Of Dogs and Sandwiches

I'm not too sure why it's the sandwiches.

Maybe my dog really likes sandwiches. Maybe I just eat a lot of sandwiches. Maybe it's a little bit of both. In any case, my dog steals a lot of sandwiches.

The first time he stole my sandwich was the day he discovered how to climb on top of chairs, tables, and counters. I was having a late lunch after having returned from a doctor's appointment, and I was starving. I pulled out all the stops, creating a truly beautiful grilled cheese sandwich topped with enough bacon to make the gods cry tears of joy. Very much looking forward to eating the sandwich, I placed it on a plate and on the kitchen table, a place I assumed it would be safe from would-be canine thieves. That settled, I went to the bathroom.

When I walked into the kitchen again, not five minutes later, ready to eat my sandwich, I was greeted by the sight of my dog, standing on the kitchen table, muzzle covered in crumbs and a half-eaten sandwich unceremoniously strewn about the table and floor. Time stood still for a moment. He froze, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. Our eyes met. I could almost see the gears whirring behind them. I opened my mouth to give voice to my familiar cry of "NO TYBALT NOOOO", and the spell was broken. He grabbed the rest of the sandwich and made a flying leap off the kitchen table, booking it into the living room, with me in hot pursuit.

As crafty as a fox, he dove under the nearest couch where it would be difficult for me to reach him, and set to gobbling down the rest of my sandwich as quickly as he could. I attempted to get it back. I wasn't going to eat it anymore, considering it had been chewed on by my dog and tossed around the floor, but it was the principle of the matter. I was not going to let my dog get away with stealing my sandwich!

To his credit, he managed to swallow half of the piece that was left before I managed to stick my arm under the couch and grab him by his collar to pull him out. He did his very best to look contrite, but the fact that his tongue kept on darting out to collect morsels of food from his muzzle rather ruined the effect. I grabbed a broom and swept under the couch, collecting what was left of my glorious sandwich and throwing it into the garbage as my dog looked on, darting in every so often to try to lick up crumbs.

After cleaning up the considerable mess (and making a new sandwich), I resolved to never leave my sandwiches unattended again. My dog, of course, found a way around this.

This time it was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I had it on a plate and I was carrying it downstairs, to eat by my computer. My dog hovered around me eagerly, just waiting for me to put it down for even a second. He must have gotten tired of waiting, because he darted in between my legs mid-step and tripped me. Arms flailing wildly to balance myself, the sandwich went flying off the plate. Ever the opportunist, he seized it and galloped upstairs to hide under the couch again.

Though realistically I know that the fact that I tripped over him as he wound about my legs was an accident, there's a part of me that believes that my dog is secretly an evil mastermind, deliberately tripping me in an attempt on my life so as to have the sandwich for himself. I have discovered that most places I think are out of reach of my dog are not, in fact, out of reach of my dog. The sandwiches live in fear, knowing he could strike anywhere, at any time. My dog is a sandwich fiend. He has stolen (and attempted to steal) many more sandwiches from me, especially when I get careless and leave my food unattended on a table or counter. At least he keeps me on my toes.