All dogs go to heaven
I don’t understand dogs. Well, not dogs in general but my dogs. I just had to get up from my very cozy spot on the couch and let one of them out. He was pawing at the door, wagging his tail like crazy in what I assume is the canine version of the potty dance. I hurried over, opened the door and he bolted outside like the house was on fire. And then…he just stood there. Doing absolutely nothing. For like, five minutes. Then he turned around, pawed at the door demanding to be let back in. I mean, come on! And of course, like the good, trained dog owner I am, I got up (again) and let him in. Sigh…
The other dog is just as bizarre. He waits for me to make the bed – I kid you not – then paws at the covers until he can crawl under them. I straighten the covers over him and he crawls right back out! Messing it up all over again. Don't get me wrong, I love my dogs, like truly love them but man are they frustrating.
I never used to be a cat person… Maybe I should rethink my life choices. Please don’t tell my three cats. There will be a reckoning unlike any other should they ever find out my dogs are less than perfect in my eyes. But that doesn’t mean I understand them. At all.
I wonder what they think about me and my strange habits. They probably just laugh at me behind my back, reveling in the way they have me wrapped around their doggie paws. So I guess it’s a win-win. They keep me guessing and I keep them entertained.
My kids, on the other hand…Well. That’s a tale (or is it tail?) for another time.