In which Emma falls from grace

Tonight Emma heard two words she’s almost never heard from me in juxtaposition before.

Bad dog.

I was sitting on the sofa writing. Emma got up from lying on the living room floor nearby and went to the kitchen to get a drink.

After a while I noticed she was taking an unusually long time getting a drink. She does tend to wait until she’s really thirsty, and then go slurp her bowl dry, so I’m used to protracted sessions. But this one, it struck me, had gone on much too long unless she’d figured out the faucet. It’s a bowl, not a bathtub.

And then I noticed that the rhythmic sounds coming from the kitchen, while similar to the noises she makes drinking, were not … quite  … right.

So I got up and went to investigate. And discovered she’d gained access to the bag of Chicken Jerky Treats I keep on hand for her and was helping herself most generously. The little monster!

So for a rare occasion Emma got well and truly bad-dogged. Then she went outside, where, frankly, it’s very comfortable out right now. She’s not really in exile, howbeit in disgrace.

I hope she’s learned her lesson. I’ve learned mine: got the jerky-treat bag in a less accessible location.

At least she wasn’t rooting for litter-box truffles.

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