Oops, I Ate It, Part IV

Tail wags, readers! It's me, Stormy - Supreme Commander of the Army of Four. Have you been enjoying the tails my pack-mates have told about their food-stealing exploits? (Or lacking thereof?) Have you noticed a pattern at all? I adopted - I mean gave birth to - Ammy when she was about four months old. She has never stolen food. I adop - gave birth to Zim when he was about a year and a half old. He only munches on fresh herbs. I allowed Dave to join the pack when he was four years old - and he's the surfer extraordinaire. Is all of that a coincidence? I think not. The key? Training and leadership!

Yep! Teaching my puppies and setting an example for them to follow! See... some people food is OK for us puppers, but some isn't really good for us - so we should only take that which the bipeds offer us!

What?

Excuse me a moment, please. Yes, Mom? Yes... umm humm... right... right... oh... THAT?!?! I don't really think we need to ... OK, fine. I'll come clean.

I don't think my pack-mates have heard this one before; it happened way before they joined the family. Let me set the stage. As many of you know, our great sisters, Jesse and Lucky, did much to teach Mom and Dad the ways of the Siberian. They had many, many (but not enough) wonderful years together, and they trained Booter, our great brother, a Lab/Aussie mix. When I joined the family, Boots was an only pup and had been for about a year. In that period of time, Mom and Dad forgot some of the lessons Jesse and Lucky had taught them.

I was about a year and a half old when I joined the family. I was pretty well-mannered - and understood "house rules". Several months after my adoption, when we lived on Fort Riley, Mom was getting ready to host a rather important meeting at our house. I won't bore you with the "who's who" details of the invitation list, but she wanted everything perfect and really wanted to make a certain recipe that called for soft Ladyfingers. (Amber, Marvin, and the rest of you punsters - I mean the sponge-cake like pastry, not what you're thinking!) Mom and Dad looked all over town for the soft kind - but could only find the crunchy ones, which wouldn't work. Just when she was about to give in and try to make some from scratch, Dad found some out here in Manhattan. Mom had to line a spring-form pan with them, carefully cutting them to size, and fitting them in like perfect puzzle pieces. She got everything just right and set the pan aside to make the filling.

At some point, she stepped outside to talk with some of our neighbors. After a few minutes, apparently the ol' lightbulb in her head came on and she said, "I left a two-year old Siberian Husky in the house and there's food on the counter!" The neighbors, all of whom were owned by small pups, didn't quite understand what the problem was, but Mom raced back inside the house.

Booter was lounging in one of his favorite spots and I was laying by the doorway, smiling ear to pointy ear. She looked on the counter - and all the filling ingredients were right where she left them. Hey! It was chocolate! I know better than to eat chocolate! Puh-lease!

Mom was very pleased... until she couldn't find her spring-form pan. She looked all around ... then saw it right there - on the floor by our water bowls. Upright - and clean as a whistle. I wonder how that could have happened!?!

Ha roo roo roo! Booter... it was soooo good!

Everything was fine until she checked my muzzle and whiskers for powdered sugar. (Our great sisters taught her too well!) Well, hey. A Sibe's gotta do what a Sibe's gotta do. Besides, I was extremely neat about it - wouldn't want to mess the house up before the big bash. And all those specially cut sponge-cakes were quite tasty!

And as a side note, to anyone who feels bad that I ate the last Ladyfingers in town - Dad isn't known as the Super Shopper for nothing - he had bought extra! Apparently he learned a few things from Jess and Luck, too!

And that is my confession! Ha roo!

Tail wags,

Storms