Bob and the Tomatoes

It is obviously very important that Little Bob not be left unsupervised when I am busy doing other things. As the official "Puppy of the House," he has certain obligations to create as much mischief as one puppy can do in a specific amount of time.

Seamus was nice enough to introduce Bobby to the wonders of the compost heap. This the brown dog did without compensation - just for the love of sharing. Now Little Bob loves the compost heap and visits it often, looking for new treasures.

Yesterday, I brought a vegetable tray for a potluck at school. This morning, I tranferred the leftovers to a plastic bag, except the baby tomatoes.

I do not like tomatoes. I never have. It has caused unending consternation for other people throughout my life and they have always felt compelled - no - obligated to comment upon this aversion. My dad used to offer me money to eat the tomato bits that ended up in my salad. I always declined. (He also offered me money to try escargot a few years back. I also declined.) Whenever I pick them out of anything or order something sans tomatoes, the comments begin. It seems most people have no qualms about voicing opinions in this matter.

So, knowing I would not eat these leftover tomatoes, I took them to the compost heap, where they basked in colorful splendor upon last week's lawn clippings. Then I proceeded to do other things, out of puppy range.

At some point during the next 20 minutes or so, Little Bob got lots of exercise, bringing each and every little tomato back into the house, where he placed them on the family room floor before running back outside for more. I walked into the family room and was greeted with a colorful sight - baby tomatoes in various stages of doggy testing and tasting, as each of the dachshunds gave them a sniff, a small bite, and then moved on to the newest sample Bobby was dutifully providing.

None of the dogs actually wanted to EAT the tomatoes. But the fact that they didn't care for THIS one doesn't mean that they might not care for THAT one - so each one had chew marks. For Little Bob, these were nothing more than little red balls - and Bobby LOVES balls of all shapes and sizes.

Grumbling, I retrieved all the mangled bits of tomato flesh and returned them to the compost pile. I admonished Bobby to "leave them alone" and stood guard until I was sure he was off to another puppy adventure.

But no. Bobby revved up his heartbeat again, retrieving the tomato pieces ONE by ONE. When I caught on to his shenanigans, I stomped into the room. He dutifully ran upstairs with the one currently in his chops, while I retrieved the tomatoes AGAIN. This time I put them into the trash can.

I am unable to locate the one Bobby was hoarding during the last confiscation. The idea of finding it, someday, is less appealing than finding the lizard corpse that I know will be uncovered during some housecleaning binge in the near future.

I wonder if I can offer Dustin money to go look for it.