So, any gifts are just a bonus as far as I’m concerned. As it happened, the Young Missus bought us one.
“It’s an intelligence test for dogs,” she said, smiling.
The intelligence test consists of a round plastic platter in an appealing bright orange, with eight shallow potholes around the outside and one more in the middle. Each pothole has a white cover in the shape of a bone to fit over it, with a tiny scent hole in the middle of the upturned bone.
The idea is to show the dog a small treat, hide it under one of the nine plastic bone covers, then see how long it takes for the dog to sniff the treat and work out how to take the cap off.
You are probably thinking, like I was at this point, that the intelligence test was not so much a present for me personally as something of a competition, between dogs, to amuse the humans. Which it was.
The Boss was of course instantly cheered at the thought of it and chose the Black Princess from Melbourne, the fur-child, as his first victim. He gave her a sniff of dry kibble, stuck it under one of the bone covers without her seeing, put the platter on the ground and set the stop-watch going.
The Labrador worked her way around the platter and soon caught a whiff of the kibble and starting mouthing and pawing the slippery bone to get at the treat. She persevered and eventually nudged it off with her nose and devoured the kibble at the 49-second mark.
Next was my mum, Queenie, who had a cursory sniff of the whole platter when it was put down in front of her then hopped around in circles barking, possibly assisted by my loud barracking nearby. She was marked a clear fail.
The Golden Leave-it-There, being the sly dog that he is, quickly found the right bone cover but was clearly unnerved by the mounting cacophony from myself and Queenie, so he just lay down in front of it to see what might happened next.
My turn came none too soon and I felt inclined to take The Boss’s finger off when he thrust the kibble in front of my nose. He can’t fool me with a miserable piece of kibble.
Call me gifted, call me lateral thinker — but what I saw before me was a bright orange frisbee. As you know, I don’t play the human game, unless it suits me. I play my own game, and my best game is mayhem.
Before this platter landed on the terrace I sent it flying and the nine little covers plus kibble went hurtling to the four winds as I slid the frisbee around using paws, teeth and a combination of both just to pick it up — so The Boss could throw it for me.
I slid it around in widening circles, jumped on it, barked and snarled at it, all to no avail.
Since he wasn’t going to pick it up and throw it for me, the only thing left to do with the intelligence test was to shred it with my teeth, at which point The Boss intervened. But he’s been warned: play MY game first. Woof!
The General is The Boss’s dog. For more yarns, visit sheppnews.com.au/thegeneral
