his prize in the driveway, waiting for the chicken to thaw out in the sun. It had a label from Shaw’s grocery store on it, and we aren’t Shaw’s people. 

So I suppose that I’m a better neighbor because I never lose track of my dog friends anymore. On the other hand, I’ve never met a dog who was happier than Beau.