It's nice to be loved.
How does your loved one show that they care? Do they bring you flowers or make your coffee? What about your pet? Do they bring you the morning paper (for those who still subscribe to the old-school way of getting their daily news) or curl up in your lap and purr? These two pups show me they love me in such a special and thoughtful way.
They try to kill me. Daily.
How, you ask, could such fuzzy, lovable bundles of joy be so treacherous? Maybe it's puppy paranoia, or maybe it's just that they associate me as the giver-of-food and provider-of-treats, but these two will not let me out of their sight for a minute. Everywhere I go, they must go too. Not by my choice, mind you, but they must think that they are going to miss out on something amazing if I go solo into another room. Many is the time I have narrowly avoided a twisted ankle or wrenched back trying to not to fall over them or step on them when they tangle with my feet. Even when they are curled up on the rug, supposedly asleep, and I quietly get up and try to tip-toe away, their ears perk up and maybe one eye will slyly open, and before I know it they are getting to their feet and the march begins. I have even tried saying "Stay!" and backing away, but they just look at each other as if to say "Is she serious?" and away they go. I'm almost embarrassed when I try to explain I'm just going to the bathroom...really no need for an escort, thanks all the same.
Case in point when they came in from their outside romp one morning and were otherwise occupied with chewing on each other's ears. I casually wander into the kitchen to fix some breakfast. They stealthily sneak up behind me, silent as a ninja (no small task for a bouncy puppy with three metal tags on their collars), only to have me turn from the kitchen counter and suddenly stop short so as not to step on the black furry blobs directly at my feet, my English muffin flying off my plate and across the room like a whole-wheat Frisbee, landing with a thud on the floor (butter side down, naturally). Or when I sit in the oversized computer chair in my office with no dogs in sight, only to be blocked in two minutes later by two giant lumps sleeping on the carpet. They are strategically lying in such a manner that I cannot push my rolling chair back, as there is not enough room for me to do so without rolling over a tail or ear. Of course, rather than try and scoot them away enough to gain suitable exit, I try to shimmy between the desk and chair arms and step over them so as not to wake them. This rarely works but the one time it did I managed to sneak out of the office, letting sleeping dogs lie, only to have two fuzzy shadows tracking me by the time I made it to the fridge.
This ability to not go anywhere alone in the house is a little like an episode of "Big Brother, Canine Edition". They look up at me like there is some sort of action item required of me that I am not privy to. I don't think it's separation anxiety so much as it's just the need to keep an eye on me. While I appreciate the fact that they seem to enjoy my company, I have come close to squashing one or both on many occasions while carrying a large box I can't see beneath, or dousing them with hot coffee as I turn from the pot on the counter. If I sit on the floor to fold laundry, forget about it. That means my lap is open season and one (sometimes both!) magically appear and climb up into it, blocking the view for miles. At forty pounds, these guys are hardly considered lap dogs anymore, although they apparently did not get that memo.
I wander into the kitchen, ducklings in tow, to grab a soda and then plop on the couch. Dog at feet? Check. Other dog on couch with me because she pretends not to know the "Off!" command? Check. I get up again to get the fleece blanket from the other couch. Jingling I.D. tags give me a musical accompaniment for my journey. Back to the couch, foot warmer there on cue, knee warmer again pretending it's her God given right to curl up on the couch with me, where she can get a better view. Right about then my husband comes home from work, keys working the front door lock. Ears perk up, maybe even an inquisitive woof escapes from one, and they spring into action, racing to the entry way to see their favorite Dad, tails wagging. Suddenly I'm chopped liver! Hey, remember me? The one you've been following all day? I have been demoted from "She We Adore" to "Persona non Grata" in the length of time it took him to take off his jacket. He says he hearty hellos to the bouncy noisy livestock at his feet. "These dogs love me!" he says. "I wish they could be with me all day!"
I just smile. Be careful what you wish for!
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