Hercules’ Secret Double Life

I never understood why Hercules, my supposedly food-motivated dog, wasn’t interested in his dinner most evenings. The mystery of his indifference and suspiciously round belly plagued me until I uncovered his elaborate double life.

It started when I noticed a pattern. Every afternoon when I let him out to potty in our unfenced yard, Hercules would casually stroll down the driveway and disappear for hours, returning at dusk with a strangely satisfied look and a belly that definitely hadn’t been that round earlier.

At first, I assumed he was just exploring the neighborhood—until one evening when he came home with the unmistakable aroma of pepperoni clinging to his fur.

Determined to solve this mystery, I hatched a plan. The next day, I let Hercules out as usual, then scrambled to my car, ready for surveillance. Like clockwork, instead of doing his business in our yard, my canine con artist trotted down the driveway and hit the sidewalk with purpose.

What I witnessed next still amazes me. Hercules walked confidently down three full blocks, his route clearly memorized. When he reached the busy intersection at Plainfield Avenue—the one where I white-knuckle the steering wheel every day—he sat patiently at the curb, looked BOTH WAYS, and waited for traffic to clear before crossing. My dog, who couldn’t master “roll over,” had somehow mastered traffic safety!

His destination? Antonio’s Pizzeria. I watched in disbelief as Hercules approached the entrance, sat down with dignified patience, and waited by the door. When customers exited, he slipped inside like he owned the joint.

Parking quickly, I peered through the window to witness my “starving” pet being greeted like Norm from Cheers. The staff called him Scruffy. Tony himself emerged from the kitchen with a full slice of pepperoni pizza, which Hercules accepted with gentlemanly restraint before devouring it on the spot.

“He comes by every day around this time,” Tony told me when I finally went inside. “We thought he was a stray for weeks until we noticed how healthy he looked. Actually, too healthy—that belly gave him away!”

The walk of shame back to the car was priceless. Here I was, feeding him some of the best dog food, measuring portions, while my entrepreneurial pet had established his own pizza tab across town.

After that, when Hercules headed down the driveway in the afternoon, I just yelled after him, “Oh no you don’t!” And he knew to come back inside.

My little smartie pants who sang and actually called me MAMMA, died peacefully at age 12. That was 30 tears ago. I miss that little boy.