On the list ranking dogs by intelligence (yes there is such a list), Newfoundlands come in at a paltry #34.
To put this in perspective, they rank just above something named a Clumber, and slightly below something called a Bouvier Des Flandres.
To be honest, I'm not thrilled about my puppy ranking beneath some breed that sounds like a French porn star. But I also can't really argue that Indy's been unfairly rated or even the least bit misunderstood.
It's nearly impossible to defend the intelligence of a creature who sucks up anything in its path like an industrial-strength Shop-Vac.
When Indy ate the doormat on our deck, dozens of rolls of toilet tissue, and the daily paper, we chalked it up to puppy play.
We he consumed an extra-large box of candied sour trout, a gherkin pickle, a warehouse-sized log of goat cheese, and 17 chili peppers, an unripe tomato and several overgrown cucumbers from our backyard garden, we figured it was a canine culinary oddity.
When he scavenged our windowsills licking up dead flies, combed the neighborhood streets for dried earthworms and goose poop, and devoured a common toad he caught outside, we thought it was just his Newfie instincts at work.
When he snatched my retainer from the bathroom counter and gently gnawed it to a warped and unusable mess, we assumed he had a thing for plastic (how else to explain the half dozen or so fang-marked cups we've found lodged beneath our sofa).
When he shattered a glass lantern on the deck and then proceeded to chew the broken shards ... well, we knew he was just stupid.
(And I haven't even discussed the video game, pillows, pairs of scissors, kitchen utensils, pencils, stickers, toothbrushes, 2 porcelain bowls, stuffed animals, winter boots, remote control, 3 fuzzy blankets, pet frog, Christmas tree light strands, action figures, flower pots, garden hose, kitchen timer, patio table, gingerbread house, matches, dreidel, and ADHD medication that all have served as bedtime snacks).
It may be divine intervention. Could be survival of the fittest. Or perhaps it's just dumb luck. But to date, Newfus has managed to eat all of this without harming himself.
A couple of weeks ago, just after Jack returned from a winning trip to Las Vegas, Indy swiped his wallet off the counter. I caught the Newf on the area rug, money scattered, Visa card in his muzzle.
There may never be a more apropos metaphor for a Newf -- or a more disturbing epiphany for his owners -- than to find him eating your credit cards straight out of the wallet.
Touche, Indy.
This past week, Indy ushered in a new era of puppy consumables. Unsatisfied by his previous conquests, the Newf stalked our downstairs in search of flashier, more expensive household items to destroy.
Indy didn't need to look far. He found glory in the form of two digital devices -- my new iPhone and a cordless handset lying on the kitchen table that was just taunting him ... begging him to taste it.
Fortunately Apple's trademark bumper -- which Indy mangled -- kept him from doing any major damage to my iPhone (prevents antenna problems AND thwarts Newf attacks)!
But our cordless phone was not so lucky.
Our irritation and frustration quickly turned to concern when we realized that he had punctured one of the phone batteries and was therefore at risk of ingesting battery acid.
As all good pet owners do, we immediately consulted a trusted Newfoundland expert ... Google.
Here's what we found:
"If battery fluid has been ingested ... The dog will generally drool heavily."
Glancing at Indy -- standing by the water dish with streams of saliva pouring from his jowls -- we were dismayed.
And confused.
Newfs may not rate particularly high on the intelligence scale, but if there is one thing at which they are unrivaled, it is their slobber.
Another Google search instantly set our minds at ease.
"Male Newfs may be hardheaded, and they also pant a lot, drink a lot (sometimes dunking half of their head into their water bucket), and are champion droolers."
With Google knowledge coming to the rescue once again, relief set in.
The acid disaster had been averted, and we knew that Indy -- while maybe not the smartest dog -- was going to be just fine.
Well ... at least until we plant next year's watermelon crop.
