Are My Dogs Secret Agents on a Mission to Save Me from Technology?

 Look, I’m not saying my dogs work for some anti-tech resistance group, but the evidence is starting to pile up.

A couple of years ago, I had an Apple Watch. I wore it, used it, no issues. Then, one day, I took it off… and it vanished. I searched high and low. Scanned my entire house like I was running a crime scene investigation. Then, just to be thorough, I took the search outside, because, you know, maybe my watch had developed legs and wandered off. Nothing. It was as if the universe decided, Nope, you’re done with that.

Now, let’s fast-forward a bit. Enter: my Apple AirPods Pro. Fancy, expensive, and a staple in my daily routine—until one of my dogs (a different one this time, mind you) reached up, snatched them off the end table, and destroyed them. No subtlety. No mystery. Just full-blown annihilation, right in front of me.

At first, I chalked it up to my own carelessness. Leaving expensive gadgets within paw’s reach? Rookie mistake.Then I started putting the pieces together.

See, I’ve been paying close attention to technology, privacy, and energy. I’ve resisted Big Tech’s push to track my every move, refused to be funneled into their AI-driven rabbit holes, and stayed mindful of what aligns with me. And now, I’m realizing—maybe I wasn’t the one who eliminated those devices.

Maybe, just maybe, my dogs were doing the job for me.

I mean, think about it. The watch? Gone without a trace. No destruction, no evidence—just poof. The earbuds? Destroyed in plain sight, as if to say, "You’re not getting these back, lady."

It’s too weird to ignore. Considering all the information coming forward about Bluetooth exposure, tracking, and the subtle ways technology influences us… I don’t think this was random. I think these things were removed for a reason.

Now, does this mean I’ve got two little furry tech skeptics running around, making sure I don’t get too plugged in? Maybe. Or maybe the universe works in ways we don’t always recognize—sometimes through gut feelings, sometimes through missing objects, and sometimes through dogs with suspiciously strong opinions about what belongs in my life.

Either way, message received.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go check if my laptop is still where I left it.

I Would Never… Oh, Wait!

Gosh, I can’t count how many times I’ve said, I would never do that!

And yet, in between those moments, I remind myself—never say never. Because let’s be real—the second you do, it’s bound to happen. At least, that’s how it works in my world.

Come on, that has to have happened to you too… It’s okay if you don’t admit it. It’s even okay if you’re in denial. I have some of those situations in my life — denial. Like the fact that I am forever young. I do not relate to the word senior. Not now, not ever… unless, of course, it saves me money. And even then, I do it very discreetly.

Oh, I know there are those who toot their horn and wear it as a badge of honor—well, they can have my share. I’m perfectly fine in my little world of denial. Like I said, I’m forever young, full of energy, juggling too many projects, and honestly, I think it’s pretty darn cool.

However, denial has a way of creeping up, subtle at first… or maybe not so subtle. And that brings me to one of my latest I would never do that moments.

It’s called a fart.

I swore I would never say, I farted. Never. I don’t even like the sound of that word. Maybe it’s some deep-seated childhood thing. I remember my dad saying my mother could raise the roof with her… passing gas. No, actually, he said farting. And snoring.

I made a vow—I would never do that. Never. And for the most part, I haven’t. I’ve always said passing gas because, as I mentioned, the word fart sounds like something—like I was raised under a rock, completely void of culture. And you know what? That’s… well, pretty much true. So here I am, not only having said the word fart—also having done it.

Here’s where it gets funny.

Tonight, I farted. And my dogs, who were asleep, shot awake like it was a gunshot, scrambling to run for cover!

I laughed. And laughed. And laughed.

And then, of course, I had to share it with a few people. Their laughter made it even funnier.

And then, I had one of those Oh My Gosh! realizations—I had raised the roof.

I never expected that. Hmmm, then again… maybe it was inevitable. 

Pushing the Envelope: The Generational Cycle

 This story first appeared on social media before I later included it, along with many others, in Food for the Soul, a collection I self-published.

When my grandson was a little guy, we spent a lot of time together. Occasionally, he would come home from school using words that elicited an oh-my-gosh look from me. Simply telling him those words weren’t nice wouldn’t be enough.

As a teenager, an older brother once told me that swearing was a reflection of a person’s IQ—people would know if you were smart or not by your choice of language. I figured as long as I kept my swearing close to home and shared my intelligent vocabulary with the world, I’d be all right.

Sort of like using the “F” word. Yep, I’ve used it. Growing up, it wasn’t a word I’d even heard of. Sure, I lived in a small community, but I don’t believe we were that sheltered—heck, we knew about Vietnam, “Make Love, Not War,” sneaking out of the house, and drinking beer. Seems like we would have known the “F” word.

Leaving my community, things changed—including my vocabulary. I began using it when I was angry, thinking it made my point more powerful. At the time, I thought I was in control, blasting it out like I meant business.

These days, I notice people using it even when they’re laughing—maybe, like me back then, they think it adds something extra to what they’re saying.

Through the years, working with clients, I’ve learned that sharing a story woven with a message has a way of capturing interest, planting seeds, and making a point people can relate to. Stories allow people to learn without feeling the need to be defensive.

So here I am—“Grams”—revisiting the message my brother once shared with me.

I sat down next to Bryce and told him we were going to rate words. Using the words he had shared earlier, along with some everyday ones, I asked him how he felt when he said them. One by one, using a scale from “way down low” to “way up high”—my hands demonstrating from floor level to about four feet—I had him place each word where he thought it fit.

Then, I shifted the conversation. “If you were feeling low, would you do as well playing baseball as you would if you were feeling good?”

After a bit of back and forth, he got my point. From then on, if he used an unacceptable word, I’d simply ask, “Are you going way down low, or do you want to shift it up high?” To this day, I’ve never heard him use the “F” word.

Language is an expression of who we are and how we feel. In 1998, I believed it had everything to do with self-esteem.

Pondering Thoughts

I originally wrote this in 2001, and life has changed in almost 25 years. I think back to generational shifts—music that rattled the older generation, from Elvis and his smooth voice and swiveling hips to Bob Dylan’s anti-war lyrics. The Beatles arrived, introducing a sound and energy that had parents convinced they were losing control of their kids.

Women’s roles were shifting, too. Careers, credit cards, purchasing power—things that weren’t always options before.

Fast food popped up everywhere—Arctic Circle selling five hamburgers for a dollar before McDonald’s took over. Woodstock, Vietnam, smoking weed, mini skirts, layers of makeup. We did it because we could, not because our parents approved.

We weren’t the first generation to push boundaries, and we wouldn’t be the last.

Here we are in 2025, almost 25 years later. When I wrote this, words carried a different weight. Back then, certain words defined you. Today? Not so much. The “F” word seems more like a generational statement—rebellion in a different form, another piece of evolution.

So what’s the point? Full circle. My grandson Bryce has taught in public schools, and I’d put my last dollar on the table believing he doesn’t use the “F” word in front of his students.