Our UPS delivery driver has created a monster.
It started about a year and a half ago. Justin and I were going to be married in a few months and the steady stream of wedding gifts had begun. I was in the front yard watering my geraniums. Peter was sharpening his fangs on stick when the UPS truck hauled ass past our house, pedal to the metal. Upon hearing the truck, Peter dropped his stick and starting chasing after the truck, like full on, fast as he can go, down the block. Shit. After my shoeless sprint in the street, I managed to catch up and threw him back in the front yard, this time with his invisible fence collar on. “Great. Now he’s chasing vehicles. Because he doesn’t have enough bad habits already”, I thought
The next day, around the same time, I was inside when I heard Peterbilt tear ass to the front door and sit at the window, silently and intently staring. Quivering, even. Then, after a minute, he slowly walked away. I looked outside, nothing was there.
This had process repeated itself a few times when I finally I brought it up to my husband, in an attempt to make conversation one evening during an awkwardly quiet dinner.
“Yeah, the UPS driver throws him milk bones sometimes when he drives by.” Justin also admitted that it even took him a while to figure out what was happening. Peterbilt normally gets to chill in the front yard by himself for 15 minutes or so when Justin gets home from work and that coincides with when UPS makes deliveries to our neighborhood. I laughed when Justin told me this. Peterbilt had a secret.
Shortly thereafter, I witnessed a few of the treat-throwings. The UPS driver wore a safari hat and when he’d fly down down the street, he’d tip his hat at me, smile, reach into his pocket, and flip me the bird. I keed, I keed. That’s what I would do if I was a UPS driver. No, he’d reach into his pocket and pull out a Peterbilt-size milk bone and chuck it into our yard. Peterbilt would gleefully run and quickly scarf down the treat, scouring the driveway for crumbs.. I’d wave to the guy and he’d drive off into the sunset like a lone, brown, safari cowboy on a diesel horse.
“That guy is cool”, I thought to myself. It was such a heartwarming thing to watch. Here’s a guy who probably spent a good $30 a month on large breed size milk bones, just to make a dog’s day brighter and bring a smile to their owner’s faces. And yes, I do realize the ulterior motive in this. Sonny (I named him this. He looks like a Sonny to me) doesn’t want his face eaten off by the Jones’s German Shepherd while he’s trying to deliver their Sky Mall eyebrow trimmer. Sonny likes having a nose. I get that. Give a dog a treat repeatedly and you have a friend for life. Makes sense.
Except in the case of Peterbilt.
As the package deliveries increased, so did the treats. The driver started leaving milk bones on the packages that would deliver when we weren’t home:
Equally as cute at the time, but then we’d get home from work, we’d open the front door and get mowed down by a 85 lb dog who had spent the last 2 hours staring at his treat though the window, panicking that some other random neighborhood dog would eat it before he would have a chance. I could picture Peterbilt, picturing those two assclown border collies running and chaotically barking into his yard, gulping down his treat, simultaneously take shits in his yard and then run away with the UPS man into the sunset to live happily ever after, all while he’s behind a pane of glass. The humiliation. The heartbreak.
Things declined from there. The summer came and went. We got married and the package deliveries significantly decreased. Fall came, and Justin started working on his car. He would order car parts from various places but most of those packages delivered with FedEx Ground and our FedEx driver delivered packages sans treats. This did not go over well. Not only did we get mowed down the same when we opened the door, we had a upset bulldog to deal with. He would scour the package and front step, no stone left unturned and would whine and whimper when the realization that there was never a treat set in. Peterbilt did not understand why one gray guy left treats but the other slightly darker gray guy did not. If fact, the darker gray guy was kind of a asshole. I call him Biff. For packages left by Biff at the front door, we started tossing out sympathy treats on the front porch when Peterbilt wasn’t looking. Yeah, my husband and I had succumbed to the sad bulldog face once again, but the worst of it still had yet to come.
Recently, Justin and I were in the driveway heading towards our car to go somewhere, I think a friend’s birthday party. We hadn’t even gotten in the car yet and saw the UPS truck come around the corner. My husband had been waiting for a package all week, so we opened up the garage and let Peterbilt outside to get his freebie treat. It had been a while since we had a UPS delivery.
Sonny saw us and walked up to us in the driveway to deliver the package. Peterbilt was a star-struck fan, twirling and play-posturing like he just met Paul McCartney. The UPS Guy, dug into his pocket and gave Peter his usual milk bone. We signed, said thank you and went to put the package in the garage. We called Peterbilt to come inside, but he wasn’t listening. We could actually feel what was going to happen next. The dog bolted from the driveway, across the street and jumped into the parked UPS Truck while our driver was in the back, sorting his packages. He ran into the back of the truck, and starting rummaging around in there for treats like “C’mon you stingy bastard!!! I know you got more where that came from!” We ran to the guy’s truck, apologized profusely, wrangled a spoiled rotten bulldog out of there and sheepishly walked back home. I could tell Sonny was annoyed, but he had no one to blame but himself. Give a bulldog an inch and he’ll take a mile.
So now every time a delivery truck, mail truck, Schwann’s truck, pick up truck, Prius or anything motorized drives by, we now have a bulldog, optimistically looking out to the window. He looks and acts well behaved behind that window, but beware. All it takes is lousy milk bone and that spoiled rotten monster will rear his white, wrinkly head. Handle with care.