Column: Criminal canine escapes proper puppy prosecution

As I quietly sit in my morning chair waiting for the coffee to brew, I pause for a moment to ponder where I went wrong. Raised in a household that preached the felony-thwarting slogan (newly minted back then) of “Don’t give crime a chance,” I’ve always been a door-latching, bicycle-locking, valuables-hiding, stay away from dark alleys kind of person.

I even schooled my children in the same “overtly paranoid ways” (as my wife likes to call it), reminding them most crimes happen merely because the opportunity exists. Yet here I was on a Sunday morning facing the same self-precipitated consequences I’d suffered at least a half-dozen times over the past couple of years. I shook my head, picked up my needle and thread, and went to work once again on recovery.

The opportunity: Dog treats left in my pocket after our evening dog walk.

The crime: A pilfering pup steals them by chewing the bottom out of that same pocket.

The result: Frankie ends up enjoying the very same reward he receives for being a good boy — a tasty, beef-flavored jerky nub — while I hem a slobbery pocket back together.

Frankie isn’t a bad dog. It’s not that he’s doing this out of criminal intent. It’s just that when the opportunity presents itself, he simply can’t help but go for it. That’s my wife’s logic, anyway.

“I mean you can’t really blame him, John,” Kristin says as I poke the needle into the tip of my thumb for the umpteenth time. “You’re the one who leaves treats in your pocket.”

I know better than to argue this point. If I do, she is bound to add to the case against me. “You’re also the one who just leaves his pants lying on the bedroom floor rather than hanging them up like a civilized human being.”

If I should point out Kristin’s obvious bias toward the dog and suggest her attacks on my character represent a clear case of victim blaming, she unleashes the biggest burn of all.

“Frankly, John, no pun intended, you’re the one who is too stingy to hand the poor dog a whole treat and instead breaks off tiny chunks and doles them out for only the highest achievements. That is why you end every walk with treats left in your pockets in the first place!”

During such arguments, Frankie lies sated and shameless on the couch. Because at least a full night has passed before I pull on my trousers and additional hours often transpire before I slide my truck keys into my pocket, only to feel them drop into my boot, it is impossible to connect the dog to the scene of the crime. Occasionally, Frank will offer a beefy burp with the quiet confidence of a career criminal who has once again dodged the law.

“You want to earn a full treat?” I ask the smug mutt. “Let’s see you learn to sew!”

Kristin and John Lorson would love to hear from you. Write Drawing Laughter, P.O. Box 170, Fredericksburg, OH 44627, or email John at jlorson@alonovus.com.