It was supposed to be a normal Tuesday.
Coffee, emails, maybe a quick walk with my dog Charlie before lunch.
But no.
Charlie had other plans.
Around 10:42 a.m., I heard a crash in the kitchen. Not a small clatter. A “something is broken and probably my fault” kind of crash.
I rushed in — and there he was.
Charlie.
Standing proud, tail wagging, surrounded by what looked like the aftermath of a food festival gone rogue.
The trash can was on its side.
Banana peels. Coffee grounds. Leftover pizza crust.
Gone.
Charlie had a smear of peanut butter on his snout and what looked like spaghetti on his paw.
He looked guilty.
But mostly… very pleased with himself.
The Clues:
Trash lid opened like a pro
Yogurt cup so clean it sparkled
One sock missing (possibly unrelated… possibly not)
I sighed.
He wagged.
And in that moment, I realized I’d underestimated the lengths my dog would go for a snack.
That evening, I got smart.
First, I pulled out one of his treat-dispensing puzzle toys — the kind that actually keeps him busy for more than five minutes. That distracted him just enough to keep him out of mischief when I’m not watching.
I also gave the trash bin a light spritz of bitter deterrent spray (nothing fancy, just the one he already avoids on the furniture).
And we went back to basics with a clicker training set I hadn’t used since puppyhood — a little “leave it” reinforcement goes a long way.
He hasn’t pulled off another heist since.
But every now and then, I catch him glancing at the trash like he’s plotting a comeback.
Some dogs nap.
Others mastermind.