Dogs Are Manipulative Bastards

I carry treats with me at the park to increase the speed and frequency of my dogs coming to me when I call them. If I run out, a dog might come running the first time, but when he figures out there's nothing but a pat on the head as a reward, he acquires sudden and acute hearing loss the next time I call.

I've got a few dogs who need to know what kind of treats I have that day before they decide if it's worth their time. If the dog with wheat, gluten and chicken allergies is with us, they won't even bother sniffing at the bacon-shaped cardboard I'm offering. I have other dogs who would pull themselves out of a dead squirrel and come sit at perfect attention if I held out a pine cone plucked from a mud puddle.

My little French Bulldog, however, has brought food motivation to a whole new level. She learned quite quickly that other dogs get treats when they drop stolen tennis balls or squeaky toys. Without an ounce of retrieving instinct in her blood, she now races along side the Labradors to get to the ball and steal it. Instead of bringing it back like the retrievers do, she runs in circles, looking back to watch my reaction, until I tell her to drop it. In an instant, the ball is out of her mouth and her front paws are on my leg, waiting for her reward.

On her lazy days, when it's too hot to run or the ball is too far away, she pulls out a trick she learned from the poop eaters. If a poop eater sniffs at another dog's pile, I tell them to leave it and pull out the best tasting treat on the market. Some dogs just stand there, looking at the poop, and looking at the treat, looking at the poop and looking at the treat. As if it's a difficult decision. While they're making up their mind, I've got the French Bulldog climbing up my pant leg, trying to claim the treat for herself.

In hindsight, I should have given her the treat. I can see her point. She left the poop alone, she deserved a treat as much as the poop eater. But now, I've got a new poop eater in the pack. And it's clear it comes as naturally to her as racing a Labrador on her three-inch legs.

I know she's about to do it when she sees a dog squat runs towards it, and stands there looking at me. For some reason, she waits for me to say "leave it," before smushing her flat face into the mess. I can't help but cry out in disgust, and that's when she stops and looks right at me, like a kid in a high chair with pudding all over his face, and waits to see if I reach into my pocket. If I don't go for a treat, she dives right back in. She gets a treat every time.

I've inadvertently created a monster. A ball-stealing, poop-eating, flat-faced, manipulative monster.