Son One and Son Two call her their sister; she wears clothing, sleeps in a bed, and accompanies us to soccer games.
She has her own budget category for expenses such as the beauty parlor (groomer,) vet visits, and an occasional leash or new bone.
A very large portion of her budget is allocated to dog treats - she receives an average of 12 treats a day. Probably more...
But at the end of February, life as she knows it ceased to exist. For the first time in her canine life, multiplied by 7, the jar was empty For three entire days the treat jar was empty.
It's not uncommon to run low on household inventory towards the end of any month. We might deplete shampoo, dryer sheets or beer, but we have never come close to running out of dog treats.
She was devastated.
She moped around on Thursday, looking forlornly at the empty jar whenever we glanced her way. Friday she became passive-aggressive and spread her toys across the living room floor. Saturday morning, she could hardly get out of bed she was so depressed.
Something had to be done.
So we filled the treat jar with Cheerios.
Son Two thought it was a stupid idea, but he still made a huge deal about getting her all excited. She was jumping up and down and nodding her head. Yeah. She wanted a treat. Wanted a treat. Treat. Yeah. Treat. Treat.
Son Two reached into the treat jar and tossed a handful of Cheerios at her feet as we all chanted, "treat" excitedly.
If you think it didn't work, you are correct.
She took one sniff and rolled her eyes with that facial expression that transcends species. A healthy mix of annoyance, disdain, disbelief and supremacy played across her face.
Then she started cleaning herself.
"Ah. Mom," Beau-Hunkly said, talking for the dog. "These are not treats. Duh."
"Gawd Mom," both kids responded for the dog.
I stepped on the pile of Cheerios as I grabbed my car keys and the coupon for PetSmart.
My two cents: To some things, there is no substitue. Stock up!
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