I’m normally ok with rejection. This wasn’t always true but every since the years 1987 to 1992 at Mildura Secondary College I learned to deal with rejection when asking girls out. I soon learned not to take it personally, and just accept that everybody has a personal choice and reasons for their decisions.
It’s a shame our dog doesn’t understand the pain of rejection. The whole incident started with a biscuit and luckily for us all it didn’t end with my asking him out. I was watching a movie in the lounge room when suddenly the room filed with the smell of someone cooking biscuits. I was the only one in the room apart from our Golden Retriever who was asleep near my feet. After a quickly deducting that I have absolutely no cooking ability whatsoever and I doubt Storm has done any culinary training maybe my wife or one of the kids was cooking in the kitchen.
I hate when a cliche becomes true, but the moment I looked up my eyes locked into Storm’s and we had what is called in pop-culture a “guy moment”. We had looked into each others eyes and instantly knew that we had to to do. At the same time we both stood up and headed for the kitchen. As I am taller and have better negotiating skills with my family I was the successful party who walked away with two biscuits and abuse from my wife for eating some delicious but sugary biscuit dough. Storm walked away with nothing but disappointment and the knowledge that yet again his cunning plan to get extra food outside meal times has failed.
Only this time things were different. Storm had a plan, and there was no way it would fail. He now considers himself a successful hunter as yesterday he successfully hunted, killed and consumed an innocent yellow butterfly who was flying though our backyard. Therefore getting a taste of this biscuit would be easy.
From the moment I sat back down in the lounge room Storm was the perfect dog. He sat next to me and did the trademarked Golden Retriever head rest on my leg. He tried doing a few tricks we had taught him, and his excellent theory was if he did them before I asked then he was excelling at his job and the food was sure to be coming soon.
He even decided not to bark like a raving idiot at the cat as he walked past. Today was a good day.
Good days don’t always last. The metaphoric dark clouds came in as I finished the biscuit. I could see Storm analyse the situation, and I firmly believe I could see the disappointment in his eyes as the fearful realisation occurs to him that no food would be forthcoming. His ears dropped a little and he sighed as he turned around and walked away.
Things have been awkward between us ever since. I call him over but he won’t come, he looks up from across the room but puts his head down dismissively when he sees who is calling him.
I get it, I’ve suffered from rejection before and know how it works but unlike those girls in school who rightly rejected me, this time I’m morally in the right. I enjoyed my chocolate biscuit, it was nice. Storm didn’t know the fun fact that chocolate contains theobromine which is bad for dogs. I believe he thinks it might give him superpowers or something like that, but instead it would end in vomiting and diarrhoea.
No story ends well when vomiting and diarrhoea is mentioned, especially when he is a inside dog who is currently holding a serious grudge against me. He is welcome to feel rejected and I am happy his stomach contents are not currently sitting on our lounge room floor.
I wonder if he would re-eat it?