Mac and the Missing Pearl Earring

I had just settled in for my after-breakfast nap when the commotion began. Shrill voices broke the Saturday solitude, and I knew something bad was up. I know these things…I am a dog, and my name is Mac.

The house erupted in shouting and pandemonium. Sophie, my platonic live-in mate, sought safety under the bed. But as usual, curiosity overcame me. I bounded from the stairs where I nap with one eye closed, the other eyeballing the sidewalk for canine intruders. “What’s going on,” I barked, only to get that “somebody’s-to-blame” stare from my Mistress.

“Did you get my beautiful pearl earring, Mac,” she said, hands on hips as she glared at me? Now, I’ve seen this look and heard this tone of voice before. Being an expert in human psychology, I knew just how to respond. With quizzical twists of my Westie-haired head, that, “Who, me?” approach instantly disarmed my attacker and deflected the accusation. The “innocent lamb look” is an excellent ploy! This highly-developed canine escape artifice is, with practice, guaranteed to melt human hearts. She stalked off in search of her missing earring.

Now, I have to admit that I don’t really know, nor much care for that matter, what is so special about a pearl earring. I am far more concerned with finding food crumbs or anything else that falls to the floor within my reach. I guess you might say I was sort of a “pack hound” when it came to things lying around or curios within the reach of my extra-long tongue. I am not discriminatory.

This is an innate dog trait. You might say that I subscribe to the notion that anything that lies within my reach is fair game. I think humans call that “finders keepers, losers weepers,” or something like that. I prefer the West Highland terrier’s version, “what’s mine is mine.” While this mindset may be somewhat akin to the human version of “covetousness,” the Ten Commandments don’t apply to dogs.

But I know right from wrong, though I hate to admit it. And I knew I was not totally innocent today. You see, I have no idea of exactly what things are. But I do know from previous chastisements (and believe me, there have been many in my five years of life) that some of my “bed treasures” have actually been contraband.

Let me explain. Sophie and I have separate beds located in the home-office quarters. Tile floors make this a great location. Sometimes we have “accidents,” you know, and the results are more easily cleaned up with fewer tongue lashings. Our beds are very large and comfy, measuring about two feet by three feet. They are covered in soft leopard cloth with high sides…perfect beds in which to lounge, to dream of African safaris and to hide my treasures. All of which I have done, and more, which I am loath to mention.

Because of my pack-rat traits, many previously “lost” items have been found hidden under the cushion of my bed. You see, it is of great comfort to sleep with my findings, just like some sleep with Paddington Bears or Barbie Dolls. Like a sleep machine with many sounds, these treasures take me to distant places, with interesting companions and on journeys of intrigue. You should be so lucky!

And my lucky stars were in alignment today! Everything I had smuggled into my bed had been confiscated a few days ago. While my sleep was somewhat impeded for lack of accoutrements, nonetheless I knew it would not be long before new treasures would again fill my bed. It just couldn’t be helped. But just to be sure, I slipped off undetected to do a bed-check. And what do you know…there it was, lying in the creases of the leopard cloth, the missing pearl earring. What to do now, I wondered?

In such situations, a hero’s commendation is preferred over a thief’s condemnation. Confession guards the conscience and guarantees the supper. Heck, forgiveness comes easier if one owns up to mistakes, even while pleading for mercy due to ignorance. Dogs do this regularly with great success.

So I bit the humble bullet, hopped into my bed and barked incessantly until my Mistress showed up. “What is your problem, Mac,” she hissed, still frustrated over the loss of her treasure. I barked louder. She finally bent over to pet me, and there, right in front of her eyes, lay her missing pearl earring.

“Oh, Mac, what a smart dog. Thank you for finding my pearl earring. What would I do without you? Come here, let’s get a big treat.” See what I mean? Humility is still the best policy, even for dogs. But I must admit I never cared much for its taste!

Sophie soon came out of hiding, and we resumed our watch for intruders from the stairs. “All’s well that ends well,” I thought, returning to my delayed morning nap. Any morning that ends with a treat is a good day for dogs. I should know…I am a dog, and my name is Mac.

Bud Hearn
March 24, 2009