Chocolate And Dogs … Oh My.

Looking at her, you would never suspect that 22 pounds of terrier-mix sweetness could, with one unsupervised moment of gluttony, turn my world completely upside down for 74 hours.

Tessa, my wonder dog.

Mind you, she didn’t do this all by herself. She was aided (not deliberately) by my husband who has this habit of using our front hall as his cooling area for just about everything that he bakes.

Including brownies.

And, I am talking his world famous, sinfully loaded with double the amounts of sugar and chocolate, baked so that when cooled, you can slice a knife almost a three inch thickness of mouth-watering … chocolate.

Here’s what we think happened 48 hours ago.

Not one, but two pans of hot-out-of-the-oven brownies are placed on the marble tiled floor of the front hall entrance way carefully shut off from the rest of the house by French doors. The humans in the house take off in three different directions: I go next door to chat with my neighbor, my son, the self-appointed errand boy, heads out to the store to pick up something for my husband who is back in the kitchen no doubt mixing up another batch of something that will be wonderful.

Forty-five minutes (or more) later, I come home and wander into the kitchen to find my husband with a perplexed look on his face and a cocktail for me. It is, after all, that hour between appetizers and the main course.

“These,” said my husband, pointing to an almost empty pan of brownies sitting on top of the stove, “are the pity brownies.”  Pity brownies are the left overs that I get to eat when whatever dessert type thing that my husband is preparing, is ear-marked for an outside event. In this case, an employee picnic taking place the next day.

My heart sank because I found myself looking at a pan that was more than three-quarters empty. I’d be lucky if there were four individual brownies left. Worse, was the larger question of where the rest of those brownies had disappeared to?

There were only two logical culprits given the fact that our son hadn’t come home yet.

Given the almost surgical cleanliness of the pan with the missing brownies, the odds were that Tessa, not Jasper, was the criminal. Past experience has shown me that dogs with even a whisper of terrier mixed into their DNA make superior thieves.  They are fast as lightning, really sneaky and can scarf down entire five course meals if left to their own devices.

And neat?

They are without peer in the neatness department. It looked as if someone had skillfully cut into that brownie pan with a razor-sharp knife.  Any other dog, and especially a Great Dane, would have left oceans of dog slobber all over that pan! Cone to think of it, they’d have scarfed up the pan too, leaving a wet, residual glob of slime as the telltale finger dog print!

I was pretty sure that Tessa had been the sole burglar in this brownie caper. And, as I watched her sashay into the kitchen with a noticeable bulge to her mid-section, I had all the evidence I needed.

On a more serious note, over-doing on chocolate can be deadly for dogs. Which I knew. The most prudent course of action seemed to be to watch her carefully to see how she weathered this storm.

Three hours later, she let us know. Without any advance gargling noises to give us fair warning that she was about to throw up, she up-chucked an amazing amount of chocolatey goo.

It was going to be a long night.

Stay tuned for the end of the story … [gplus count=”true” size=”Medium” ]




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