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Destinations, Dreams and Dogs - International adventure with a fast-track family (& dogs) of Old World values, adopting the Russian-Italian-American good life on the go…!

My Coffee-Lovin’ Dogs

My dogs love coffee.  Now, before you go calling the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, let me state emphatically for the record:  the dogs do not drink coffee.  They just love the smell of it.

You could probably liken it to my admiration for chocolate.  Doesn’t mean that I….

Well, never mind.

I know they like coffee because I am a master detective.  I can decipher clues like no one else.  Just listen to this…

Exhibit A – When Misha awakens at 5:00 am, he insists that I give him a lick of peanut butter to start the day, which I put on my finger and let him lick off.  Thus fortified, he makes his way to Benedetto’s trash can, where, inevitably, there is some kind of take-out coffee cup from the day before.  The dog practically dives in, head first.  He needs his java jolt sniff.

I push the pup out of the room and close the door.

He has never done this to my trash can, but last weekend, there was a macchiato cup tossed there for all of two minutes.  Misha happens on the scene and starts nosing the can.  Aha!

Exhibit B – Cruising down the highway before dawn, little Grisha the Scottie enjoys sleeping on the console on his blankie inbetween the two of us humans.  He’s fine until about 7:00 when Benedetto stops for a coffee.  My husband concentrates on the early morning rush hour, and sure enough, I see Grisha’s long tongue flicking out at the puddle on top of the cup.

“Grisha!  Stop it!” I scold him.

“Did he drink my coffee?” Benedetto asks.

“Well, not exactly, just sort of licked around the lid….”

He begins profusely wiping the cup with a napkin in one hand.  Which leads us to….

Exhibit C – Long after the rest of the family is in bed, my husband sits in an easy chair, feet up on the hassock.  He naturally konks out quickly, while his tea or coffee sits on an antique table next to him.  Misha curls at his feet, while Grisha heads up an armrest, till taking his perch on the chairback above Benedetto’s head.

He eyes the warm cup as I walk into the room.  Misha is also moving into position on the facing chair’s armrest, seeing if he could sidle in for a sip.  They’re coffee stalkers and totally unashamed.

I swoop in and remove the beverage, whispering a stern, “No!”  Both of them shrug and slump down for a siesta.  Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Do your pets have unusual tastes?



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