My two-legs always teases me when I sit like this...
It has been pretty quiet here the past few days. The boredom has passed a bit, though I still do not feel quite right. The days progress pretty much the same. Walk. Eat. Play. Sleep. Walk. Eat. Sleep.
My two-legs and the skirted one find it hilarious that I sit with a bit of flare. Just because I partially tuck one leg under my butt and lean to one side does not mean I am a weirdo. I look comfortable right?
There has no rain from the sky in almost 29 days (two-legs time keeping). For me, this is a momentous occasion for multiple reasons. I hate rain. I hate water in general. So no rain means no walks in the rain. Hooray. My two-legs is nice enough to know that I do not like clothes, they upset. Some owners do not quite get that. I read about this poor schnauzer, Fritz, who was forced to wear a slicker. My heart goes out to him.
Most importantly, no rain seems to equal no (or at least fewer) baths. Two-legs does not seem to understand that I can just lick the mud off my paws and underside when we get back from a bad walk in the rain. Instead, he would rather torture me with indoor rain. At least I can anticipate a rain-bath. There is nothing as upsetting as an unexpected bath, unless it is coupled with a haircut. I like to block out those days.
Hmmm, storm clouds seem to rolling in.
Bear and I being bored
ennui [ahn-wee] -noun
a feeling of utter weariness and discontent resulting from satiety or lack of interest; boredom
It was a terribly depressing weekend. I have no idea why. I have felt unbearably skitish since Friday. I do not want to be around anyone and yet I would love it if they gave me scratches. I cannot get comforatable anywhere and just find myself listing from place to place.
Saturday was fine, we spent most of the morning at the 4-legs park. It was kinda hot and I find I do not really like other dogs so I just wandered around and marked things. It is better than a walk around the block that’s for sure. Big-little-bro spent his time chasing after balls and play fighting with a boxer and basset hound. I had to break up the fight with the boxer, he was starting to take it too seriously. But all was well. Other than that I think I just slept… I just did not have the energy.
I hoped Sunday would be better. It was not. My two-legs made morning plans to go see something called Terminator with other two-legged beings. This meant that big-little-bro and I were just getting a walk around the block in the morning. (It was kinda cold out that morning so maybe it was for the best) When he came back this is how he found me, lying in the middle of the floor, seeking solace in Bear. I spent a good portion of the day like that.
I just keep chanting my little mantra “This too shall pass.”
Ruffles, Ghost Watcher
I see ghosts. Not the creepy Sixth Sense “I see dead people” type, but spirits none the less. They float and bob. They sometimes talk, though I have no idea what they say. They are more unintelligible than my two-legs. I can just stare at these phantasms for hours on end. Quite often I do. It is entertaining. I like my specters. So why am I telling you about something I like when I generally expend my typing skills on grumblings? It is because of certain person, a person who just does not understand me. The skirted two-legs.
I have tolerated her pretty well for the 18 months (not in 4-legs time) she has been hanging around my two-legs. She derives an odd pleasure out of smacking my little behind. It feels good for a while but starts to get old. But I digress (smacking will be in a future post).
So take the other day for example. They were sitting on the comfy couch watching The A-Team. Big-little-bro was lying in his corner viciously gnawing on another cow bone. I was comfortably seated in front of the little table staring at the apparition drifting to the right of me. All perfectly normal and happy, life is good. Probably two or three episodes go by, my shade is still hanging out so I figured I would just keep staring. I am supposed to be keeping an eye on things for my two-legs right?
Suddenly, the skirted two-legs calls out, “Hey! Stupid!” Well, that is uncalled for. Here I am minding my own business and she starts yelling at me. “There’s nothing there to look at. Get over here.” I know I should obey, lest I get another smack, but the wraith is still invading my space. Then, with no warning, I am whisked off the ground and into the air. I protest, ‘No! Put me down! I must watch the ghost or he will vanish!’ I do my best to break free of her clasp but long limbs and opposable thumbs are just two much for me to handle. I nip. I grumble. Smack. Smack. Smack. “Stop being such a weirdo.” I return to the ground. Shamed.
I just think I am going to let the phantasms get her next time. I will continue to valiantly protect my two-legs. But she is off my ‘Save from ethereal beings’ list.
Whilst dozing on the comfy spot yesterday afternoon it occurred to me just how good my life is. My two-legs has given me a bounty of places to curl up and nap or spend hours licking my salt and pepper hair. It was not too long ago that I did not even have a place to rest my weary bones. Those were dark days…
So as big-little-bro and I chased the BIRDS in our sleep, something dark and forboding drifted in the back of my mind. Something I was forgetting. Something I should have know by now. Something that was going to hurt.
Hark! A jingling at the door! My two-legs is home. Must greet him. What? What couch? Oh, the comfy place? But, it is where I sleep when you are away. It is sooooo soft and nice. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow.
And now its time to hide under the little table. That is what I was trying to remember, sleeping in the comfy place gets me smacks on the butt. Sigh.
The spot is his. For now. I suppose I can find comfort on the other couch, or the big comfy chair, or the giant circle pup chair, or my bed, or his bed, or little-big-bro’s bed, or the cozy corner. Hmmm, decisions decisions.
It has been nearly 8 years since I last posted to this, my most neglicted of projects. (FYI, I age faster than my 2-legs; however, 1 two-legs year does not equal 7 4-legs years. For my size and age, it is about 5 years per one two-legs year.) A great deal has changed since those heady days when I was first whisked away from beautiful sunny paradise in the hills to live with my brooding, sullen 2-legs in this cold, noisy, watery abomination called Seattle. I have marked off a pretty good little corner of my world, made many new friends, some interesting enemies, and destroyed at least a dozen bears.
Why have not you heard about my adventures? My two-legs has been “busy” with his new skirted two-legs. It used to be I talk, he types. He did not always get it right, but his heart was in the right place. Now, I talk and no one types. What is a dog to do?
Learn to type!
I hear you thinking, “You can’t type. You’re a dog. You don’t even have thumbs!” Ah! But you don’t know the awesome power that is typingweb.com. In just a few short months (days for 2-legs’) I was able to power through and go from 2 WPM @ 50% accuracy, to 30 WPM @ 97% accuracy. Now I don’t need my 2-legs anymore.*
My overall goal is to backdate some entries. My memory is pretty non-existent so we will see how this works out. 2-legs has a pretty good memory, so I think I just ask him.
*I still need him for food, shelter, walks, treats, bears, playtime, scratches and (ugh) baths.
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