Dog training, back to square one.
Here’s why the puppy made me cry, this time: She’s deceitful.
She’s used her wily chocolate lab-ness to forge a way into my heart. She rests at my feet during the day when I write. She sends herself to her crate any time she feels tired. She “leaves it” when we sternly say said command, if she shows too much interest in something. She has started walking at our side on walks, not tugging or chasing down geese like she were training for a gold medal. She’s turning into the dog of picture frames. You know, the friendly, family dog whose picture you replace with your own, but not before thinking, “What a picture perfect dog.”
Until tonight. As a consolation for not venturing onto the hopping streets of Denver in search of green beer, we stayed in and I made macaroni and cheese. It’s a consolation in our book; stop judging. And to counter the creamy, cheesy, carby goodness, we were going to have a salad. I was so excited for the lone cucumber in our refrigerator, I even sliced stripes down the side, like they do in restaurants and on cooking shows. Then I chopped it and set it aside until the timer beeped.
Enter Kona, who has never eaten human food. She jumps up, weasels her way around the sharp knife on the cutting board, eats the entire cut cucumber and saunters off to sit at my husband’s feet. I didn’t realize it until minutes later, when chastising her was futile. And now, all that’s left to our salad is spinach and nuts. Pathetic.
OK, so it may seem like a dumb reason to cry, but it’s not only for the lost cucumber. I thought we had developed a level of trust, and I see I was mistaken. Back to square one, Kona puppy. I may forgive, but I don’t forget.
Here’s the problem: we have a nearly full bottle of pomegranate juice in the fridge. It cost $10. It makes a good vodka-pomegranate cocktail. Thus our night begins.
When I started my 
