I thought elephants had good memories and maybe they do.

But then there is Ollie.

Our rescue spotted coon hound now approaching 11 years old, although we can’t be sure of that, has lost some of his spunk and hearing. His memory is an all together different matter, especially when it comes to food.

Quite by accident I decided to put it to test Saturday night. Carol was out for the evening with friends and left me a bowl of chicken casserole to heat up whenever I decided it was time for dinner. She had fed Ollie and taken him out. I was on my own in front of the computer and Ollie was downstairs asleep in his crate. This looked like a quiet evening when I could churn through some work and maybe catch something on the tube later.

That’s not the way Ollie saw it. He’s never been interested in TV.

My son’s dog, Nash, intently watches TV barking when he spots a dog and jumping off the couch to sniff things out. Nash, a real lap dog, can provide some great comic between checking out the television during Chewy commercials and snuggling in for tummy rubs. Fortunately, he hasn’t taken his interest in big screen dogs to the extreme by marking his turf. Barks and tail wagging is about the extent of it. Off course, he gets some family encouragement from my son Ted who tells him, “Nash, go get him.”

Nash doesn’t exhibit an interest in cooking shows although I’m certain if accompanied by cooking odors he’d be right there licking the screen.

Taking a break from the computer, I decided it was time to heat up the casserole. Ollie was asleep in his pen, but not for long. His hearing is especially acute when it comes to opening the fridge. He was up and watching my every move as I transferred the bowl to the microwave, setting the time for three minutes.

He’d had his dinner and I didn’t care for his drooling as he watched me eat so I came up with a plan.

He’s grown tired of climbing the stairs and since stumbling on his way down – something he evidently remembers from weeks ago – he pretty much stays on the first floor. He’ll make the foray on clear days when he enjoys napping in a pool of sunlight.

My plan was simple. Once the casserole was hot, using a handful of kibble, I’d create a diversion and then slip upstairs to have dinner.

His eyes glued on me, Ollie wasn’t going to miss a move. He followed as I went to the kibble bin and removed a handful, which I dropped in a plastic bowl and in virtually the same motion removed the bowl of steaming casserole from the micro. Ollie was intent on getting the last kibble crumb from his bowl that he was nosing across the tile kitchen floor. I made my escape to the computer upstairs.

Success, or so I thought.

Barely two minutes later, Ollie emitted a lonesome “you forgot me” howl from the kitchen. I figured he’d give up after the second or third complaint. He didn’t.

“Okay,” I said as if he would understand, “I’ll be down.”

He had abandoned his plastic bowl and was standing in the kitchen doorway with a smug, “did you think that was going to fool me” expression. Or was it a painful, “you forgot me” look?

Either way, he was going upstairs.

He ran his nose along the keyboard with his eyes fixed on the bowl of casserole between it and the monitor.

“See,” I could read in those dark eyes, “I knew you were up to something.”

I motioned to him with my hand to lie down. He backed off and assumed his sphinx like position with his front legs stretched straight out and hind legs tucked under his stomach. His eyes hadn’t left mine. I pulled out a morsel of chicken and he gently took it.

I went back to the keyboard before resuming my dinner. Ollie didn’t budge and I rewarded him with another morsel and finally he got to lick the bowl.

He knows that’s when dinner is over. I thought for certain he would leave and head back downstairs to see if he had missed anything. But no, he climbed onto a small couch in the room and settled in to watch me.

Maybe I had misread his plaintiff howl, maybe he hadn’t figured out my diversionary tactics… and maybe he just wanted my company.