Writing about bad dogs is much more interesting than writing about good dogs.
And it’s not that these particular dogs are really bad, they're just more, shall we say, challenging.
Meet Jack.
He’s a one-year-old field-bred white lab. Jack is a beautiful dog. He can jump about three feet from a standing position. And he’s fast—especially when it comes to food.
Jack is perhaps the worst (or shall I say best) counter surfer I have ever had the pleasure of watching. Gus comes close, but he’s a little stealthier.
Jack is a brazen, in your face, “Do you want the rest of that?” kind of dog. He will jump on the counter right next to you, run his tongue along the tile, look you in the eyes as if to say, “Hey, what are you making me for lunch?”
Jack comes from a wonderful family. His human mom, Julie, is very sweet and always hesitantly drops Jack off with a sort of grimace.
I let him run around the yard for a while like I usually do, so he can do the “happy pee” ceremony over everything that can’t run away from his lifted leg, well, except Moondoggie who found it necessary to stick her head under his rear end while he was in mid-stream.
Perhaps it was my fault, because I had a turkey to get into the oven, but I didn’t let him spend as much time outside as usual. I went into my kitchen, keeping an eye on Jack, keeping him off the counter and prepping Mr. Turkey all at the same time.
I thought I was doing a good job of it too until I heard my husband gasp, “Oh No!” Maybe Jack wasn’t happy with my cooking and decided to create a fecal sculpture in protest right in the middle of one of my Persian rugs. Highly unlikely for Jack to protest any food given the fact that he finds tennis balls delectable.
My husband was kind enough to clean it up for me, seeing that his dinner depended on it.
