Let's talk

Dog's can't talk, but they can communicate.  Although sometimes the conversation is with themselves, in their own heads.

Last night at dinner, Larsen was counter cruising in the kitchen and snagged a tooth brush.  A tooth brush?  Well, it was from the gimme bag from the dentist.

Larsen snags the toothbrush and trots off with it.  I went into the refrig and got some chicken from his bag of treats.  I didn't call him, although I patted my leg.  I held out my left hand (with the chicken in the right).  Larsen came with the tooth brush and dropped it near me, but not in my hand.  No treat.

Larsen picked up the tooth brush and trotted off with it.  He pretended to be interested in the tooth brush.  I pretended to eat the chicken.  Back he came.  Without the tootbrush.  Well, no treat, puppy.  Don't whine and bark at me like that.  Off he goes.  Back to the toothbrush.

He plays keep-away with the toothbrush.  He taunts.  He parades by with the toothbrush in his mouth.  So what, big boy?  I have the chicken.  Don't you want it?  Yum, yum, yum.  I'm not saying this, but he knows I'm thinking it.  It's your decision, little guy.

Back and forth.

The whole episode is a struggle internal to Larsen.  He wanted to lord the toothbrush over me.  (Look at me!  I have the toothbrush!)  But that chicken looked awful good, and he completely understood what it would take to get the chicken.  Tossing the toothbrush six inches away from my hand, on the kitchen floor, was not good enough.  No chicken for that little stunt.  Larsen barked.  He whined.  No sale, puppy, I thought.  (But did not say; did not say anything, as a matter of fact.  He knew.  It's a matter of communication.) 

Larsen, puppy, think harder.  You will have to vanquish your own little demons to get the chicken.  Tender, tasty, yummy.