Lesson: The Shiba Always Wins

   Let's see... When last I recounted the Ballad of the Shiba in the Compost Bin, I had added an extra layer of defense, which I thought to be overkill, but surely effective.

   But for those of you just joining us, a recap: Taylor used to break in to the large plastic bin by removing one of the four doors at the base, and pulling out compost and having a snack. So I constructed a chicken wire fence around it. I should have buried the chicken wire, because he dug under it, as well as tore the wire from the stakes in the back corner, and got right in to eat more garbage.

   "Okay," I thought. "I'll buy extra stakes and pound them through the handle of each of the doors to hold them in place. It didn't work—he still managed to lift them, giving him access to the sweet, sweet garbage. Or, if the mood would strike him, he'd mix things up by removing the lid (HOW?!) and go in top-down.

   That's when I bought the sturdy, wrought-iron fence sections to ensure that once-and-for-all, this beast would be permanently separated from the refuse. (Never mind that the fence cost twice as much as the bin itself!) Surely there was NO WAY he could get around this!

   Well, of course I was wrong. He managed to jump up and break the hinges on the lid, and continued to dine despite the protective fence. I'd find the lid in the corner of the yard, and peels, coffee grounds, paper towels, and the like strewn about.

   "This will be easy to stop—finally, I've won!" I foolishly thought, as I placed a very large, heavy landscaping stone on top of the bin. It is heavy for ME to move, and quite frankly, a pain when I need to fill the bin. (But you saw the word "foolishly" up there, right?)

   Last night I went outside to find the stone five feet from the bin, the lid removed, and the garbage all over the yard again. And a fat, happy-yet-shameful-looking Taylor on the deck.

The bin is much taller and the fence secure—HOW is he still getting in there?!

   Of course the simplest solution would be to get rid of the bin and stop composting. But I like the idea of composting, as it significantly reduces my volume of trash, and in theory, will someday provide rich soil for my flower beds (assuming the contents don't all end up in Taylor's belly). Besides, then I'd be letting the dog win. Who's the boss here, anyway?!
   So this weekend I will be electrifying the iron fence, then digging a deep moat around the bin, and filling it with piranha and crocodiles. Cameras trained on it. A war elephant on guard. Shiba-seeking missiles pointed toward it.
   Yet somehow, deep down, I am sure this will not be the end of this story.  TO BE CONTINUED...