Cone Class in Session

By Jim Hagarty

The first time our little poodle Toby was given a doggie cone at the drive-in eatery, he lapped up the soft ice cream in seconds.

I had to pull it away from him from time to time for fear he would get brain freeze. (When I get brain freeze, it’s more like a brain glacier given the size of the material we’re working with here.)

Finally, he licked the cone bare. Then he stopped. He wouldn’t touch the cone. Almost as though he was afraid of it.

So I took my cone and started eating the biscuit part, making sure he could see me doing it. He watched me very carefully. Then he lit into his cone and polished it off.

That was the last time he had to be taught that trick.

Author: Jim Hagarty

I am a 72-year-old retired journalist, busy recovering from a lifelong career as an unretired journalist. This year marks a half century of my scratching out little fables about life. My interests include genealogy, humour and music. I live in a little blue shack in Canada and spend most of my time trying to stay out of trouble. I am not that good at it. I also spent years teaching journalism. Poor state of journalism today: My fault. I have a family I don't deserve, a dog that adores me, and two cars the junk yard refuses to accept. My prized possessions include my old guitar and a razor my Dad gave me when I was 14 and which I still use when I bother to shave. Oh, and my great-great-grandfather's blackthorn stick he brought from Ireland in the 1850s. I have only one opinion but it is a good one: People take too many showers.