My Dog Merlin, the Glutton

My dog just died. It’s always sad losing a pet.  It’s strange, because in your head you recognize that the pet probably didn’t have the thoughts and emotions you ascribe to it, but all the same, the loss hits you.  It’s almost like losing a family member, though not quite as emotional. But no matter your age, losing a dog is sad.  But I'd prefer to focus on the happy stories, instead of the sad, so I’d like to share a Merlin (my dog) story with you BB+B readers today.

Merlin was a chocolate lab.  When we went to buy him, my mom specifically wanted to get the largest pup in the litter, despite the fact that at the time his head was so heavy he seemed unable to balance himself.  He was oddly proportioned, highly energetic, and from day one we knew there’d be a lot of work to train him towards any semblance of domestication. But we bought him anyway, and were lucky to have him. Merlin, though, was not the guard dog my mom had hoped for.  It seemed that more often than not, he would run up to strangers and lick them, as opposed to trying to protect us from intruders. Apparently, our trust in Merlin as a guard dog was somewhat misplaced.  

We never actually NEEDED a guard dog, in the time we owned Merlin. No one tried to break in, no one attacked us, and really the only protection we needed in our home was for our food.  That’s because Merlin loved food with a zeal and affection that no human being could possibly understand: His little doggie brain didn’t even fully comprehend his love, and it so overpowered him that his drool would hang down in long drops and lines every time we began to cook.  Merlin looked like a dog, acted like a bull, and ate like a pig. 

When he was barely a year old, Merlin decided that he was going to finally make his big criminal debut, and steal some food from the kitchen.  On the particular afternoon in question, my mom and dad were cooking banana bread.  They had everything lined up nicely on the counter, clearly out of the dog’s reach.  They had 5 loaves of banana bread made, several full sticks of butter from the cooking process, and were in the process of cleaning up the kitchen when Merlin made his entrance. 

He crept in, his head he low and tail carefully held still, its characteristic permanent wagging momentarily halted.  He crept past the stove, and towards the counter with food, he crept past my mom, and sidled next to my dad…and leaped.  In full view, he leapt onto the counter, bit down on the nearest piece of food he could find (an entire box of butter) and then sprinted out of the room.  My parents were so surprised at the audacity of the theft that it took them several seconds to stop laughing and chase after him.  And somehow, in LESS than ten seconds, Merlin managed to eat two full sticks of butter, wrappers and all. 

My parents, of course, scolded him.  They put him in his crate, and were very stern.  He looked appropriately ashamed, but in reality that first butter theft had awakened something in our cute little pup:  He had found his calling. He was a food thief, from that day on.  

Later that afternoon, when he was let out of the crate by my parents, he seemed extremely sad.  He moped around, he apologetically followed at their heels and tried to nuzzle them and cuddle up, an obvious apology if I’ve ever seen one.  My parents knew not to completely give him forgiveness, so as to avoid rewarding his behavior, and we were confident Merlin would stop his thieving.  That’s why we didn’t even think to move the banana bread to a higher counter. 

I don’t recall, after all these years, what exactly it was that held our attention, but my family and I left the kitchen alone for at least a few hours.  When my dad wandered in, finally, he was confused to only see half the banana bread loaves he expected.  And the dog, he quickly realized, was nowhere in sight.  Despite having consumed his full daily meals, and two sticks of butter AND butter wrappers, Merlin had stolen two loaves of banana bread.  When we finally found him underneath the dining room table hiding from us, Merlin was face deep in the second loaf-pan, licking the last remnants of banana bread up with what can only be described as canine ecstasy.  He happily surrendered the empty loaf pans to us, happily went to his cage, and spent the entire rest of the afternoon burping quietly to himself, enjoying and digesting his pilfered treats.  When we let him out later, he made a bee-line for the kitchen, which we’d now carefully secured beyond doggie-stealing.  He looked despondently about the kitchen, unable to find even a single snack to sneak, and then decided to go out into the back yard and vomit his massive meals back up.  

Merlin, though, never learned.  In the little over a decade since then, Merlin stole over a dozen more sticks of butter.  He stole countless loaves of bread, both normal and banana, and he stole more food than most third world nations even have.  This dog was the criminal kingpin when it came to stealing food, and until the day he passed, enjoyed gobbling up absolutely anything he could get his hands on.  He was a glutton, he was a thief, he was obsessive and stupid and profoundly incapable of patience, and he was the very best dog I could’ve asked for growing up. 

Nothing on Earth is as incredible as the loyalty and love of a dog, even one that constantly steals your food. 

Thanks for reading BB+B!
-Brian, the Author Guy