Dear Diary,
My mother is cruel and unusual. It always starts there, doesn't it? Today I rang the poochie bells endlessly expecting her to hop-to-it and let me out to do my, um, business, but she ignored me. So I hit them harder. And harder yet again. Nothing. I will pee on her rug, I will! If only I had to pee.
The trick is to run to the bark mulch, pee (even if you don't have to) and run back looking happy and righteous and spin in circles. She never ever passes up an opportunity to reward us with a treat if we do that. So what the heck. Since I have her trained to open the door every time I bang those bells, I could snack all day, right? But apparently she is smarter than I thought. She's been ignoring me.
Finally! The door is open, but wait! A distraction! The kids next door who ought to be in school are playing squeaky ball with a puppy? Oh no. Phoebe is addicted to squeaky balls. Before I can maneuver out to do my move on the mulch rather than the patio, Phoebe flies through the door to the fence barking like an idiot. That is not good. Not good at all. Big trouble for both of us because I can't help but join her. Barking is so contagious. Dingbat.
The only thing we got for that was an inspection of our feet to make sure we didn't step in you know what. It is all Phoebe's fault. Now the only thing we can do is look adorably cute and curl up in our love buckets under her feet which will get her to coo at us at some point. I have to pretend to be asleep for a bit, but eventually she looks at us and does that big old aaawwww noise and I know we are golden again. Which means I can try for the bells during her next coffee break in 23.5 minutes.
Yours,
Lulu
No comments:
Post a Comment