Truffle Hunter

It's a well-known fact that pigs have an extraordinary nose for locating and rooting out the coveted fungi known as truffles. So in our family, a truffle-hunter is a white-gloved euphemism for, ahem, a pig.

* * * * *

As I prepared to leave the house this morning, I did all the normal things that people do as they prepare to go out for the day.

I grabbed a quick breakfast,

gathered up my keys and purse, 

and Gracie-proofed the house.

I stashed the half-full compost bin behind a cabinet door; she can and does lift the bin out of its normal place in the extra-deep kitchen sink and carry it off to the family room floor where she dumps it out and sorts through the pistachio shells, lettuce cores, and other delicious treasures.

I scrubbed out the delicious oils someone left behind in a pan after preparing their breakfast; she is entirely capable of jumping up with front feet on the counter, scooching her back feet up close to the cabinets, stretching her elegant neck deep down into the sink, and nimbly licking out every tidbit.

I rinsed out a mostly empty bottle of ketchup abandoned in the sink; no doubt my girl would haul that bottle off and work it over on the family room floor, leaving tiny splashes of red in a five foot radius.

And of course, I lifted the cats' food bowls from their eating spot on the laundry room counter, which she can easily reach, and tucked them safely on a high shelf.

This is all completely normal, right?

Then, feeling reasonably confident that I had anticipated and eliminated Gracie's every hope of finding a snack while she was home alone, I kissed her on the head and walked out the door.

* * * * *

Three hours later, my third-born and I came home to this little surprise:

Lying upside down under the couch, a good fifteen feet away from the kitchen counter, we found a family-size plastic storage box full of homemade oatmeal cookies. 

With craisins and chocolate chips.  

Apparently, I overlooked the box during my inspection, and left it sitting out on the counter while my truffle-hunting missy was home alone.

And thank the Lord that the seal held, because there were at least twenty-five cookies inside. Had Gracie managed to pry the lid off - and I have no doubt that she tried her darnedest - she would have scored herself quite a scrumptious feast. 

After yesterday's Skittle party, this would have been two huge back-to-back scores for my sweet-toothed sneak.

But alas, today, Gracie had to settle for kibble.

* * * * * 

To read the full story of Gracie's Skittle score, go here.