Story and photos by Nancy Gallimore
I guess I should have realized very early on what I was up against. But he came into my world with no warning label.
My boy Tag was one of six Dalmatian puppies born to Peggy, a sweet mama dog we took into our rescue in the fall of 2021. The babies were all adorable, and as the weeks passed, each stood out in its own tiny way. Except for Tag.
The two little girls were quickly claimed. The boy with blue eyes was popular. The little boy with a solid patched ear was adopted immediately. But no one ever asked about Tag.
I couldn’t explain it. He was an adorable puppy with a perfect smattering of freckles across his snout, one eye baby blue and the other chocolaty brown. He had bold, wellplaced black and a sweet personality. Why was Tag flying under everyone’s radar?
Because it was all part of his master plan, that’s why.
Once free from his mom’s watchful eye, this little spotted Einstein set out to charm every other dog in our home. He even managed to endear himself to Howie, our 16-year-old no-nonsense boss dog. Howie had never succumbed to a puppy’s siren song of little barks, grunts, and howls. Yet there was baby Tag using the stoic senior as his personal jungle gym and nap buddy.
Tag soon abandoned his melt-into-thebackground persona in exchange for his alter ego. How do I explain adolescent Tag? The fictional character Dennis the Menace of cartoon, television, and movie fame comes straight to mind. Dennis is portrayed as an energetic, trouble prone, mischievous, but well-meaning boy. Delete “Dennis” and insert “Tag.” The sparkle in his eye was not born of puppy innocence and spunk but rather served as the gateway to a brain that might well take over the world — my world, at the very least.
Stealthy Appropriation
The first bit of mischief manifested as an early inclination for kleptomania. Tag had a gift for stealthily appropriating our belongings. Among other things, we lost five TV remotes, my prescription glasses, and four house slippers, along with a sweatshirt or three. Several ink pens, although stored seemingly out of reach, met crunchy deaths. Countless notepads became yard confetti and, by default, shopping lists as well.
This is nothing out of the ordinary, right? These are puppy shenanigans that all new owners go through. And I, a seasoned dog mom, should have been better prepared. I should have kept things put away. I should have strictly supervised young Tag.
Well, “should” me all you like, I was fighting a losing battle. Sure, some of the losses can be attributed to human error, but the glasses? They were tucked safely in my closed nightstand drawer, as were three of the five TV remotes. Yet someone managed to liberate them.
I started being hypervigilant. I often caught the little thief red pawed in the act. And when I did? He would just wag with innocent delight as he immediately responded to my request to hand over the prized possession. It was almost as if he were doing me a favor.
“Oh, hi, humom!” His expression would shine. “Did you want this? No problem.” Half the time, I have no idea how or where he found things. Like the earring that had been lost long ago but was delicately dropped into my palm.
Rock Hound
Then Tag started his rock collection. He would bolt inside through the dog door chomping, tossing, and pouncing on something in gleeful mock pursuit. I would give the now familiar gesture that signals Tag to come hand me whatever he has in his mouth. Tag would always comply and I, in turn, offered a cookie in exchange.
This is a game of manipulation that Tag still loves. I now have a collection of about 75 rocks, and Tag has a satisfied smirk and cookie crumbs on his lips. And the kicker? I don’t even know where he’s finding so many small rocks in our yard.
Do you still think this is all just normal puppy antics? Wait — there’s more.
The Iceman Cometh
One night I was sitting with my partner, Jim, watching television when we heard the familiar grind-clunk sound of the ice maker. But the only humans in the house were both presently testing their trivia knowledge against the contestants on Jeopardy! So who was getting ice?
You guessed it. Tag had often watched us get ice and share a piece or two with the waiting canines. He studied. He got tall enough. He figured it out and helped himself.
Then that refrigerator died, and we had to get a new one. The new model also had an ice dispenser, but instead of an easy little push lever, it had a touch pad you had to press and hold for a second or two to get the ice to drop. I felt bad because clearly, Tag wouldn’t be able to work this one.
Wrong. It took about 30 seconds of nosing around for him to figure out the new requirements to earn his favorite, frosty treat. If the other dogs were lucky, he’d score a few cubes for them as well.
Easy Access
Then we decided to end the reconnaissance missions in our bathroom and closets by installing a baby gate across the doorway that leads to this doggy treasure chest of socks, toilet paper, and shoes. It was a tall gate that would defy all climbers and jumpers, and it had a sturdy latch. Everything was secure.
Wrong again. I was relaxing in bed one night when I heard someone pop the gate open and head back into the forbidden zone. Jim? Nope.
Then I heard the gate pop easily again, and Tag came trotting out, very matter-of-factly. The gate wasn’t even a challenge.
So we replaced that gate with one that could swing only one way. Tag couldn’t punch this one open. You had to press a button with your thumb, then lift the gate and pull it toward you. This would be impossible for Tag, especially without an opposable thumb.
Well, after studying and pawing it a couple of times, he grabbed the bottom of the gate with his mouth, lifted, and popped it back. Boom — new gate conquered in less than 20 seconds. No thumbs, no problem.
Mischief-Filled Life
There seems to be no limit to this dog’s ability to solve problems. Just the other night,
Tag stood in the doorway to the bedroom whining softly but persistently. I tried the old “Shhhhhh” approach, followed swiftly by the sleep-deprived “Shut the bleep up” mandate.
When neither directive worked, I stumbled out of bed to let Lassie — I mean Tag — lead me to the fire/burglar/flood/locust swarm that demanded that my slumber be interrupted. I found my clever boy standing still as a statue, his nose pointing down into the dogs’ water bucket. The nearly empty water bucket I had neglected to refresh before bedtime.
The rest of our dogs were willing to go thirsty until daybreak. Tag needed resolution but also had an ulterior motive. After he took about three halfhearted laps of the fresh water, he promptly trotted back to hop into MY spot on the bed, his head immediately settling onto MY pillow.
Outsmarted again.
Tag knows how to move furniture to gain access to out-of-reach items. He knows how
to open doors and drawers. He understands how to look at an obstacle from all angles to find resolution. He knows how to manipulate his humans while maintaining the most innocent of expressions.
Am I frustrated by Tag’s constant antics? Sometimes I am. But more often, I find myself laughing along with his wagging tail and knowing glances.
Next up for Tag? I think I’d like to do some formal training with him to see if we can put that intelligence to good use. Maybe some scent-detection work or agility. I think he’ll excel, but I also think he’ll have his own thoughts on methodology. Who will be the student, and who will be the teacher?
One thing I know for sure is that wherever life takes us, it will be an entertaining journey with my spotted prodigy. And although Tag will never likely have a syndicated cartoon detailing his mischief-filled life, I am considering giving him a shot at doing my taxes next year. I am fairly certain he can do a better job than I can.
