My Dog Threw His Brother Out the Window! (Yes, Really.) Okay, before you panic—everyone is okay. But yes, it actually happened. My dog, in a moment of chaos, somehow managed to throw his brother out the window, and I still can't decide whether to laugh, cry, or install steel bars across every opening in the house.
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My Dog Failed at Being Responsible… And It Was Hilarious
I had high hopes. Really, I did.
It started one sunny Saturday morning, when I made the rookie mistake of believing my dog could be trusted with a small responsibility. Not a big one—not “guard the house while I’m gone” or “walk yourself around the block.” Just something simple.
“Alright, buddy,” I said, crouching down with the kind of serious tone you’d use on a best man before a wedding. “All I need you to do is not touch the chicken on the counter. That’s it. Just… don’t.”
He looked back at me, tail wagging, head slightly tilted, ears perked up like he understood every word. His eyes said, “I got you. No chicken will be harmed in my watch.” I believed him. I wanted to believe in him.
I even added extra insurance: the chicken was pushed way back on the counter. I figured he couldn’t reach it without some sort of canine engineering degree. I gave him a final nod, patted his head, and stepped into the backyard to water the plants.
Five minutes. That’s all I was gone. Five.
When I came back in, the smell hit me first—roasted garlic, rosemary, and betrayal. The chicken was gone. The pan, licked clean, was upside down on the floor like it had been part of a wrestling match. And in the middle of the kitchen, sitting like a crime scene extra, was my dog… looking incredibly guilty and very, very full.
He didn’t even pretend to be surprised to see me. No tail wag. No excited greeting. Just that slow, “yeah, I messed up” look while avoiding eye contact like a kid who got caught sneaking cookies before dinner.
“Buddy,” I whispered. “You had one job.”
The Trial Begins
I tried not to laugh. I tried to be stern. But his face was covered in rosemary flakes and shame, and I couldn’t keep a straight face.
To be fair, this wasn’t his first brush with temptation. He once tried to carry a whole baguette out of the grocery bag and hide it under the couch. He once climbed a table to steal a cheese cube and got stuck under a chair trying to escape.
But this time felt different. This time, he had been entrusted with responsibility. This wasn’t theft. This was betrayal of a sacred agreement between human and dog.
So I decided to talk to him.
I sat on the floor across from him, like we were in a therapy session.
“You know I loved that chicken, right?”
No reaction.
“I was going to shred it for tacos.”
Blank stare.
“You didn’t even save me a piece?”
He licked his lips and let out the tiniest burp.
The Aftermath
Later that night, karma came for him. He lay on his back in the living room, legs spread, groaning with the kind of regret only overindulged dogs can feel. He had what I call “the meat sweats.” You could see it in his eyes—it wasn’t worth it.
And yet, if I placed another chicken on that counter tomorrow, I know exactly what would happen. He’d go for it again. Responsibility, it seems, is a concept that doesn’t quite stick when your priorities are:
Eat all food.
Pretend to be innocent.
Nap like nothing happened.
But Let’s Be Honest…
Can I really blame him?
I mean, I’ve failed at responsibility too. I’ve told myself I’d do laundry and then watched three episodes of a show instead. I’ve promised I’d eat a healthy dinner and then ordered pizza with extra cheese. If a golden-roasted chicken was sitting unattended in my direct line of sight and I had no rules, no job, and no sense of portion control—I might’ve eaten it too.
Dogs are pure instinct wrapped in fluff. He wasn’t being bad. He was being himself. Hungry, hopeful, and opportunistic.
In his mind, I probably left that chicken for him. And when he devoured it, he likely thought, “Wow… she’s finally letting me live my dreams.”
A Lesson Learned?
Since that fateful day, I’ve never left food unattended again. And while my dog hasn’t exactly earned back his title as “Responsible Good Boy,” he’s become something better:
Unapologetically honest.
There’s no pretending with him. He doesn’t lie or hide or gaslight me about the chicken. He owns it. He messes up, sleeps it off, and moves on with zero shame.
There’s a lesson in that.
Sometimes we all fail at being responsible—dogs, humans, the guy who invented auto-play on streaming platforms. But if you can fail, learn (or at least nap), and show up the next day still wagging your tail, you’re doing okay.
Conclusion: Don’t Assign Jobs to Dogs
I’ve retired my dog from official duties. He no longer has access to responsibilities of any kind. His only job now is to be adorable, demand snuggles, and maybe keep me company while I cook… from the very far side of the room.
And honestly? He excels at that.
Because while he may have failed at being responsible, he has never failed at being loyal, loving, and the funniest little gremlin I’ve ever had the pleasure of living with.
Even if I still dream about that chicken sometimes.
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