Guilt and PB&Ks

My family often comments how easily I pick up tricks and remember things that I approve of and how stubborn I am when it comes to adapting to the behaviors they favor or remembering things that they think are important. Exasperated by my “selective memory,” they’ve made many a comment such as “he remembers that he saw a cat hiding behind the garage last week and keeps looking for it, yet if you tell him to “sit,” he looks at you like you’re speaking a different language.”

It’s offensive the way they keep bringing it up so frequently, however, they aren’t entirely wrong. I’m an independent pup and I make up my own mind and do what I want. Not to mention, sometimes that “selective memory” is actually part of a clever plot to make my family do exactly what I want them to do. Here’s a recent example.

About a week ago, when I went outside to do my early evening perimeter check after my family finished their dinner, Ma surprised me upon my return with a PB&K (Peanut Butter [stuffed in a] Kong) left on my pillow. It was a great surprise and I happily settled down for an evening of eating peanut butter and gnawing on the rubbery Kong.

The next night, after I went outside and did my perimeter check, I wasted no time in getting back inside the house figuring that another PB&K would be waiting for me. I ran through the kitchen, I skidded through the dining room, I scurried through the living room, and I screeched to a halt in front of my pillow. But there was no PB&K! In utter disbelief, I checked on either side of my pillow—maybe it had rolled off—but I wasn’t wrong; there was no PB&K. I turned and looked to Ma. She and Sister were laughing. “He expected another PB&K to appear on his pillow—how does he remember?” they asked each other.

I was both angry and embarrassed. It was bad enough that they were making fun of me, but to be subjected to such ridicule without the reward of a PB&K was beyond disturbing.

But then, I got an idea. If I managed to make Ma feel guilty about making fun of me, eventually she’d be forced to get me a PB&K.

I turned back to my pillow and, feigning panic, continued looking. I looked all around my pillow and under the couch. I checked where Ma and Sister were sitting (making sure to drag my slobbery chin across their legs in the process). Then I went back to my pillow and stared at it in disbelief. Guilt ridden, and a little grossed out by the slobber dripping down her knee, Ma eventually caved. Into the kitchen she went to make me a PB&K (and to wipe off her leg with a paper towel).

The next evening—night three—arrived and I came into the house much as I did the previous one. Into the living room I rushed and was discouraged to find that, yet again, there was no PB&K waiting for me. I turned on my faux-anxiety and this time Sister caved first.

But rather than get my me PB&K, Sister was mean and decided that she should first have some fun at my expense. She went into the kitchen and brought back into the living room not a PB&K but a cookie. “Cover his eyes,” Sister instructed Ma and then, once my eyes were covered, Sister quickly hid MY COOKIE!!!!

“Find the cookie” Sister instructed as Ma removed her hands from my eyes.

Suddenly, my faux-anxiety morphed into sheer panic. Where was my cookie?! I looked at Ma. I looked at my pillow. I looked at Sister. Then I went back to Ma. Ma and Sister tried coaching me. They kept instructing me to find the cookie and pointed toward my spot on the couch. “No,” I thought frantically, “that’s my spot, not my cookie.” I was inconsolable.

Eventually, Ma reached over to my spot and pulled the cookie from the corner to the middle of the cushion. “Find the cookie” she instructed pointing directly at the Milkbone. By this time, I was completely and totally frantic and did not even notice that the cookie was right there in the open. “Use your nose” Sister instructed which I found less than useful. The laughter issuing from both Ma and Sister was even less so.

Eventually, Ma handed me the cookie. It tasted good, but I knew two things that would taste even better: slinging guilt and a PB&K.

Although I had consumed the cookie, I made sure not to rachet down the anxiety. I continued pacing the room looking for cookies even though I knew there were no others. After a few moments of watching me search the room, the guilt got to be too much for Ma and she stalked off to the kitchen for my PB&K. I had won on both counts. 

So yes, I had to undergo some criticism, but really, in the end, I won out. And all because my family has been so well trained.