I mentioned in a recent show that Star, our Bichon Frise, has certain preferences. Call them preferences, or idiosyncrasies, or eccentricities. Whatever you call them, she has them. She has definite ideas on how her life should be; when she should go for a walk, when she should have access to the garden, when she should be on your lap, and so on. The basic rule seems to be that all these things should happen whenever she jolly well wants them to happen, thank you very much!
One of her oddest preferences, is a marked attraction to anything that smells of ears. Yes- ears. Despite normally being a well behaved little dog, the moment that delicate nose of hers gets a whiff of anything vaguely ear-y, she forgets the rules and goes for it. She has dragged unattended ear phones out of Jenny's bag and chewed them beyond repair. But her favourite delicacy is ear plugs. My husband has lost countless pairs of the things simply by forgetting to leave them out of Star's reach.
I have mentioned this to him numerous times. Mentioning numerous times is not the same as nagging. No it isn't, honestly. No matter how many times I mention it though, he just doesn't seem to grasp it. (Oh that someone should invent a clicker training system that works on husbands!)
So at the weekend, we were sitting in the lounge, and Star had taken herself off into the bedroom for some peace and quiet - another of her character quirks. Suddenly Buddy who was relaxing beside me on the couch lifted his head and listened intently. I knew from the look on his face exactly what he could hear; somewhere in the house Star was having fun. When there's fun to be had, Buddy doesn't like to be left out. I went off to investigate.
Star treated me to her best "It wasn't me!" expression, with her jaws slightly open. Both our dogs will admit a crime when directly questioned, and when I asked, "What have you got?" she began to work an object around in her mouth, preparatory to spitting it out. At last out popped a plastic ear plug container. An empty one. I bore it aloft to the lounge, and demanded of my husband, "Did this have ear plugs in it?"
"Yes," he said, with the crestfallen look of one who knows his wife is about to start repeatedly mentioning something to him.
"How many times have I told you about this?" I asked.
"I've lost count actually," he informed me, with more than a hint of sarcasm. I won't bore you with the whole conversation; suffice it to say that I significantly added to the number of times that I have mentioned this subject to him.
When I got to thinking about it though, I started to feel quite offended. Not with my husband, no I have learned to expect no better, but with Star. Because on my side of the bed, on my little chest of drawers, undefended for once stood my ear plugs. They were very near the edge, not in a container, and easily within her scavenging range. But the little minx had rejected my ear plugs, preferring to go round to Anthony's chest of drawers and thieve his ear plugs away.
Now I ask you - what's so wrong with my ear plugs? What's wrong about the way my ears smell? Too much? Not enough? Just not tempting enough? I don't know, and so for the moment, I shall do what I normally do when faced with a problem of such a personal nature; I shall sulk.
Just in case anyone is worried on behalf of Star's digestive system, the ingested ear plugs duly emerged back out of her digestive system earlier today. They'll never be used for their intended purpose again I'm afraid. If any reader is aware of a good husband training system, do let me know. I can live in hope can't I?
Take care,
Julie x