The bagels were good, but it was the dog biscuits that kept me going back to the bakery in the square where they made fresh-out-of-the-oven dog biscuits along with bagels, cookies, and cakes.
So it became a routine after our walk on the other side of town to stop at the bakery for a bagel and a biscuit on our way home.
I'd park the car and as I got out, say, "Time for treats."
And she'd track my every step ... from the car to the bakery door and back again.
When I returned to the car, she'd thump, thump, thump her wagging tail against the seat back and quiver with anticipation. Leaning forward she'd press her nose between the front row seats and sniff the air as I put my coffee in the cup holder and reach into the small white bag for the treats ... mine and hers.
Until the day there were none.
Dog biscuits that is. Sold out they said.
When I returned to the car, I put the coffee in the cup holder, and said, "Sorry, Ag, no biscuits today."
She let out a whimper.
"I know," I said, "I'm sorry."
And she whimpered again ... and again.
So I reached into my pocket to offer up a dry, everyday, boring biscuit that I called a treat but knew, today, it really wasn't. Bakery biscuits were the real treat, and she knew it.
I reached back and held the biscuit steady for her to take it from my hand as she had so many times before.
But not today.
No. She turned her head to left, lifted her nose, closed her eyes, and went silent.
There would be no more wagging, no more whining, and certainly no substitutions.
Read more of my adventures with Agatha ...
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