Tag Archives: milk bone dog biscuit

Chloë Knows What Brown Does for Her

One day last summer when Mike and Heather were away, my good friend Lynn was accompanying me on an evening walk down our street when I stopped in my tracks and cocked my head, like I do when I catch a whiff of Coon Cat, Beau or Mittens, but not this time. No, it was the UPS truck, and it was stopped around the corner on the street next to the park. I know its sound anytime, anywhere. But I just couldn’t pull Lynn around the corner fast enough to catch it before it drove away.

Napping one afternoon

Napping one afternoon

A few weeks ago Heather was off from work for a holiday, and we were napping in the afternoon when I heard the UPS truck rolling up our street. I barked, jumped down, ran to the front door and raised a holy ruckus.  Mike knows this routine well, but Heather didn’t quite know what to make of it when I burst forth from under the covers. The mailman dropping the mail through the door slot usually gets just one bark, but when my UPS  Guy comes down the street he gets a nonstop burst of barking and squealing. Mike knows he has to leash me up, get the front door open and hang on as I bolt for the brown truck. If I can get out there and be seen before the UPS Guy gets back into his truck and leaves, he’ll take a huge Milk Bone dog biscuit out of his shirt pocket and toss it on the ground in front of me.  He’s the best.

It’s not always bickies and roses, though. On the day described above, Heather didn’t get me out of the house fast enough (like napping is  more important than the UPS truck? Please!), and the UPS truck pulled away without my guy seeing me.  But that’s OK–he’s makes up for it by leaving a treat outside my door when we aren’t home, even if his delivery isn’t for us. It’s happened more than once.

Even worse, if you can believe it:  Sometimes I actually see a UPS truck that has a different driver. When I rush up to the truck and get a cold stare, I don’t take it well. But the absolute worst is when a FedEx truck tries to fool me. Unlike all the garbage trucks and recycling trucks and the landscapers who bring noisy tools in their noisy trucks,  FedEX trucks sound similar to UPS. One day I was so sure it was my UPS guy that I made my usual ruckus, and when Mike hustled me out the front door, I saw the truck was white, not brown. I was crushed. Thankfully, FedEx doesn’t come around very often. Seattle is a UPS town.

The other day I scored big. I heard the UPS truck roll up our street and stop, and this time it was downhill from our house, so I had plenty of time to get Mike outside and position myself near the truck door. My UPS Guy came down the steps from his delivery and tossed me a bickie as he climbed back into his truck. While I was still chewing, he re-emerged with a second delivery for a house across the street. What timing! By the time he got back to the truck again, I was done with the first biscuit, and he tossed me another.

Oh. My. God.  I thought I had died and gone to heaven.

But you know what? Something topped it the other day. Mike and I were walking in the park in the late afternoon when I thought I heard that telltale sound of my favorite truck whirring by, far  in the distance. The hell with our walk, Mike, I told him in no uncertain terms. We’ve got to get back! And sure enough, when we reached home a cardboard package sat outside our front door with a big Milk Bone on top. I chowed it down even before I heard Mike tell me that the package was also for me:  It was a box full of Visi-Balls, all ready for throwing, fetching and, invariably, losing.

Chloë catches her Visi-Ball.

Oh, well.  Losing them is OK with me, as long as Heather keeps ordering replacements, and they always arrive UPS.