While in a fit of destructive chewing yesterday, Aisha ripped open the back end of her stuffed squeaky bird and began disseminating the green, fluffy filling around the apartment. I noticed this immediately and took the toy from her, removed the intact squeaker, and discarded the gutted bird.
It was then that I discovered something magical.
Just for shits and giggles, I gave the little squeaker a quick pinch, causing it to squeak loudly and shrilly. Without warning, both dogs literally charged me, and leapt upon me so vigorously that it was as if I was wearing a dress made of sliced deli meats. A few more quick squeaks had them alternating between leaping up spastically, trying to grab the squeaker, and sitting and begging fiercely in hopes that I would be foolish enough to just hand it to them.
Hours later, for some unknown and incredibly stupid reason, I decided to play with the squeaker again while sprawled out on the couch. Both dogs jumped onto the couch instantly and were frantic to find the source of the squeaking, so much so that Aisha almost ripped a hole in my bathrobe in an attempt to access the pocket. I have never seen my dogs so desperately possessed.
I don’t understand the appeal at all; I find the noise to be obnoxious at best. However, the pups clearly live to hear that little sound, and now stare at me with eyes that are screaming “WOMAN, BE NOT YE SO STUPID AS TO EVER STOP SQUEAKING.” I get the impression that if I were to give them a choice between filet mignons at every meal for the remainder of their lives or an uninterrupted minute of straight squeaking, they’d choose the latter.
I have finally found the secret to controlling them. Life is good.