Peppermint Patti is still convalescing from surgery to repair her left hind anterior cruciate ligament. She still has not related to her editor how in the world this injury occurred. We are hoping she may give us the details in a future column, but so far mum has been the word from Patti. She shows more and more energy each day, though the veterinarians have forbidden physical exercise. According to Patti, this prohibition extends to writing her column, since she needs all four feet to operate a keyboard. Afraid we’ll just have to wait till Patti is ready. Meanwhile, we found yet another unpublished column in her files. — JT
By Peppermint Patti
JOTR Columnist
It is a dog’s right, Sophie, after she comes in from outside, to be given a treat.
This is especially true when she has been outside late on a cold night, barking to warn the neighborhood.
It is our right, Sophie, but our self-styled “owners,” the two-legged walkers assigned to maintain our standard of living, don’t always get it.
I bring this subject up at the chain-link only because it is so fresh in memory that it hurts.
It hurts the more because I understand why my two-legger reneged on the treat.
Right now, by the way, the treats are fake bacon with a faintly piggish smell that drives me wild with anticipation.
So when the treat is withheld, I’d like to know the justification.
But I can’t complain too loudly, first for fear of waking the female two-legger, who’s still asleep, I’m pretty sure.
Also, if I complain, I have to hold myself responsible, for it is I at whose doghouse step the buck stops.
It is the dog, and this is a universal truism, Sophie, it is the dog who is charged with educating his or her so-called “masters.”
The dog who fails in setting examples and teaching two-leggers who is in command is the dog who complains later that she didn’t get a promised treat.
Which is what happened to yours truly last night.
My own fault.
There is a misconception among two-leggers that they are in charge and that they are the ones who are doing the training, with dogs as their subjects.
To a certain extent, I can live with this bit of two-legged mythology, as long as I can see a way to corrupt it.
But the truth, as every pup knows, is that we are the ones who call the shots.
What happened last night, Sophie?
Why, simply, an unspeakable oversight at best, and an egregious slight of dog at worst.
I’ll let you be the judge, Sophie.
Tell me if I’m off base.
It was close to midnight. The male two-legger woke up with his book on his lap.
That was a minor offense. Book on lap means no lap for pup.
As I say, he awoke, blinked, looked at that black strap on his arm and shook his head.
I happened to be lying in sweet repose on a couch opposite, but just because I was sound asleep does NOT mean I was not aware of his movements.
When he strode to the door, I took the hint. I jumped off the couch faster than a nose guard in a Super Bowl game. (That is another fraud, Sophie—my bowl stayed empty that day; nothing “Super” about it)
So, anyway, he said something to me about “a last pee for the night,” what I translated to mean he needed a last yard condition report.
I’d been through this a dozen times that day, with nothing but impudent brush-butts to chase and report.
But last night, I sensed immediately after I left the deck that something untoward was afoot. I was not mistaken.
A ring-tailed bandit was climbing the corner pine, scoffing at my snarls.
What would you have done, Sophie?
I was furious, and let the bandit know in staccato form that his exit pronto was expected forthwith.
My contract calls for alerting the neighborhood to egregious or perverse presences, which a ringtail certainly is.
Elsie the Beagle, in the corner house, bellowed out a refrain.
Believe me, we put out a clamor you could hear downtown, which is what we’re obliged to do.
Public safety!
Now old two-legger’s at the door doing his hissing and “hear Patti-ing” and, of course, I rightly ignored him.
But I took note when he changed his tune and let out a clarion call of “TREAT!”
He only need say that once. Every time, it brings me to the door.
What followed is what rankles still. I popped inside and started cavorting, spinning round and round, chasing my tail and heading for the kitchen counter where I know there’s a bag of those fraudulent bacon things.
There is a theory among so-called “dog trainers” that two-leggers should now and then withhold rewards. They think such bad behavior somehow “reinforces” training. What do they know?
But that, Sophie, is what happened to me last night.
Have you ever felt gulled, conned, baited and switched?
My two-legger went straight to bed. Didn’t go near the treat bag.
He muttered something about “teaching me a lesson.”
I was fuming, Sophie, but what could I do?
Naturally, I hopped up on the bed and let the two-faced shirker run his hands over me. That is part of a dog’s obligation, and no amount of insult will distract me from my duty. But it gave me time to think.
As I said, every one of these two-legger stratagems can be corrupted, and I know now how to re-train my two-legger into better behavior towards a dog who saved the entire neighborhood from a wanton ring-tailed bandit.
Next time he holds back a treat, I’ll be ready.
I’ll back to warn the neighbors about two-faced two-leggers!
