Snoopy Snippets

~ 12 ~

Published 1st November 2024 By Tony Barnett
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In late May the weather turned really cold, and I took a fan heater out of its summer hibernation, to warm my bedroom at night and early morning. Snoopy was so suspicious – of the blast of hot air, the noise, the oscillation, or the combination of them – that on the first night he wouldn’t enter my bedroom until I switched it off. On the second night, after much hesitation, he plucked up the courage to race past it en route to my bed. After that he accepted it as an undesirable but avoidable attempt to impede the achievement of his overwhelming desire – to gain admission to the warmth of my bed.

You might think that, once Snoopy was in my bed on a cold night, peace would reign. I wish! I have always avoided excessive heat in bed, and have never used a hot water bottle, let alone an electric blanket. By contrast, the hotter the better for Snoopy. His overwhelming desire was to snuggle up as close as possible to me. And, unlike a hot water bottle, Snoopy’s temperature increased during the night. So, every night I struggled to move him to the other side of the bed, and persuade him to stay there, so that we wouldn’t touch each other even when I turned over.

No sooner had Snoopy accepted, however unwillingly, the presence of the heater in my bedroom than the mornings grew so cold that I felt the need to have another one warming my bathroom for my emergence from my shower. Snoopy had grown accustomed to sitting on the bathmat and watching me while I showered, but suddenly there was another monster to deter him from that surely unobjectionable activity.

One morning, on entering the shower, I was puzzled by the sight of mud on the edge and outside wall of the adjoining bath. I knew I wasn’t responsible, and there was only one other member of the household. My assumption was confirmed when I found small pieces of mud all over the lounge room floor. I picked up the culprit and, sure enough, there was mud stuck to his forepaws. I’d often seen him digging in the garden, and also standing on his hind legs to peer into the empty bath. But I’d never previously linked the two activities. Snoopy was evidently teaching me to think outside the box.

Given that the puzzle toy I’d bought for Snoopy had failed to challenge him (see Chapter 10), I checked out many others on Google, and bought the one which seemed most challenging. It consists of four boxes, each of which must be opened in a different way to access the treat within: by lifting the hinged lid; sliding the lid out by pushing a knob on top; pulling out a drawer by a string handle; and lifting off the lid by a string handle. It took Snoopy no more than 15 minutes to work out the first three, but the last required a demonstration before he could overcome this final challenge. I belatedly read the instructions, and learnt that I’d thrown him in the deep end, rather than adopting the recommended step-by-step approach. Snoopy’s intelligence evidently exceeded the manufacturer’s expectations.

I waited a few weeks before I offered the puzzle to Snoopy again. There’s clearly nothing wrong with his memory, as this time he opened all four boxes within five minutes.

The first time I couldn’t find Snoopy in the house or garden, I started to panic… until I eventually espied him comfortably ensconced in my leather armchair. Since it is black, and Snoopy predominantly so, he didn’t stand out. At first I wondered how he’d got onto it, since the way it was facing he couldn’t have jumped onto it from the floor. Then I noticed some light scratches on the narrow wooden table between the chair and the adjoining lounge; he’d evidently used the table as a stepping stone. When I gently lifted him off my chair onto the lounge, he turned round and glared at me – the most human expression I’d ever seen on a canine face.

He often wanted to join me on that chair, but he was usually overactive, and I soon put him down. One evening, however, he slept on my lap for a long time, while I was watching TV, and he made me feel warm and fuzzy. Sadly, at bedtime Dr Jeckyll turned into Mr Hyde, when he felt the need to compensate for the hours of inactivity. Playtime on my bed became a rough and tumble – with emphasis on the rough – and after a few minutes I was exhausted, and put him off the bed. Happily, he accepted defeat, and soon went to sleep in his own bed… at least until 1 or 2am, when the cold gained him readmission to mine.

Subsequently I found Snoopy sleeping on my chair increasingly often. Not wanting to subject myself again to his anthropomorphic glare, I usually couldn’t bring myself to put him off, instead moving him gently onto my lap, or even surrendering my chair to him and sitting on the lounge instead. Somewhat belatedly, I wondered who was boss in my house. 

Snoopy’s favourite game is for me to chase him round and round the lounge room. In this activity he has several advantages over me: (1) he is a lot faster; (2) he is a lot smaller, enabling him to race under and between furniture; (3) he can change direction without slowing down; and (4) above all, he is a lot younger. Much to his evident disappointment, I have to concede defeat after only a couple of minutes, breathless and exhausted. I can only hope that acceding to Snoopy’s desire for my participation in his idea of fun will keep me young rather than drive me to an early grave.

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