Category: humor

Tuffy Unleashed: Confessions of a Hungry Lab

The sun hadn’t even peeked through the blinds when I heard Mom’s alarm. My tail thumped against the wooden floors before I opened my eyes – morning means breakfast! I stretched out my paws, let out a big yawn, and caught the first hints of a new day.

The Tuffy Song: An Embarrassment I Secretly Love

I hear Mom’s cheerful voice, ‘Good Morning, Tuffy!’ before launching into what she calls my special Tuffy song.

It’s a… (ahem).. unique… piece of music, composed and performed exclusively by her, in a tune that I would suspect would make most dogs cringe. It goes something like this:

“Tuffy ma… Tuffy ma… Little Tuffy ma!
Tuffy is a good boy, chella kutti ma…..”

I’ll spare you the rest. Human singing can be quite something.

The funny thing is, even though it’s arguably the most embarrassing song in canine history, I find myself wagging my tail every single time. Maybe it’s the way her face lights up when she sings it, or maybe it’s because deep down, I know I’m her absolute favorite. (She likes me more than Dad, and my brothers, and we both know it). I pretend to tolerate it, but between you and me – Those silly songs are our thing. Don’t tell her, I miss it when she’s too busy to sing it.

The Art of Begging: A Masterclass

Mom heads towards the kitchen, and I spring into action. I sit up, wagging my tail in slow anticipation, my best “I’m starving” look firmly in place. She knows my routine but plays hard to get, acting as though Arya’s breakfast and school lunch preparations are far more important than my needs.

I lock eyes with hers every chance I get, but I have to play it cool – too much desperation and she might start thinking I’m dramatic.

Finally, she walks towards the closet where my food is kept in a tightly closed box. (Apparently, Labrador self-restraint is a myth. One unfortunate incident involving an open food bin and a very full stomach means I’m now on a strict security protocol.)

Mom measures my food with that ridiculous little cup. Humans and their portion control – completely unnecessary. I’m a Labrador, for heaven’s sake! I have needs. The waiting is torture. A thick string of drool betrays my dignity, but who cares about dignity where food is involved?

I remember the golden days, back when Grandma used to sneak me yolks from hard-boiled eggs. It was a glorious time. Then one day, the vet called me “insanely obese” (harsh) and put me on a “healthy diet” (human talk for starvation). It was too easy to get Grandma’s attention. One “sad puppy look face”, and she would give in.

Since then, I’ve had to get creative.

Plan A: Act like I’m starving. Wag tail, sit attentively, look soulfully at food providers.
Plan B: Shadow Mom. Follow her around the kitchen, strategically positioning myself near anything that could fall.
Plan C: Floor patrol. Any crumbs, abandoned snacks, or overlooked morsels? I’m on it.

Does it work? Rarely. But a Lab must try.

Each family member has a role in my master food scheme:

  • Dad is the softie with treats.
  • Mom is my snack partner when no one’s looking.
  • Arya has a habit of “accidentally” dropping food.
  • Manav? The hardest to crack. The guy acts like I’m on some kind of detox program.

Bathroom Breaks & Condo Woes

After breakfast, it’s time for my morning bathroom break.

Living in a condo means my entire existence depends on humans – especially my bladder. Try explaining to your body that you live on the 11th floor and require an elevator ride just to find a patch of grass. To make matters worse, at any given time, two of the four elevators don’t work. It’s a waiting game, and let me tell you – when nature calls, that’s a game I do NOT want to play.

The elevator is its own source of entertainment. Humans are unpredictable. Some see me and turn into excited puppies themselves – ‘Oh, what a good boy! How old is he?’ Others press against the walls like I am a wild beast. (Have they even seen how adorable I am!?)

Then there was that day.

An elderly woman saw me when the doors opened on her floor and immediately let out a shriek, as if I were a ghost, and actually fell backwards! All I was doing was sitting there being my handsome self, tail wagging, saying hello.

She then proceeded to curse me in what sounded like three different languages.

Dad was horrified, I was confused. I mean, I’m a yellow lab. I’m practically a Golden Retriever’s cousin! How terrifying can I be?

The thing about humans is, they’re completely unpredictable. Some want to pet me endlessly, some act as if I’m invisible, and others treat me like I am a wolf in a Lab’s clothing.

Sidewalk Surprises: A Gourmet’s Guide to Forbidden Snacks

Now, let’s talk about my greatest passion: found food on the trails.

Mom calls it “disgusting street scraps.” I call it “sidewalk surprises.”

The moment I spot something – a half-eaten sandwich, a mysterious morsel, a bone, or my personal favorite, an abandoned piece of who-knows-what, my instincts take over.

“NO, TUFFY! NO!”

As if yelling will make me just drop this rare delicacy.

What follows is our classic Sidewalk Standoff.

  1. Mom panics.
  2. She tries the “drop it” negotiation tactic. (“Drop it, Tuffy! Here, have this treat!”)
  3. I pretend to consider it. (Interesting offer, woman, but this is a once-in-a-lifetime discovery.)
  4. I execute the “Fake Distraction Maneuver.” (Suddenly fascinated by a squirrel, I wait for her to look away…)
  5. I chew faster.

If I’ve learned one thing in life, it’s this:
Swallow first, act innocent later.

The Final Verdict: My Humans Are Pretty Darn Adorable (Mostly)

After all my adventures – food battles, elevator escapades, and sidewalk snack negotiations – the day winds down.

I listen to the familiar sounds of home:

  • Mom’s soft footsteps. (Probably headed to the kitchen. A potential snack opportunity.)
  • Dad’s heavy footsteps. (Less likely to share food, but good for belly rubs.)
  • Manav’s brisk footsteps. (Not worth the effort – strictest of all humans.)
  • Arya’s quick, fluttering steps. (Most promising. He’s my best bet for ‘accidental’ snack drop.)

As I settle in, curled up in my bed, I hear Mom humming my Tuffy song again. I let out a sigh, tail wagging a little.

Humans are a strange species – completely unpredictable and oddly obsessed with unnecessary rules.

But mine? They are pretty darn adorable.

A little stingy in food distribution, but have to admit, nobody’s perfect!

Peaks and Papaya: A Tale of Misplaced Confidence

They say marriage is about balance. Our 25th anniversary in Hawaii took that lesson quite literally – from the serene heights of mountain trails to the fiery depths of Thai spice levels.

It wasn’t until halfway up the trail that I made two profound discoveries: I forgot water, and my bladder had excellent timing. Of all the vacation planning list I made, basic survival needs somehow didn’t make the cut. When I declared my discoveries to my dear husband, he humorously suggested I use nature’s own bathroom facility, but it simply met with my city-girl horror – apparently my dignity is far more important than my bladder’s desperate pleas. Of all the anniversary traditions couples collect over the years, I never imagined “discussing bathroom options on a Hawaiian trail” would make it into our top ten memorable moments.

I approached the second hike with questionable confidence, but somehow my determination won over my legs.

This rainforest hike was utterly beautiful. The trail promised us a waterfall at its end. My husband imagined a majestic waterfall worthy of a tourism brochure and I was more than happy enjoying the massive trees. After a while, my inner monologue shifted from “Look at these beautiful trees” to “Why didn’t I train for this?” My stoic eyes were looking down on the rocks and stones we had to walk on. I could feel a tremble in my legs, but I kept going with determined confidence.

As we reached the end of our trail, the imagination of a majestic waterfall fell flat for my husband as he saw something like a nature’s drinking fountain, but I didn’t care. I was just happy I made the end of it and now I just need to go down the hill and I can finally eat something!

My husband turned to me and asked, “What next?”
“What, what next? It’s time to eat! I am having a headache. I am starving. I am physically exhausted.”

Whoever invented the word “hangry” deserves a Nobel Prize. After years of thinking I had a unique talent for turning hunger into an emotional crisis, discovering this word was like finding my tribe. All those childhood moments of food-related meltdowns suddenly had scientific validation. I wasn’t being difficult – I was being hangry before hangry was cool.

I declared we go to a Thai restaurant. My husband, who typically maintains diplomatic neutrality in the face of Thai food suggestions, found himself in an anniversary-induced compromise.

Google Maps played its favorite game of “You have arrived!’ at every wrong location.
After a few failed attempts of going in circles, we made the executive decision to park our car and then simply walk towards the restaurant. Walking worked!

Having conquered two mountain trails, I felt invincible – a dangerous state of mind when you’re both starving and facing a Thai menu. You know how they say anticipation makes everything better? Well, my long-awaited Thai lunch was about to become memorable in ways my spice-loving ego wasn’t quite ready for.

There are moments when our heart speaks, our brain objects, and our stomach gets voting rights. This was one of those moments. There I was, physically exhausted from hiking, sweating in the Hawaiian sun, and what does my brilliant mind conclude? Yes, this is the perfect time for maximum spice on my basil vegetarian fried rice and papaya salad and piping hot water.

The waiter came and when my turn of the order came, I quickly answered “Papaya salad and vegetarian basil fried rice with maximum spice. Hot water please.”

“You mean, Spicy?” the waiter asked, with what I now recognize was a mix of concern and amusement. Like a warrior declaring battle plans, I confidently replied, “Yes, spicy!'”

The waiter’s glance at my husband wasn’t just a look – it was a silent telegram of “Is she sure about this?” My husband, veteran witness to my spice-related overconfidence, simply shrugged with a smile and was earnest to see how it is going to unfold.

First bite: excitement.
Second bite: realization.
Third bite: regret.

The basil fried rice I’d ordered with maximum spice became irrelevant – my taste buds had already gone on strike after the papaya salad assault.

In a plot twist that surprised absolutely no one except past-me, the hot water I’d so proudly ordered became less ‘soothing comfort’ and more ‘adding fuel to the fire’ – “literally”.

My husband, watching this culinary drama unfold, silently offered his ice from his water – a peace offering in my moment of crisis. I kept putting the ice on my hot water in the hope of making it cold to the point it was just barely warm.

Where was the waiter? The one time I needed someone hovering over my table asking, “How is everything?” and the restaurant had suddenly become a masterclass in efficient privacy. The irony of desperately wanting ice water after proudly ordering hot wasn’t lost on me, but dignity takes a backseat when your tongue feels like it’s auditioning for a fire-walking show.

In a final lesson in humility worthy of our anniversary adventure, there I sat – physically exhausted from hiking, defeated by a salad, and still somehow hungry. The scenic morning views had given way to an afternoon of what I can only describe as ‘spicy meditation.’ We ended our day with another 40-minute walk in the peak sun, because apparently, the universe wasn’t quite done with its lessons in humility. And that’s how our romantic anniversary hike turned into a tale of two temperatures – the cool mountain trails and the fire-breathing papaya salad that followed. At least we got our cardio in, even if most of it was from my tongue doing the hot sauce dance.