A Plaster of Guilt

Imagine opening your front door, stepping inside, and seeing your rug covered with a white powdery substance.You do a quick review of your habits and remind yourself that as far as you can recall, you haven’t started a drug business, and then you run through a list of what the foreign powder could possibly be.

This is precisely what happened to me two years ago. After being gone for several hours, I returned to find the area carpet in my living room covered in a fine, white powder in some places, a plaster of white sticky stuff in others. I ran through a list of possible causes, and that’s when I remembered the five pound bag of flour I left on the counter.

Weimaraners, the big, gray breed of German hunting dogs, are often referred to as “counter surfers”. They are known for leading with their gastro desires and are big enough to search out counter tops when the urge hits. My husband once owned a Weimar-lab mix named Kelly. Kelly was a delight to her family, until one afternoon when they returned home from a church service. This inventive dog had managed to open the refrigerator door and devour an entire ham—Sunday’s special supper. After expressions of dismay and scolding, the family started watching the poor, bloated dog carefully for distress in case an emergency Sunday vet visit was required. Fortunately for Kelly, Weimars are also known for their fantastic capacity to digest large amounts of food. Kelly survived. And my husband’s father rigged up the refrigerator with a bungee cord so no further furtive feasting could occur.

Bungee cords also make an appearance in my house. In fact, before leaving the dog alone, we often ask each other, “Did you dog-proof the house?” Dog-proofing is a process that requires an extra five minutes planning before we can go anywhere. 

Dog-Dog, despite his lack of opposable thumbs, has learned to open the kitchen cupboard door beneath the sink where the garbage is stored. On more than one occasion, before we mastered the dog-proofing routine, he managed to drag the garbage out from beneath the sink. Not only did he drag the garbage out, but he preferred to eat his feast of culinary crap out on the area carpet in the living room. Perhaps the softer setting was more comfortable for his coffee ground and orange peel noshing. In keeping with the family tradition, we started to bungee cord the cupboard. But that didn't completely deter our poor, starving dog. He also learned to push open the Lazy Suzy cupboard, which doesn’t have a  handle to secure, so we now push a chair in front of it so he can’t reach it. Dog-Dog has us trained very well.

But back to the Great Flour Incident where, what I had finally deduced was flour, covered my floors, including a fine trail of the white stuff leading to the back of the house where the family room is located. I sighed and followed the trail back. There, on Dog-Dog’s bed, was the opened and ripped bag of evidence.

He walked out to greet me, his tail wagging, and his long floppy ears slightly back on his head in a failed attempt to appear contrite. He cocked his head and looked at me as if, I swear, to say, “What? I didn’t do anything! Honest!”  Except that the guilt was written all over his muzzle, and chest in the form of a dried, white plaster. Dog-Dog was imitating a walking, breathing piñata. No court would have acquitted him, no matter how sympathetic the judge. And I was not very sympathetic.

When we adopted our Weimie over five years ago, we knew that adopting an older dog meant we didn’t get to start from scratch. We knew providing him a forever home came with accepting a few foibles and quirks. I just never suspected I’d be replacing bags of flour, picking up garbage or getting calls from neighbors.

But that’s another post for another time.