As you are very aware, I am a neat dog. I like to keep things tidy and very organized. You never know when you are going to be forced to find your best nylon bone on a second’s notice.
I was in the middle of my licking routine this afternoon when I saw it. Off in the corner of the room sat my dear, precious squeaky duck.
The shock of this sight brought my licking to a complete halt. I knew for a fact I had put away my squeaky duck yesterday. It was there, wedged in between the blue stuffed animal I had ripped open and the sock I had stolen from the woman when she wasn’t looking. Nevertheless, it was there.
I did what any reasonable dog would do, immediately hopping off the couch, getting a drink from my water dish, sniffing that one thing in the kitchen, then going to the corner to retrieve my duck.
I felt its plush body in my mouth as I turned and headed towards my toy basket.
“Charlie, come here!” The call interrupted my procedure.
Now, my first instinct was to ignore the man calling my name. I had very important things to do. That duck needed put away and my crotch wasn’t going to lick itself. I, however, am loyal. As a dog, it is one of my more annoying character traits. Plus, last night he gave me a bite of his dinner when the woman wasn’t looking. I headed that way for more.
Instead, what I got was a harsh slap in the face. Metaphorically, of course. He would never slap a dog.
He reached out and grabbed the duck from my mouth, smiling and throwing it against the wall.
“Go get it!” he said.
Well, of course I was going to go get it. It was my duck. I can’t just leave it in the floor like some sort of barbarian. I ran over and grabbed it, and, against my better judgement, headed back to the man.
Then, he did it again. I had barely gotten to him when, with no warning, he grabbed that duck and threw it to the exact same spot. He smiled and, once again, urged me to go get MY personal possession that he had just thrown AWAY from ME.
It was like déjà vu as I jumped off of the couch and headed to the duck. I was beginning to think that he wasn’t going to give me any food, but just continue to steal my things and chuck them at the wall. I couldn’t stand for this anymore. There was no way I would-
“Charlie, come here,” he said, interrupting my silent rage. I turned towards him. Of course he was going to do something nice this time. He had called my name, after all.
Nope. As I reached the couch, he grabbed for the duck again. I pulled hard as I could, but he would not let go. Back and forth, the battle went.
I gave it my all, I’m proud to say. Unfortunately, a miniature dachshund’s jaw has no chance against the brute strength of human bent on a game of “fetch.”
This time, I took the duck and immediately ran to the kitchen, placing it gently in it’s resting spot. I couldn’t figure out what the man’s problem was. He seemed to think that throwing someone’s toy and expecting them to go get it was some kind of game.
I’d like to stay mad at him, but it’s really hard. How can you be mad at something that loveable and dumb? He looks at me with that big, dopey human look in his eyes and I have no choice but to forgive him.
If he tries to take my duck again, though, I may have to destroy him. That’s my duck. If he wants to throw one so bad, he should just get his own.