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•••••DECEMBER 13, 2023•••••
Dog Psychology Jag, the terrier, is an old dog. Nobody is quite sure how old he is but he has lived with us for over ten years and was several years old when we got him. He reminds us of a grouchy old man. He does what he wants when he wants. At times, this can be more than a little annoying. There have been times when I have been afraid his stubborn independent streak would get him into trouble. Being a terrier, he knows he is the toughest animal in the world. He is convinced he can win a fight with anything. In his heyday, he could fight a raccoon and win. The last couple of years, he has slowed down physically but not mentally. He still hunts and thinks he can win any fight, but it takes a few days for his sore old muscles and joints to recover. In his prime, he was almost exclusively an outside dog. On all but the coldest of days, he preferred to sleep on the porch and guard his domain. In the last year or so, he has chosen to sleep in his bed in the heated and cooled garage at night. This is fine with me as I do not think (Outdoors cont’d on pg 2)
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he would fair well fighting a raccoon or coyote by himself in the middle of the night. The conflict we have is deciding when it is time to go to the garage. I think I should decide when he comes in. He thinks the decision should be entirely up to him. If he is not ready to call it a night when I decide, he will completely ignore me. He may wander off into the nearby timber and go hunting or stand just out of reach and stare at me. He might be old and slow, but so am I. It is impossible to catch him if he does not want to be caught. Since no amount of foul language or threats work, I decided to resort to the positive reinforcement psychology. Perhaps I could teach an old dog a new trick. Each night when it was time for Jag to go to bed, I would go to the door and call “Treat.” He is a sucker for treats. I repeated this process for a couple of weeks and Jag got to the point he would come running to go in the garage when I yelled for him. At a point, I decided it was time he could go to bed without being bribed with a treat. The first night I tried without the treat was cold and windy. I knew he was ready to come inside. I opened the garage
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door and called. He came running as fast as his little old legs would carry him and stopped just short of coming inside. He looked at my hands for a treat and not seeing one, refused to come in. I can be as stubborn as he can. I shut the door, leaving him outside, and went to bed. It took a couple of minutes for him to make it around the house where he sat below the bedroom window and barked. One bark every thirty seconds will assure nobody will fall asleep. Positive that he had learned his lesson, I got up, went through the garage, and called Jag. He came running to the garage and stopped just short of coming in when he noticed I had no treat. He would not budge. I shut the door and went back to bed. This time, he was back under our bedroom window in no time. After his second bark, I got up, got a treat, and let the obnoxious little dog in for the night. Dog psychology does work, and you can teach an old dog new tricks. He has learned how to get a treat for doing what he wanted to do anyway. He now just automatically gets a treat every night.
DECEMBER 13, 2023
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Caraway Seeds Hotdogs are not a staple in our refrigerator, but occasionally, I will pick up a package. Last Friday, while I was grocery shopping, I noticed hotdogs were on sale for only ninety-nine cents. “Wow, that’s a good price,” I said, placing a pack of dogs in my cart. Saturday, my wife was scanning the fridge, looking for something to eat for lunch. “Hey! You bought hotdogs,” she said with excitement. I bought pickle relish, too, but I would wait and let her discover that on her own. And so, it would be hotdogs and chips for lunch. Then, with disappointment, she said, “These hotdogs are expired.” “I just bought them yesterday,” I said with disbelief. “When did they expire?” “Yesterday,” she answered. “They’re hotdogs. Every twelve-ounce package contains a full pound of preservatives,” I said. “Those hotdogs will still be good three years from now.” I examined the wrapper. “It says ‘best used by December first,’ it doesn’t say they’ll make you deathly ill on December second.” My wife reluctantly agreed; we could probably eat them without getting salmonella poisoning, but she boiled them for about thirty minutes just to be sure. When the hotdogs were ready, she reached into the fridge for condiments. “This mustard is expired,” she said. “For Pete’s sake,” I complained. “Am I the only thing in this house that isn’t expired?” I looked at the container. It expired last month, but again, the label read, ‘best used by….’ The bottle was almost empty, so there was a pretty good chance I had a fresh bottle in the pantry. Nope, no new bottle of mustard and I really wanted that hotdog with just mustard. “I’ll take my chances,”
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I said. “Besides, the hotdogs have enough preservatives to kill anything the mustard’s got.” I turned the bottle upside-down, tapped it on the counter, and ran a thin bead of mustard down the hotdog. I tapped the bottle on the counter again, then gave it a good squeeze to get the last drops. Only a tiny amount of mustard came out this time, then sputtered and splattered everywhere. I had mustard dots all over my T-shirt, but it was worth it.
basket with the beans. At the end of the aisle, I turned left. Walking along the meat coolers, I was trying to remember if I needed anything there; “Nope, don’t need meat sticks, I’m good on lunch meat, I’ve got brats in the freezer, don’t need any of that, I already have hotdogs….” Something caught my eye as I turned down the aisle with sugar, flour, spices, and baking goods. “Holy smokes! Whole ham is just $1.74 per pound? That’s a great buy.”
My hotdog was delicious, and the fact that I’m still here to tell about it means the mustard was okay. Melissa had ketchup and relish on her dog sans the golden delight. Although I didn’t write it on the list, I made a mental note to buy mustard the next time I’m at the store, which would be soon because I needed nutmeg to bake a couple of pies on Monday.
Knowing I was low on ham in the freezer, I began digging like a pirate on a deserted island, looking for the buried treasure chest. “There you are,” I said, lifting my ham above the rest. “Come to Papa!” It was a perfect ham, weighing a little over eight pounds. But this wasn’t just a ham; it was a whole ham with the bone still in it, and you know what that means - ham and bean soup with corn meal muffins for supper!
I stopped at Zup’s Food Store in Silver Bay on Sunday after church. I forgot my grocery list at home, but that was okay. The only important thing on the list was nutmeg. I did, however, text my wife before I went into the store: “Do you need anything from Zup’s?”
My mind started to race, recalling the ingredients for the soup, “I think I have everything I need. An onion! I’m low on onion.” As I walked back to produce, I started thinking of things like ham steaks with mac-nInside, I passed the bas- cheese, a quick, simple kets and grocery carts; I meal that was easy to didn’t need a basket for prepare on a busy night. a tiny spice container. “If I remembered we were Melissa needs anything, out of mac-n-cheese, she better text soon bebut on the front sale wall, cause this will be a fast Zup’s had Kraft mac-nstop.” cheese, two for three dollars. I tossed an onion Just inside the front door, in my basket, grabbed Zup’s always has spetwo boxes of mac-ncial sale items. “Wow, cheese, and headed for green beans are two for the checkout. My basket a dollar!” I went back for was getting heavy with a basket and gathered all the canned goods and up six cans of beans. I an eight-pound ham. walked through the produce aisle, although I It sounds silly to get so didn’t need anything. excited over a ham sale, but I was craving that Just past the produce soup and wanted to go on the other side are home to get started. I shelves with ketchup, could already smell the mustard, pickles, and pot simmering in the such. “Oh yeah, I need mustard.” I grabbed a (Just the Other Day cont’d on bottle and put it in the pg 4)
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kitchen. Mmm. I paid for my groceries, then hurried out to the van. “Darn it. I forgot to grab a box of Jiffy Corn Muffin mix.” I was going back in, but I remembered having a corn meal at home. I could make cornbread from scratch, although my wife prefers Jiffy. “She’ll have to settle for homemade this time,” I said. As soon as I started the motor, my phone beeped. It was a text from my wife: “Caraway bread from the bakery section. It’s sliced and on the shelf with the loaves.” I thought about ignoring the text and telling her I was already home when I got her message. Instead, I shut off the van and returned to the store for the bread. I could also grab a box of Jiffy mix. I found the bread she wanted and picked up a loaf. While waiting in line at the register, I read the label. “Caraway Light Rye. I can make this at home,” I said. “I wonder if I have caraway seed? Even if I do, they’d be ancient.” I left my place in line, went to the spice section, and grabbed the little container. Caraway seeds are cool. Not only do they taste good, but they’re also great for a particle joke. One time, I was helping Mom in her kitchen. She was preparing to host some ladies from her Women’s Club. I grabbed her caraway seeds from the cabinet to pull a prank on her that I’d successfully pulled on several other people. When Mom wasn’t looking, I scattered a few caraway seeds in her silverware drawer. Then I spread a few in her cabinets by the glasses and some more on the stack of plates. I added a few more in the pantry around her flour and sugar containers and several more seeds on the counter by her loaves of bread. Mom discovered some of the seeds. “Oh, my, you need to set out a couple of mouse traps.” I laughed. When Mom saw the seeds in the silverware drawer and on the dinner plates, she said, “We have to empty the cupboards, wash everything, and scrub inside the cabinets.” I was laughing even harder. “It’s not funny,” Mom said, “and you’re going to help me. I have company coming soon, so get moving.”
laughing, “You probably would eat mouse poop just to get out of cleaning the kitchen.” Mom was roaring about that as we shared a good laugh together. I laughed again over that memory as I drove home. “Ugh! I forgot the Jiffy mix,” I said. “I should have made a list. Too bad. I’m not going back. Besides, why does my wife like Jiffy better than my homemade cornbread?” I started to mock the store-bought product, “Jiffy. It sounds like a place you take your car for an oil change.” I turned into our driveway, chuckling about that. Inside the house, it was show and tell time. I told Melissa about my treasures one by one as I Ray’s emptied the bags from the store. “Mustard.” She Longbranch Homemade 1/2 lb. Tenderloins approved. “Your caraway & Hamburgers rye bread.” My wife was Drakesville, IA • 722-3355 ogling the loaf. Next up, “Caraway seeds, so I make the cornbread can make more caraway from scratch. “It’s okay to rye bread at home.” make Jiffy Mix muffins,” she pleaded. “Honey, you don’t have to make everything “Well, I forgot the Jiffy from scratch,” Melissa Lube muffin mix,” I consaid. “We can buy some fessed. “I’ll make them things already made.” from scratch.”
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her soup. I’ve always heard that is supposed to be good luck; at least, that’s what I tell people. Next, I filled a bowl with ham and beans for myself. “Hey, I got a bay leaf, too.” We sat down to eat. It was a cold day, but we had a good fire in the wood stove, and the house was toasty. We could hear the wind howling outside through the stovepipe, which only added to the glow and warmth of the evening. Ham and bean soup was perfect for this night, and I must admit, Zup’s Caraway Light Rye bread complimented the meal nicely.
After dinner, I laid on the “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear couch in front of the fire “Honey, you have so that.” I continued, “Green much to do,” Melissa said to let my tummy settle. I beans, fifty cents a can. as if comforting me. “It’s was mesmerized watchNow for the big surprise: okay if you forgot the ing the flames in the ham was on sale for woodstove. I took an inJiffy Mix; we can have $1.74.” I held up my ham caraway rye bread with ventory of my blessings, like a trophy. I was more dinner.” Hmfph. I went to and pondered important excited than she was. things about life: “Why work. “Melissa, it’s a whole does she like Jiffy Mix I finally told Mom I plant- ham with a ham bone. Soon, the wonderful better than my homeed the caraway seeds aroma of ham and beans made cornmeal muffins? Do you know what that as a prank. “I should put means?” simmering on the stove Maybe, If I added honey lumps all over you, young filled the house. I pulled to my cornbread mufman,” But Mom didn’t Finally, Melissa’s face the ham bone from the fins….” Suddenly, I had trust me. So, I ate a cou- lit up, “Homemade ham pot, and the meat literan idea. ple of the caraway seeds and beans for dinner? ally fell off the bone. I reto prove they weren’t Tonight?” I told her that turned the tender pieces When she is not looking mouse droppings. “I was correct. “Is there a tomorrow, I will scatter of ham to the pot, then still don’t believe you,” box of Jiffy Mix in your some caraway seeds in put two ladles of soup Mom said with skeptibag, too?” I scowled at the dresser drawer with into a bowl for Melissa. cism. Then she started her and told her I could her socks and unmenThere was a bay leaf in
tionables. I’ll throw in a few kernels of squirrel corn and make a tiny pile of sunflower seeds, too. Then I’ll tell my wife, “The washing machine broke. I ordered the part, but it’s backed ordered for three weeks….” I dozed off on the couch, humored by the prospect of such a prank. I dreamed my mom was in the room, saying, “I should put lumps all over you, young man.” When I awoke, my cheeks ached a little. Was I grinning in my slumber? Around nine o’clock Monday night, I started making the pies I needed for Tuesday. I reached for the spices in the cabinet. “Darn it! I forgot to get the nutmeg.” I moved all the containers, looking and hoping, but there was no nutmeg. I picked up the bottle of caraway seeds. “A fine choice you turned out to be. I can’t substitute caraway for nutmeg,” I grumbled. “Oh well, I’ll just use a little allspice.” I started to put the caraway seed container back in the cabinet. But instead, I smiled mischievously as I spread a few seeds around our countertop by the toaster.