You Can Lead A Dog To A Bone, But You Can't Make Him Chomp

It's been over a week since Farmer H used his new toy power washer to clean the boards of the back porch. Still none of that stain applied. The stain he had to buy right then, and took out a new Lowe's credit card for both purchases. Which, according to the fine print, has an interest rate of 26.9 percent! Even Steven, Gummi Mary, and Not-Heaven help us if our exemplary mail delivery does not get the bill to us in a timely manner!

You know who's really suffering from that power-washed porch? My dogs! Sweet, Sweet Juno seems resigned to the loss of her house (even thought it's been moved a mere 6 feet away). Poor Jack learned his first lesson yesterday.

Yes, like an adolescent boy on his very first date, my Jack was in a turmoil over the mixed signals he was receiving.

Jack followed me to the kitchen door for a returned-home treat. He eschewed running to the BARn behind Farmer H on the Gator, and let Juno and Copper Jack proceed without him. Jack was either very loyal to me, or just hungry.

Anyhoo... he waited politely at the door while I readied his treat. I dipped the top half of a Hawaiian Roll Onion Bun in some leftover bacon grease. Then I grabbed a pork steak bone. Jack seemed confused when I didn't hand him the treats right outside the door, on the WASHED PORCH BOARDS. I called to him, and we went around the corner, in front of Juno's house's new location.

I set down the bun for Jack. Again, he looked at me questioningly. Wagging his tail in a congenial manner. I figured he smelled the bone, and was holding out to have it first. So I handed it to him. Jack took it gingerly in his tiny jaws. He's not a snapper. A nipper when excited, yes, but not a snapper at food like Juno. As soon as I released the bone, Jack turned and TOOK IT TO THE WASHED PORCH!

"NO! Jack. No."

He looked over his shoulder at me, confused, then laid down the bone. Well, crap! Another stain from the BBQ sauce. I picked up the bone and tossed it over onto the unclean porch boards. It landed up against the house wall, a couple feet past the grease bun.

"There, Jack. There's your bone. Go get it."

Jack looked up with sad eyes. He wouldn't go. I scooted the bone out with my toe.

"C'mon! Let's get your bone."

Jack cowered to the porch like I was going to beat him. I NEVER BEAT HIM! I guess it's just a submissive posture to make me feel like I'm the boss.

"Here, Jack. HERE."

I picked up the bone. Jack wouldn't take it from my hand. I walked it to the side porch where he eats his cat kibble. Jack took the bone, and hopped down the steps.

"Good dog, Jack! That's my boy!"

Jack walked halfway to the carport, turned towards the porch, and ate his bone with his front feet in the lava rocks that Farmer H has used for landscaping around the porch.

I'm sure Jack will rue the day he stayed on the porch with me rather than following Farmer H on the Gator, with Juno and Copper Jack, over to the BARn to get the tractor.