Quite mistakenly, because I am a puppy it is assumed that all I do with my time is play and sleep and eat rocks.
Au contraire! I am very helpful around the house.
It’s a toss-up as to whether I like to Make the Bed or Sweep the Floor the best.
When we make the bed, she throws the covers off the end of the bed and over my body.
It’s very much like playing parachute during a rainy day recess.
The bed is a California King and she really likes to pile on the comforters in the frigid Los Angeles winter, so we’re talking about some significant textilian real estate.
(My guess is that she wouldn’t last long sleeping outside in the yard, but The Man doesn’t like being pinned down by so many covers, so he has a pretty good chance.
His internal thermostat is set to roast, like me, so he might do better should we ever need to show off our survival skills.)
Anyhoo, sometimes when we make the bed The Lady rolls around on the floor with me under the mountains of covers, making dens and burrows, growling and snorting something awful.
She drools more than me and I’m half Saint Bernard.
Her hair gets very messy and she looks like she escaped from Bedlam. Or needs a prescription filled.
Now, Sweeping the Floor is an equally pleasing activity, but I don’t think The Lady fully understands her part in the procedure.
I mean really, I cooperate with enthusiasm from the moment she pulls the broomstick out of the closet.
I get positively giddy with excitement at the presentation of the dustpan. Sometimes she tries to be sneaky and opens the closet when I’m downstairs, but who does she think she is fooling?
I hear that door squeak a mile a way and come running as fast as I can, sliding all arms and legs into the dustpiles. It’s an activity we do together, a real bonding experience, so I can’t imagine why she would want to deprive me of such enjoyment.
Besides, I think she is only testing my reflexes or she would have the sense to squirt some WD40 on the hinges. Regardless, as soon as I hear that delightful “whisk whisk whisk” across the linoleum, I understand my mission and jump into action. I am SO there.
Now, for my part I understand it is my duty to ensure there are no long sweeping motions that might clear the floor completely of any delicious dinner crumbs.
We’re simply trying to retrieve the crunchy goodness from those hard to reach areas.
Unfortunately, she is not very clear about this.
She continually gets out of control and makes grand movements all over the floor with the broom, hollering LEAVE IT! LEAVE IT! LEAVE IT!
Such a spazz.
But so much fun!
And so, I persevere.
I am fully committed to the task and do my best to make sure the crumbly little taste treats are pulled from the far-reaching corners of the kitchen and into the center of the floor. It is at this juncture that she pretty much blows it all to hell.
Right when we’ve gotten everything organized into convenient little piles for easy snacking access she shovels it all up with the dustpan, in some kind of frenzy with even more shouting and clumsy maneuvering.
WHAT is she doing, I ask you?
I am licking up the snack piles of crumbs and dust bunnies as quickly as I can, and with practice I will learn to be faster.
I’m sure I will improve with maturity, and perhaps the addition of some teeth.
I just need some help explaining the rules of the game to The Lady.
Quite mistakenly, because I am a puppy it is assumed that all I do with my time is play and sleep and eat rocks. Au contraire! I am very helpful around the house. It’s a toss-up as to whether I like to Make the Bed or Sweep the Floor the best. When we make the bed, she throws the covers off the end of the bed and over my body. It’s very much like playing parachute during a rainy day recess. The bed is a California King and she really likes to pile on the comforters in the frigid Los Angeles winter, so we’re talking about some significant textilian real estate. (My guess is that she wouldn’t last long sleeping outside in the yard, but The Man doesn’t like being pinned down by so many covers, so he has a pretty good chance. His internal thermostat is set to roast, like me, so he might do better should we ever need to show off our survival skills.) Anyhoo, sometimes when we make the bed The Lady rolls around on the floor with me under the mountains of covers, making dens and burrows, growling and snorting something awful. She drools more than me and I’m half Saint Bernard. Her hair gets very messy and she looks like she escaped from Bedlam. Or needs a prescription filled.
Now, Sweeping the Floor is an equally pleasing activity, but I don’t think The Lady fully understands her part in the procedure. I mean really, I cooperate with enthusiasm from the moment she pulls the broomstick out of the closet. I get positively giddy with excitement at the presentation of the dustpan. Sometimes she tries to be sneaky and opens the closet when I’m downstairs, but who does she think she is fooling? I hear that door squeak a mile a way and come running as fast as I can, sliding all arms and legs into the dustpiles. It’s an activity we do together, a real bonding experience, so I can’t imagine why she would want to deprive me of such enjoyment. Besides, I think she is only testing my reflexes or she would have the sense to squirt some WD40 on the hinges. Regardless, as soon as I hear that delightful “whisk whisk whisk” across the linoleum, I understand my mission and jump into action. I am SO there. Now, for my part I understand it is my duty to ensure there are no long sweeping motions that might clear the floor completely of any delicious dinner crumbs. We’re simply trying to retrieve the crunchy goodness from those hard to reach areas. Unfortunately, she is not very clear about this. She continually gets out of control and makes grand movements all over the floor with the broom, hollering LEAVE IT! LEAVE IT! LEAVE IT! Such a spazz. But so much fun! And so, I persevere. I am fully committed to the task and do my best to make sure the crumbly little taste treats are pulled from the far-reaching corners of the kitchen and into the center of the floor. It is at this juncture that she pretty much blows it all to hell. Right when we’ve gotten everything organized into convenient little piles for easy snacking access she shovels it all up with the dustpan, in some kind of frenzy with even more shouting and clumsy maneuvering. WHAT is she doing, I ask you? I am licking up the snack piles of crumbs and dust bunnies as quickly as I can, and with practice I will learn to be faster. I’m sure I will improve with maturity, and perhaps the addition of some teeth. I just need some help explaining the rules of the game to The Lady.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment