Hu-Dad had one job.

Well, okay, he has several jobs—walking us twice a day, feeding us twice a day, and serving as our personal doorman for the never-ending cycle of in-and-out-and-in-and-out. But today, we’re talking about his most critical duty of all: Treat Distribution.

Treats aren’t just snacks. They’re positive reinforcement. Motivation. Compensation for enduring things like well-mannered behavior and resisting the overwhelming urge to introduce ourselves to every passerby via enthusiastic airborne somersaults during our walks.

Take Roscoe, for example. His enthusiasm when encountering another dog is best described as, um, “exuberant.” To curb his enthusiasm (read: prevent minor natural disasters), Hu-Dad rewards him with a treat if he passes a dog without launching himself into orbit. A fair system. And naturally, since fairness is key, if one of us gets a treat, everyone gets a treat. No exceptions. Fair is fair.

Roscoe, being an astute negotiator, has considerably refined the definition of a “pass.” Does a dog playing in the park count? How about one lounging in their yard? A dog peering through a window? One that barked two streets over? These are important legal arguments, and Hu-Dad—bless his simple, rule-following heart—often caves under the relentless lobbying efforts.

Which brings us to The Incident.

One bright morning, we were strolling along, minding our business, being the very models of well-behaved canine citizens. A dog appeared on the trail. Roscoe mostly kept his cool. He turned to Hu-Dad, eyes sparkling with expectation, tail wagging in anticipation of his well-earned reward.

Hu-Dad reached for the treat pouch.

And came up empty.

Nothing. Not a single treat. No tiny tidbits. No morsels. Nothing. Why? Because he had left the pouch at home.

Roscoe’s ears flattened in disbelief. He nudged Hu-Dad’s belt—maybe the pouch would magically appear? No luck. His simple request for payment quickly escalated to a demand. Treats were in our contract. This grossly violated Siberian Husky labor laws. A grievance would need to be filed with the union.

Of course, official complaints had to wait until we got home. And that took a while because Roscoe kept stopping. And staring. And trying again. And again. And again. Surely Hu-Dad had just misplaced the treats. Maybe they were in another pocket? Maybe he’d hidden them? Maybe he was playing some cruel, bizarre game?

Nope. Hu-Dad was just incompetent.

When we finally returned home, Hu-Dad attempted to make amends by offering us treats. We would love to say we refused on principle, that we stood firm in our righteous indignation, that we turned up our noses in dignified protest.

But, come on. We took the treats.

We’re still complaining, though.