OK, I’m not sure which is more appropriate to quote in this instance, the esteemed Eminem or the Latin phrase “carpe diem” (of course made more famous in Dead Poets Society, the best movie ever). Either way, Jonas has indeed learned the concept of seizing this proverbial moment, and taking his one shot. Bastard.

We have a routine in the morning. Alarm goes off. I listen to the morning news, rise, dress and go downstairs to tend to His Royal Highness. While he demolishes his breakfast, I scramble to make coffee, check my email, make food and do anything else that might require more than a partial sense of attention…all in about 3.8 seconds. I’m pretty sure at this point he just opens his throat over his dish, inhales, and then closes his mouth with a snort…much like hovering a strong shop vac over a pile of saw dust or something. Gone in 60 seconds my ass.

Any way, the period after Food Inhalation is a complete free-for-all. Some mornings I have more stuff to do. Some mornings he does as well. If he’s bored of his toys, he might waltz around the back yard (ha! right!), or do laps around the house with the TV remotes in his jowls, or generally just sit and bite the crap out of my pants until I pay him due attention. This morning, he was eerily well-behaved. I should have figured he was cookin’ something up in that maniacal little brain of his.

The problem was that I had forgotten to bring down my briefcase. I was wearing a brown-based outfit, and thus needed my canvas messenger bag instead of my black leather one. Not wanting to risk a fashion faux pas, I decided to chance going back upstairs to retrieve it. Leaving him unattended. Which is something we don’t do BECAUSE HE MIGHT HOT WIRE THE CAR AND DRIVE TO MEXICO.

He followed me to the foot of the stairs, and as I climbed over the baby gate, I gave him first a Sit, then a Stay command. He obeyed. I ascended the stairs, and at the top, turned around to find him still just blinking at me. No joke people, I put one foot inside the door, swiped the bag off the floor (all without moving my other leg) and was immediately back in position. The entire process took about 0 seconds. However, in this period of time, he managed to un-stay, un-sit, bolt into the kitchen, paw-up onto the counter in the EXACT spot where we keep a bowl of generic cheerios (for training treats), flip the bowl over and successfully spill the goods. I raced down the stairs, knowing (but not yet knowing) he had done something, only to find him trying to suck the grout off the tile floor in hopes that there was one last Generic O in hiding that he hadn’t yet devoured. (As if 32 oz of those nasty-ass things weren’t enough. I’m telling you, they could choke a horse.)

What struck me here was not the insufferably bad behavior of our dog, but rather the thought process that ran through his tiny head. “Human gone! Fast! Food place! VICTORY!” And when it was over? He simply looked up at me and without any prompting walked directly into his crate and sat down, gleefully accepting his incarceration.

All the dog trainers in the world can tell me that canines have no ability to reason, to rationalize, or weigh options. My dog, however, is living, barking proof that they can and do. He had one opportunity, one shot to seize everything he ever wanted. And he chose to not let it slip. And in the process, he solidified my fears that he’s possibly even smarter than either of us and one day might just learn how to hot wire that car.

I’m alerting the Mexican police today. Just a precaution, of course.