Thor Is on the Patio Table Again. This Is Not a Drill. This Is Tuesday.

Hello, I'm Yeti.

Welcome back to Dane's Delight.

Today I want to talk about peanut butter,

specifically the three o'clock peanut butter bread.

Not a spoon, not a cracker, bread.

A full piece of bread with a lot of peanut butter on it.

Dad doesn't do things halfway

when it comes to peanut butter bread.

I respect that about him.

Now, the three o'clock routine has been going on for a while,

long enough that my body knows it's coming

before my brain does.

I'm out in the yard minding my own business

and then something just shifts.

Some internal clock goes off and I think it's time.

Time to climb the fence.

I want to be clear about what I mean

when I say I climb the fence.

I'm not escaping.

I'm not going anywhere.

I put my front paws up on the top rail

and I lean into the yard

and I become a very large, very visible presence

in dad's sight line through the kitchen window.

It works every time.

Some might call it dramatic.

I call it efficient communication.

Now, the others have their own methods.

Spicy pumpkin stands at the gate.

Just stands there.

Perfectly still, perfectly tall.

Like a statue that a city might put up to honor

a very good dog.

She has a way of looking at you

that suggests she has been waiting

her entire life for this moment

and she will continue waiting with complete dignity

for however long it takes.

It's honestly impressive.

And then there's Thor.

Thor is 150 pounds.

I want you to sit with that number for a second.

150 pounds.

That's not a dog.

That's a decision.

When Thor hears the bread bag

and he hears the bread bag,

I don't know how.

We're outside.

The kitchen is inside.

There are walls involved.

Thor gets up on the patio table.

Every single time the table has flipped before.

I was there.

I saw it.

Dad saw it.

Four saw it and seemed genuinely surprised,

which is the part I think about most.

Like he hadn't considered that cause and effect

applied to him personally,

but he gets up there anyway every day

because Thor is an optimist.

And then the drooling starts.

Now I want to be sensitive here

because Thor can't help it.

But I also want to be accurate

because this is a factual program.

Four drools before the bread comes out.

He drools at the sound of the bread bag.

He drools at the memory of peanut butter.

There is a point in the process

where the ground beneath for

becomes a different kind of ground.

Dad knows to step carefully.

And then there's dingus.

Dingus is a 50 pound chow mix

and she approaches the peanut butter situation

with a level of calmness

that I find both admirable and suspicious.

She just sort of appears

like she materialized from somewhere.

No drama, no table, no fence.

She just shows up and acts like

this is a perfectly normal transaction

between reasonable individuals.

Which it is, I just can't do it that way.

I've tried.

So the scene is set,

me on the fence, spicy pumpkin at the gate,

composed and statesmen like Thor on the table,

all 150 pounds of him producing weather.

Dingus standing somewhere nearby,

calm as a Tuesday.

Dad comes outside with the bread,

four slices, one for each of us,

thick with peanut butter, edge to edge.

The man is generous.

You can smell it from across the yard.

You can probably smell it from the street.

I would not be surprised

if birds changed course.

I get mine first from the fence.

Dad walks it right over to me,

which I think validates my entire strategy.

23 steps I counted, worth every one.

Spicy pumpkin gets her second.

She accepts it at the gate with the composure

of someone who knew this was always going to work out.

No fuss, no drama.

Just dignified receipt of a well-earned snack.

Thor gets his third.

This is when the table situation

reaches its conclusion.

150 pounds of relief.

The drooling does not stop when the bread arrives.

I want to be clear about that.

The drooling continues through the eating.

It just changes character someone.

And then Dingus, who walks over, takes her slice,

and eats it like she scheduled this meeting

and is pleased that ran on time.

Four slices, four dogs, everything as it should be.

I've fought a lot about why I get mine first.

My leading theory is that dad appreciates commitment.

I'm on the fence every single day, rain or shine.

I have never once missed a three o'clock.

That kind of consistency deserves recognition.

I believe dad understands this.

My other theory is that he just starts at the fence

because I'm the hardest to ignore.

Both theories may be correct.

After the bread situation concludes,

dad feeds us dinner outside,

which I appreciate because inside gets complicated

with four of us in our respective sizes.

Outside, we spread out.

Everyone gets their bowl, their space,

there's dignity, there's no one accidentally standing

in someone else's food,

which used to be more of an issue

than I'm going to get into right now.

Dingus eats with focus and efficiency.

She is done before most of us have gotten started

and then she just sits there watching,

which I find slightly unnerving.

Spicy pumpkin eats like she's being photographed.

I eat at a reasonable pace and mine my own business.

Four eats like the bowl personally offended him

and he is settling the matter.

It works.

It's a system.

We've got it figured out.

The point I'm trying to make and I do have a point

is that the three o'clock peanut butter bread

is not really about the bread.

It's about the routine, the knowing,

the fact that every day at three o'clock

something good is coming.

Dad's going to come outside.

Dingus is going to materialize.

Spicy pumpkin is going to stand at that gate

like she's been elected to something.

Four is going to get on that table

and take his chances with gravity

and I'm going to climb that fence

because tomorrow I think might be my day.

It probably won't be.

I'll still get mine first, but you know what I mean.

You don't climb the fence because you're certain.

You climb the fence because peanut butter smells really good

and hope is a powerful thing.

And also because dad always looks over eventually.

He always looks over.

This has been Danes Delight.

I'm Yeti.

Four, please get off the table.

Dingus, where did you even come from?