Forbidden Fruit

We have a mail slot in our door, and we accidentally trained our dogs to kill the mail. I say accidentally because we caught them snatching the mail, and we thought it was so funny that we would feed them junk mail through the slot. It’s what old, not-too-bright people do for entertainment. Then the little darlings managed to take a chunk out of a refund check one too many times and we got a new mail carrier with a dog phobia. Up went the new outside mail box.

We changed our wicked way, but the dogs didn’t. When the mail comes and is safely deposited in the outside box, they go wild, running and barking and gouging claw marks in the front door. They do this, occasionally falling in a snarl on one another, until I retrieve the mail. The big dog is satisfied when I’ve done my job, but the little one, the Yorkzilla, is still determined to shred anything incoming. He performs wild leaps and twists that would make any Olympic ice skater proud. Occasionally he’s managed to snag a mail-order book or a Netflix cd, and anything accidentally hitting the floor is hamster bedding.

But my husband has taught me a new trick. Select a piece of junk mail. Offer it to him. In the middle of a feeding frenzy, Little Bo gets a befuddled look on his face, and chagrined, turns away from the offering.

When you're playing at being the bad dog, it’s only really good if they don't want you to have it.

© Donna Warner, July, 2007