Like many people these days, I have a home webcam that lets me check on my pet while I'm away.
How's the dog? I check the petcam. The dog is fine.
An hour later, I check again; the dog is still sleeping. In fact, he hasn't moved. Maybe he's sick!
That's when I use the microphone function. I call Birch's name, and perhaps that wakes him up. But now he's confused. He can recognize my voice, but he can't smell me. At least I know he's OK.
I've learned to turn off the motion-sensor notifications on the petcam, unless I want to get 15 texts in a row because there's a squirrel outside and the dog's running back and forth in full fury. The camera records all the incidents, so I get a detailed account of Birch's day: prolonged unconsciousness, punctuated by periods of thwarted bloodlust.
The other day, I wasn't paying attention to the petcam from 1:47 to 3:15.
Apparently, that's when my daughter came home. She was recorded on the cam, filming the room and muttering "Oh. My. God. Birch! Oh. My. God."
As she told me later, she'd been in a hurry leaving home after lunch, and accidentally left one of the larder doors open. Birch had helped himself to a 2-pound loaf of bread, a bag of brown sugar, a bag of flour, and miscellaneous edibles.
