Mom’s tired and stressed tonight, and says the blog will only get done if I write it. She’s thrown herself across the couch, leaving room for no one, and has stolen my favorite blanket that she claims belongs to her. She is now glued to the T.V. and crying at sappy commercials as she waits for SNL to come back. I guess I’ll take over from here…
New York has turned out to be a pretty cool place for a dog. I have always had pretty high standards for my living arrangements, and as it turns out, most dogs in NYC have pretty high standards. I fit in perfectly. Dogs get walked here ALL the time. Don’t get me wrong, I do miss having a big yard full of grass to run around in and chase bugs, but my parents can no longer just open the door and let me out when they feel lazy. They actually HAVE to put me on a leash and walk me EVERY time I need to go out. Yay!
On my walks I often see several other dogs forcing their parents to take them on walks too. Some of these dogs are incredibly instrusive. They walk right up to me and sniff me as if they know me! I let them know how incredibly inappropriate this by showing them all of my teeth and letting the Mohawk on my back stand all the way up. Other dogs tend to keep their distance and do not invade my personal space.
I’m not sure if you heard, but my parents sleep in a loft-style bed about 6 feet off the ground. At first, this was incredibly annoying because anytime I wanted up or down I had to whine loudly at my parents and stomp my feet before they’d listen to me and place me on and off the bed as I pleased.
It was not too long before they came to their senses and devised a solution to my little problem. Dad and Grandpa Mark built me my own personal doggy spiral staircase. I could have easily shown my appreciation by using the stairs immediately to get on and off the bed, but I knew better than that. I devised a plan that was sure to get me as many treats as possible.
See, anytime my parents beckoned for me to come up the stairs I would just stare at them confused and cry. Their next step, was to place me on the steps and call me up or down. Even then, I just sat, cried, and then began shaking to show how nervous they were making me. Finally, it all paid off.
Their last plan was to place a little treat on every single step. I still acted scared, so as not to give away my plan, but I slowly made my way up each step, ate each treat, and got an even bigger treat when I completed the steps. This lasted for a while. Slowly, they moved onto a treat every few steps, then just a treat at the top or bottom, and now? Now, do you know what I get??? I get scratched behind the ears, and a belly rub if I am lucky. Of course, now that they know what I am capable of, crying no longer works when I am at the bottom of the stairs. Oh well, it is easier to get in and out of the bed on my own.
Now, if I can just figure out a way to make Mom stop dressing me up like a fool….