December 5, 2012

  • Dog Door 2

    Annie behaved extraordinarily badly and extraordinarily well in the same day. Her latest adventure in the dog park has convinced me Annie is not a dog park dog. (Am I being intentionally vague? I am. She did what she did. I am sorry it happened. I admire honesty as much as the next person, but I see no reason to arm my adversaries with my own words.) Later that night she woke me up to say, "I have to go outside now." Twice.

    Annie has never alerted me to a need to go outside before. She does much more of her business outside than she did in the beginning, but if I have the dog door closed for any reason then it's pretty much been my problem. 

    So. You win some, you lose some.

    Later this morning the contractor from the hardware store is coming to measure the back door. We are putting in a second dog door because the existing dog door sends a wave of cold air directly to my feet beneath the computer in what began as the coldest room in the house. I am hoping to spend less time steam-cleaning the carpeting in the Conservatory, which grows a distinctive brown-dirt-and-leaves dog path in its  mint green fibers every week. This will a.) keep my feet warmer, and b.) make the barkfests in the back yard more of a challenge for me to reach. 

    In the meantime I have developed a certain stuffiness about the head. I snuffle. I am thinking of getting dressed and perhaps curling up in my chair to read a book or perhaps watch TV. We'll see if my vitamin regimen is enough to keep this just a head cold (I was a grown adult before I ever had 'just a head cold'. I thought for decades that I was weaker and less resistant to discomfort than everyone else because I could never say, 'oh, it's just a head cold'. Possibly because it was a head cold with either tonsillitis or a bronchitis chaser edging toward pneumonia when I had it.)

    The dogs are fighting on the couch. Well. They're not 'fighting'; they are playing kissey-bitey face.

    This is how the game begins: Annie picks up a toy and trots past Riley's throne. See--I have this toy. This is a really good toy. I'll bet you wish YOU had this toy... 

    If that doesn't work, she jumps up and tries to bite him. She has learned, during her stay here with us, not to actually BITE him (he reacts poorly, every time, without fail) so it is a mock-bite.

    Come on, let's play.

    Leave me alone.

    But I want to play.

    I'm sleeping here.

    Yeah--but let's play.

    If all else fails, she lays down on her back underneath him and yips. 

    Cheryl fell for this. Several times. She doesn't any more. Cheryl would turn from her computer and say, "Riley--what did you do to your little sister?"

    Fortunately Riley has beautiful brown eyes and...well, Cheryl has experience as a big sister.

    "I know, Rile," Cheryl sighs, "they're the bane of our existence, but there's almost nothing we can do to get rid of them."

    I spent all of Monday with my own little sister, by the way. We had a wonderful time.

    She almost never tries to bite me in the face any more.