If people think that dogs can't talk just because they don't have the right mechanics, they just don't know anything! When I went home at lunch, Molly met me at the door, gave me a million kisses, and asked me to stay home with her the rest of the afternoon so that we could nap together and I could let her out in the back yard whenever she wanted to. I apologized and said that I had to go back to work, but would be home by 4:20. When I showed up a whole 8 minutes early, she was elated. I got another million kisses, and then she asked me to leave the back door open so that she could go in and out of the backyard as she wished. Since I had to fill out a job application for another school district, I obediently left the door open so I wouldn't have to get up and down 20 times.
And on Sunday evening, after Molly had spent the vast majority of 3 days under my bed (she's very afraid of rain), Joe mentioned to me that he was going to take her for a walk so she could stretch her legs. About an hour later, she scooted out from under the bed and went to find Joe to tell him that she wanted her walk right then, please. He put her off for about an hour, but it's hard to turn her down when she's following you around the house with that big happy grin on her face that says, "I can't wait to take our walk!" I told him he'd better go ahead and give in, so I got out her leash while he put on his shoes and coat. As soon as she saw the leash, she jumped into the air and spun around quickly. That means, "Yay! I'm going for a walk!"
She talks, all right. How about when I sleep in on the weekends? She comes to my bedroom and says, "Momma, you've slept enough. I want my song now." Or when she says, "That sandwich looks really good, and I would be happy to take it off your hands. I'm not saying you're fat--please don’t misunderstand me--but you don't need that sandwich nearly as much as I do."
And speaking of sandwiches, she is truly the most spoiled dog I know. Take tonight, for example. Usually when Joe and I go out to eat, we bring the leftovers home for her. Tonight we went to Souper Salad, and there can be no leftovers, as it's a buffet. But we had also stopped by the French bakery and bought a napoleon, an eclair, and that wonderful pudding that's made of all the previous day's unsold goodies mashed together. As I was explaining to Molly why we didn't have any leftovers for her, Joe was in the kitchen cutting off a precious portion of the pudding. She inhaled it in about 3 seconds--just long enough for me to get a can of Iams open for her.
And she gets sung to every morning. And night. And, well, okay, pretty much any time I happen to be giving her a booty scratch. Which is pretty much any time she wanders in the room and asks for one. She does so by coming up to me for some kisses. When I start scratching behind her ears, she turns around and walks away just far enough that my hand is on her back just above her tail. So when I start scratching, she twists this way and that with pleasure. And if I stop scatching too soon, she will back up so that her head is by my hand again, and repeat the whole process. Sometimes I get a little irritated that she keeps giving me her butt instead of her face, so I'll tell her I won't give her any more booty scratches until I get a few kisses. So she will then dutifully give me a kiss or two on my hand, and then give me her butt again.
Just as I wrote this, Joe wandered into the room with what was left of his precious pudding. Molly joined us with her ball. But when Joe cut off a bit of pudding and fed it to me, Molly dropped her ball onto the floor and opened her mouth so that she could get another bite of pudding.
Yeah, she got it.
No comments:
Post a Comment