I’m well aware that this is a bit of a low blow in the quest for your affection, but it is an adorable one nonetheless. Meet Tobyn, our adorable Bernese Mountain Dog. He’s five, but you wouldn’t know it by the way he acts, which is slightly insane, completely juvenile, and just a tad ADD.

Tobyn has the most laughable set of fears. His biggest is probably for a camel leather footstool my mother brought back from Morocco. It’s never been filled, so it’s really just an embossed leather sack of air, but for some reason it scares the living daylights out of Tobyn. If someone looking for a laugh was feeling so inclined, it’s pretty hilarious to hold the camel sack above your head and chase Tobyn around the kitchen with it. A little mean, maybe, but he seriously needs to man up. Another “let’s terrify Tobyn” game is mopping the floor or using the vacuum, both of which will make his intestines tie themselves into elaborate, boy-scout style knots.

Despite what that list of fears might make you think, Tobyn’s actually pretty bright, though not exactly obedient. On any walk, you’re lucky if he acknowledges you within a minute of being called, let alone moves in your direction. So my mother has devised a solution; though not terribly innovative, it is effective. Cookies. Initially, Tobyn would do pretty much anything for a doggie biscuit, and things were working out pretty well. However, he eventually figured out that if he deliberately ran off, causing my mother to call him, he would get extra cookies. So he started adding more and more “cookie occasions” to walks, lolloping off to everywhere and anywhere. In response, my mother started shrinking the amount of cookie he gets, and it’s gone down from half a biscuit to something the size of a cheerio. Pretty soon he’ll be running around the block for an oat’s worth of cookie.

Whenever I get home, Tobyn can’t wait for me to come out of the garage. He dances around, barking and wagging his entire body like some sort of sea creature, which is a pretty funny thing for an 80-pound animal to do. He leaps up the steps to the porch and the backdoor, howling like inside is the most thrilling thing ever—like he’s going to get a ground beef bath when the door swings open. When I finally find the right key and the door swings open, he scampers inside, but he’s already a bit less enthusiastic. By the time he crosses the threshold and trots into the kitchen, it’s like he could care less about the whole inside thing. So he moseys away, lays down somewhere, and proceeds to shed like he’s trying to recarpet our floors. I’m pretty sure he’s keeping carpet cleaners and vacuum manufacturers in business single-handedly.