We each of us have desires and goals in life. Some of us have many and some have few but we all have them. This is a post about one of the primary driving forces behind my dog’s life, a powerful purpose for waking every morning to scratch away at the door as he tries frantically to get our attention from his bed dwelling in the kitchen. That purpose is his never ending quest for the next treat.
In our kitchen he has his own cupboard. For the most part it contains various supplies and bits for his general care – a hair brush, denta-sticks, shampoo, the slaughtered and decimated remains of one of his more recent toys as well as numerous other items. But to Oghren, this cupboard is a magic portal where his dreams come to life when his wait for the next treat is finally over and he can devour, chew and demolish something when he is being rewarded for a favourable act. It is the repository for his treat drawer. That’s right; he has an entire drawer for treats that needs to be restocked fairly regularly.
We often find him standing and leaning on this door as he twists his head in many directions just to see if we are paying attention to his wanton need to gain access. That or he is sitting and waiting patiently next to it when he feels we should be looking into the matter perhaps a little more than we feel that we should be. To him, almost every little action such as being fussed, waiting by the door, the mildest form of play or even just looking at him and saying hello is deserving of a treat. When he wants one but we have decreed that he has had enough for now, he will sniff the house from top to bottom as he scours every nook and cranny just hoping to stumble across some wayward, long lost nibble that he thinks will just appear because he so desperately wants it to. This though tends to result in him thinking that a stray hair or piece of fluff is perfectly acceptable causing an odd foam to form on his lips/flaps – our dog has flaps! This means every now and then we have to scold him and wipe away the result of his failed attempt to find his wayward loot of treats. If his life were a Borderlands game then his denta-sticks (which he adores) are at least a purple level rarity!
One of his favourite games is chase the treat where I will pull apart one of his gravy bones (he seems to love them) into two or three smaller pieces and throw, or sometimes pretend to throw, them down the hallway. He responds to this by excitedly bounding down said hallway with his ears flapping and his head held high as if he wants to give himself every possible chance of finding this scrumptious morsel of nummy nums! His reaction times and reflexes are never more potent than when he knows that a treat is the end destination.
Read fantasy, treat your hounds sensibly and please, revel in Reverie.
Forged From Reverie.