The boys, well all except Roy, have been out of town for the last few days visiting relatives in Eastern Washington. This has left Katie and I with nothing better to do than eat Otter Pops and watch Jon and Kate Plus 8 episodes . . . okay, I lied, we are eating tomato soup too.
Unfortunately, we just aren't that into our dog at the moment. He kinda harshes our mellow when we're hanging out in our jammies what with all the running and the jumping, so I've let him be one with his natural instincts for the better portion of the day. In other words, he has been outside.
Now, before you call the animal cruelty people on me, know this: I love my dog.
But he is a dog. And unless it is raining, or lightening, or thundering, or The 4th of July, or nighttime, he is okay outside. He has a large yard to run around in and lots of toys. More importantly, there is only so much slobbery tennis ball I can take.
Apparently, he disagrees.
Apparently, 2 walks today and at least 30 minutes of ball throwing is not enough. Whew! This doggie stuff is tiring. Not only is my throwing arm sore, my brushing arm is too (nevermind that they are the same arm). I could knit an entire winter ensemble from all the hair that flies off this dog . . . if I knew how to knit.
Now he is starting to get sneaky to get my attention. He found out that I knew what he was up to when he'd try to "play" with the seat cushions that go with our patio set. Ha! Busted. He found out that it would only take one time of leaving Katie's bike on the patio before we got smart and brought it in the garage at night. Ha! No chewing on the bike peddles for you. Now he is up to more tricks . . . fooling me into thinking he is a raccoon, or something like that.
As soon as I heard the banging on the deck, I popped my head up from the gigantic Otter Pop I was slurping, and looked outside to see what Roy was up to. Lo and behold, there he was, dipping his paw into his water dish and swishing it around like he was cleaning it.
Sorry buddy, no amount of personal grooming is going to get you in the house before bedtime, I thought as I resumed my popsicle licking activity (walking dogs really makes me thirsty).
And he did it again. And again. And again.
And now I am beginning to think that maybe there is some money to be made with his new-found ability. And then I could afford to buy 20 acres of land complete with sheep to herd and a doggie mansion. I'd even go so far as to get him a playmate of his own, like a cute little golden retriever pup that he could lick to death. Maybe . . .
But he's still not coming in before bedtime.
Yeah, I know, it's a dog's life!