What secrets is your pet keeping? Mine had a secret penchant for green beans

During some rare "down" time over the holidays, I was scrolling through the offerings on a streaming service in search of a little escapist entertainment.

My criteria were fairly simple: Nothing too sad. Nothing too gross. Nothing that had anything to do with politics whatsoever (which I realize could encompass both of the other criteria).

I paused for a moment at "The Secret Life of Pets," but as one happened to be eyeing me at the time, I decided to pass.

Frankly, there's not too much that's secret these days about the dog who lives at my house. Her life seems to revolve around eating, sleeping, taking me for a walk and watching the neighborhood from the living room window.

It's her past I don't know much about.

She arrived from a shelter in Tennessee with a record from the last veterinarian who examined her and a warning that she could be feisty and aggressive, particularly around men. She was already 8 years old, but she had no apparent appetite and weighed just shy of 5 pounds.

Seriously, how aggressive can a 5-pound dog be?

Very, as it turned out. When she turned on the fury, she scared a few men half to death. (Some of whom owned dogs big enough to swallow her whole.)

We obviously had some work to do. And I wondered what man had been mean enough to her to engender such disdain. I probably will never know.

Another little dog was mine for most of her 17 years. She was much friendlier, but I learned last year that she'd had an uneasy time before I got her, too.

My uncle had gotten her from a tenant of one of his apartments; that much I knew. What I didn't know until he told me last year was that this tenant would leave Grendel, a toy poodle who was just a puppy then, out in all kinds of weather for hours. Even when other dogs attacked her.

Finally my uncle just took her in, he said, and told the tenant he had her and would find her a good home. The tenant apparently had no objection.

Grendel had died back in 2017, but I felt my heart break all over again. I pictured my Grendel out in the rain, cold and wet, trying to fend off bigger dogs. Why on earth anyone would get a puppy and then treat her like that, I couldn't imagine.

I looked at her successor and wondered again what her life was like before she came to Hagerstown, and decided it's probably best that I don't know.

What I do know is that she's come a long way since I first brought her home. She'd been here a year when I left her, with some trepidation, in the care of my friend Andy for a day. I wasn't worried about my dog; I was worried about Andy.

After about two hours, he sent me a photo. There they were, curled up on the couch, besties forever. I quit worrying. She had another male sitter for a week last summer, and she's even well-behaved when we have a house full of guests.

Her appetite has developed, too — maybe too well. Every time someone walks into the kitchen, she thinks she should get a treat. She started to get chunky. I noticed. Our family noticed. Our neighbors noticed.

At her last check-up, the vet said her weight gain was "significant" and suggested I start giving her green beans for treats.

I agreed to try it, but I had my doubts. She might like to eat, but she's the pickiest dog I've ever seen. She wouldn't like green beans, and I wouldn't blame her. I've never cared much for them myself.

Nevertheless, I dutifully bought the green beans — a small package, since we were just trying this out — and gave her one.

She looked at it. She sniffed it for a while. She rolled it around with her nose and her paws. It was like watching a toddler with Play Doh.

And she never did eat it.

I threw it away. We'd have to find another solution.

But next day, pretty much on a whim, I dropped a green bean in her bowl.

And lo and behold, she gobbled it right down. Then she plopped at my feet in expectation of more.

Now she expects them every day, and I've taken to calling her my beanie baby. Green beans are a lot cheaper than other dog treats, so I'm not unhappy about that.

And I think she's losing weight.

But she still thinks she should get a treat every time someone walks into the kitchen. I'm not sure there's anything I can give her for that.

I take great comfort in knowing, however, that whatever secrets remain from before she was mine, wondering whether she'll get another treat is the only thing that troubles her now.

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This article originally appeared on The Herald-Mail: Every pet has a secret. Do you know yours?