They say she's food motivated. It's a polite way of saying she's a pig.
She is Shyenne, a nine-year-old black Lab-cross that came into our family almost eight years ago via the animal shelter in Whistler. She had been removed from a home in that area and her sad mug shot on the shelter's website was enough to get us to drive the couple of hours to pick her up.
A gentler dog you will not find, but when it comes to filling her belly, the old girl can be pretty stubborn. She relentlessly stalks her prey, which is anyone with almost any type of food, her stare willing a morsel or more to come her way. She'll also freelance things, helping herself to items that have been left behind on counters or tables.
The latter started happening about a year after we got her when the in-laws were pet sitting. With a couple of nice steaks defrosting on the counter and the in-laws out of the house, Shyenne grabbed the bloody slabs, hiding one under the pillow of their bed and another in the sheets of the guest bedroom. She never did get to eat them, but it's how the legend began.
We've become wise to her ways, but every now and again, particularly if it hasn't happened in months, we let our guard down and she strikes. She has survived eating almost an entire box of Double-Stuffed Oreos and has devoured more cakes, cookies and muffins left cooling on the counter than I can remember. The knapsack on the kid's bedroom floor can also be a treasure trove of old lunches.
Last year on one Saturday morning my wife made cinnamon buns, which my son and I enjoyed before heading outside to shoot hoops. When we came back in, my wife thanked us for not leaving her any. We had; Shyenne hadn't.
Shy's latest escapade came last week when my son had to do a Foods 8 assignment at home. He dutifully followed the recipe to create what were actually quite tasty apple crunch muffins.
His class wasn't until the next afternoon, so the muffins remained on the cooling rack beside the oven until he came home at lunch to collect one to present to the teacher. When he got home, he found only one muffin left on the counter. Shyenne had struck again, and no, she wasn't full, she just couldn't reach the last one, although she did break a nail trying.
Thankfully, one was all that he needed, so he was able to complete the assignment on time. That's good, because I'm pretty sure teachers still aren't buying that age-old line: "The dog ate my homework."
