Dogs act exactly the way we would act if we had no shame.
~Cynthia Heimel
My father and stepmother, Polly, had owned many Boxers, each with a distinct personality. Their latest Boxer, Mercy, joined the family a couple of months before Christmas.
Dad and Polly watched her carefully when they set up the tree and started putting wrapped gifts under it. Some of their previous dogs had been drawn to the tree and the gifts, but not Mercy. She seemed oblivious, even when they placed edible gifts under the tree, including a big, wrapped box of dog biscuits.
A few nights before Christmas Polly woke up while it was still dark and silent, as she often did. As she passed the living room door she glanced in, and what she saw made her stop cold. They’d been robbed. The area under the Christmas tree had been stacked high with colorful gifts. Now every last present was gone. Suddenly Polly was struck by a much worse thought.
Why hadn’t Mercy barked? Where was she? Had the thieves taken her, too?
She checked Mercy’s bed and found it empty. Mercy was nowhere to be found. In a panic, Polly was about to wake Dad, when she noticed a piece of red ribbon on the living room floor. A few feet away, there was a scrap of wrapping paper and a little further on, some glitter. It all seemed to form a trail, leading to the back door.
For a moment, Polly stood at that door, hesitating.
Should she open it? What if the thief was still there?
Finally she flipped the light switch and cautiously opened the door to the back yard. And there was the perp.
Mercy lay under her favorite tree, surrounded by packages that were chewed, gnawed, pawed and emptied. Mercy had silently carried one package after another, through the house and the doggy door, to where she could pillage in private.
Anything that was edible was gone, including chocolates, cookies, fancy breads, candy canes, and four pounds of Milk-Bones. Beautifully wrapped boxes now had gaping holes and were damp with dog saliva. And Mercy was in the middle of the mess, looking guilty, sorry… and a little sick.
Fortunately, nature took its course and Mercy didn’t need to have her stomach pumped. In the morning, Dad and Polly cleaned up the mess and salvaged what little they could.
“Who needs presents?” laughed Dad, happy that Mercy survived her midnight snack.
For Polly, the loss of the presents wasn’t the worst problem. It was identifying who’d sent what.
“How do I send out thank-you notes?” she fretted. “Mercy destroyed all the tags.”
In the end, Mercy herself provided the answer. The day after Christmas, Polly returned to her easy chair to find Mercy looking guilty as she licked the now-empty plate where a donut had been. Polly quickly snapped a picture of the shame-faced pooch, and sent a copy with each “thank you for the ??” note, along with the story. Polly was a little embarrassed, but we all got a good laugh and Mercy… well she obtained mercy.
~Teresa Ambord