Dog Thinks I’m a Vending Machine

My dog thinks I’m a vending machine.

Whenever I walk past the kitchen, he tries to hit me up for a chewy bone or a bacon slice.

I hate it. This must be what a drug dealer feels like when he’s out shopping for essentials.

Me and the dealer have other things in common, too, such as neither of us uses our own gear or votes.

My Dog Has Unreasonable Expectations

Dogs, as far as I can tell, are master manipulators. My dog is always trying to work his brain on me.

But he doesn’t appreciate that I’m a little smarter than he is.

Not trying to boast. I just think it’s a reasonable claim to make.

That said, my dog is a worthy adversary due to his doctorate in human behaviour.

He’s constantly trying out new things on me to see how I’ll react, then logs it down and comes back at me next time with a more refined process.

Remember though, he doesn’t have a pen and pad and is working entirely from memory.

Quite impressive, really.

His problem is that I’m immune to unsophisticated manipulation.

Years ago, towards the end of a long walk, my dog started to stare up at me.

The more I looked down at him and the more concern I showed, the worse his condition seemed to get.

It was cold out, and after some fun exploration of the fields, I concluded that the weather was getting to him.

Not wanting to take a chance, I picked him up and stuffed him under my jumper beneath my jacket, and carried him near the warmth of my stomach all the way home.

Not once on that journey home did he assert an ability to continue of his own accord; quite to the contrary, he appeared to be genuinely relieved.

As I carried him, I would periodically peek in at his new nest, and like a kangaroo in a pouch, his big eyes would peer up at me.

Obviously, grateful for the compassion I had shown.

Personally, I think that was a major turning point.

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