Of Dog Bones and Macchiatos

The world is Lonnie’s oyster.

Anyone that meets our flat-coated retriever (a Newfoundland-lab mix) Avalon, quickly realizes their meeting serves only one mission, Lonnie’s entertainment. In fact, all of creation was apparently zapped into existence for Lonnie to play with. Every item dropped on the floor is there for her to chew. Every meal is prepared for her to taste, every cat is there for her to chase and every guest is invited over solely for the purpose of petting and praising her.


And it doesn’t stop there. On walks, she sniffs every garbage can, smells every mailbox and snuffles every animal track. I won’t abuse you with what she thinks is appropriate when encountering deer scat.

But Avalon’s princess-like qualities radiate most when we she goes for a ride to Starbucks.

Lonnie's fan base.

As we approach the drive-through, her ears adjust, her rump squats and, before the window even finishes lowering, her nose pokes out like a spy-hopping orca, whiskers and nostrils twitching. She never considers that the barista is displaying great charity by offering her a dog biscuit. This must be the sole purpose for our arrival. What other impetus could there be? Certainly not the “treat” I’m being handed with a straw and sleeve (although she certainly wouldn’t mind chewing on that lovely smelling cup when we get home).

I know these occurrences are familiar to most dog lovers, but what I find so endearing in Lonnie’s actions is her attitude. The look on her face tells everyone, “It’s my world, just be thankful you’re in it.”


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