The Pest has decided he should sleep on the sofa during the day. Short sofa, large dog. Rottweiler size body, people sized furniture. The Passive One climbed up on the sofa this morning and boy, did The Pest give him the evil eye and then looked directly at me with a "What are you going to do about it?" glare. And what could I do about it and really be a fair parent?
I said "Off", the dog got off the sofa and I laid down, by myself on the sofa. Occasionally I win. Not often, but occasionally.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Problem Solving
The Pest loves to chase a ball and not just his favorite orange ball. Any golf ball, rubber-band ball, Kong red rubber ball, filthy dug-up tennis ball, even a wadded up sheet of paper ... any time you give it a toss, the Pest snaps with electricity and charges after it.
Inside the house we still play chase the ball with Pest and the Passive One. It's only a small thing for me to give them this enormous thrill. Being the responsible dog owner that I am, I attempt to ensure their health with lots of exercise, especially if I can lay barefoot on the couch wearing my pj's sipping iced tea while doing it.
This morning we were all "exercising" in the TV room and the Pest trotted the slobbery orange ball back to me for another toss. I lolled it over the back of the recliner, it bounced a couple of times, popped up on the kitchen table and stopped right in the dinner plate position. The dogs were fast in pursuit even as the ball left my hand but missed it on the bounces and were now faced with a dilemna, not about jumping up on the table, that wasn't even worthy of debate since they could easily rest their chins on top. The problem was that the ball sat in a spot too far from any edges to reach it, except for one edge and that one was blocked by a kitchen chair.
The Pest went to the far side of the table assessing the situation while the Passive One stood right in front of the ball peering at it through the slats of the chair like a man stares through prison bars. He pressed his muzzle between the bars that make up the chair back but of course his bucket-sized head prevented any progress. The Pest jogged over to join him and they stared hard at the teasing culprit ball willing it to roll even just a little. They weren't sleuthing really, they didn't make up a team like Sherlock and Watson, or Cagney and Lacey ... maybe more like Laurel and Hardy trying to outwit but ending up unarmed for the battle. They manuvered to new positions and still the ball was unresponsive to their mental taunting.
The Passive One shoots an accusing look my way and whines a begging "Help!" that brings the ever loyal Pest to his side. The Pest looks at his "big brother" pal convinced that the Passive One has the answer, and they sit side by side settled back into the staring contest with the ball.
I watched all of this eagerly thinking back to the silent conversations their canine pack ancestors surely had. I could almost hear my dogs thoughts in every change of their expression. The orange ball is a most cherished part of my dogs' world, ranking higher than kibble, a walk and sleeping on my bed. They weren't going to just walk away from it and though the orange ball had two 100+ lb anxious Rottweiler predators stalking it, the ball displayed absolutely no fear. My dogs were baffled.
And so they sat, in identical poses in front of the kitchen chair eyes locked onto the object of their desire. Time stood still for several seconds then suddenly as if choreographed both dogs stood and stepped back and turned to look at each other. It was loud and clear, audible and obvious, "I dunno! Do you have any ideas??" And then in unison, they looked at me and said "MOM!"
I laughed out loud. Laughed myself off the sofa actually. The dogs never budged, only glanced at me curiously, crazy mom-lady clumsily laying on the carpet making funny barky sounds. Eventually I pulled my pj clad self together and ambled over to the kitchen table where I picked up the ball, gave it a toss back into the TV room and they dashed off in pursuit.
I've heard it said that life has a funny way of repeating itself. In this case, I sure hope so.
Inside the house we still play chase the ball with Pest and the Passive One. It's only a small thing for me to give them this enormous thrill. Being the responsible dog owner that I am, I attempt to ensure their health with lots of exercise, especially if I can lay barefoot on the couch wearing my pj's sipping iced tea while doing it.
This morning we were all "exercising" in the TV room and the Pest trotted the slobbery orange ball back to me for another toss. I lolled it over the back of the recliner, it bounced a couple of times, popped up on the kitchen table and stopped right in the dinner plate position. The dogs were fast in pursuit even as the ball left my hand but missed it on the bounces and were now faced with a dilemna, not about jumping up on the table, that wasn't even worthy of debate since they could easily rest their chins on top. The problem was that the ball sat in a spot too far from any edges to reach it, except for one edge and that one was blocked by a kitchen chair.
The Pest went to the far side of the table assessing the situation while the Passive One stood right in front of the ball peering at it through the slats of the chair like a man stares through prison bars. He pressed his muzzle between the bars that make up the chair back but of course his bucket-sized head prevented any progress. The Pest jogged over to join him and they stared hard at the teasing culprit ball willing it to roll even just a little. They weren't sleuthing really, they didn't make up a team like Sherlock and Watson, or Cagney and Lacey ... maybe more like Laurel and Hardy trying to outwit but ending up unarmed for the battle. They manuvered to new positions and still the ball was unresponsive to their mental taunting.
The Passive One shoots an accusing look my way and whines a begging "Help!" that brings the ever loyal Pest to his side. The Pest looks at his "big brother" pal convinced that the Passive One has the answer, and they sit side by side settled back into the staring contest with the ball.
I watched all of this eagerly thinking back to the silent conversations their canine pack ancestors surely had. I could almost hear my dogs thoughts in every change of their expression. The orange ball is a most cherished part of my dogs' world, ranking higher than kibble, a walk and sleeping on my bed. They weren't going to just walk away from it and though the orange ball had two 100+ lb anxious Rottweiler predators stalking it, the ball displayed absolutely no fear. My dogs were baffled.
And so they sat, in identical poses in front of the kitchen chair eyes locked onto the object of their desire. Time stood still for several seconds then suddenly as if choreographed both dogs stood and stepped back and turned to look at each other. It was loud and clear, audible and obvious, "I dunno! Do you have any ideas??" And then in unison, they looked at me and said "MOM!"
I laughed out loud. Laughed myself off the sofa actually. The dogs never budged, only glanced at me curiously, crazy mom-lady clumsily laying on the carpet making funny barky sounds. Eventually I pulled my pj clad self together and ambled over to the kitchen table where I picked up the ball, gave it a toss back into the TV room and they dashed off in pursuit.
I've heard it said that life has a funny way of repeating itself. In this case, I sure hope so.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Pest Control
"The Pest isn't a bad dog, he's just naughty. And though he does seem to get into a lot of trouble, it's just a healthy curiousity and adventurous nature. He is wild but in the sweetest sense and he is crazy though in a very charming way." Those are a few of the things I say, as all parents do, to explain away the fact that my "child" needs some control.
It's not that I want The Pest to do circus tricks. I'm not interested in job-ing him out as entertainment for children's parties. He has little to no self-control and so shaping his behavior is left up to me and my opinion is that if I could teach him some restraint when it comes to chewing the insoles out of my son's shoes that would be a huge success.
The thing is, the Pest ate my son's red modeling clay. Of course, it would have to be Red, not something that would blend in better on the beige carpet. I first realized that he'd gotten into it when I saw big red blotches in his stool and went to investigate. So, of course, subsequently I located red blotches on the bottom of my shoe. Later I found leftover bits and pieces chewed upon and into my carpet and noticed red between his teeth. I panicked at the red in his mouth thinking immediately that somehow he'd seriously cut up his mouth and was bleeding to death! Just another day in the life of a Pest out of control.
Controlling the Pest should be as easy as teaching him proper behavior but the Pest has a constant filtering system that weighs out the pros and cons of obeying. "Now she's telling me what to do, why?" "Is this just a suggestion or really a command?" You can see him considering his options. "She's not backing this order up with any food, so is she really serious?" "What will she do if I don't obey and is it worth it?" The "is it worth it" question doesn't take much time to process as the consequences for not obeying are not harsh. I don't believe in hitting your dog and generally try to follow The Dog Whisperer's philosophy of being the pack leader. Calm and assertive, that's me! So if I call for the Pest to "Come!" and he doesn't, then I go get him and repeat the command "Come!" which somehow seems to mean something like "Join me" at that point. And leaves me wondering who really is in control after all?
So what is control when you have a dog like Pest? What is it I really want to control about him? If he wasn't wild and crazy and somewhat naughty all the time, where is the fun in that? I got a dog ... not a dud. And like I said, I never intended to train him to entertain people and do tricks at their parties. Though he tells me that the party gig would be fine with him, as long as he got first dibs on the cake. If he's safe and happy and healthy and not too destructive too often then I'm happy with him and he's happy with me. And that works for us.
It's not that I want The Pest to do circus tricks. I'm not interested in job-ing him out as entertainment for children's parties. He has little to no self-control and so shaping his behavior is left up to me and my opinion is that if I could teach him some restraint when it comes to chewing the insoles out of my son's shoes that would be a huge success.
The thing is, the Pest ate my son's red modeling clay. Of course, it would have to be Red, not something that would blend in better on the beige carpet. I first realized that he'd gotten into it when I saw big red blotches in his stool and went to investigate. So, of course, subsequently I located red blotches on the bottom of my shoe. Later I found leftover bits and pieces chewed upon and into my carpet and noticed red between his teeth. I panicked at the red in his mouth thinking immediately that somehow he'd seriously cut up his mouth and was bleeding to death! Just another day in the life of a Pest out of control.
Controlling the Pest should be as easy as teaching him proper behavior but the Pest has a constant filtering system that weighs out the pros and cons of obeying. "Now she's telling me what to do, why?" "Is this just a suggestion or really a command?" You can see him considering his options. "She's not backing this order up with any food, so is she really serious?" "What will she do if I don't obey and is it worth it?" The "is it worth it" question doesn't take much time to process as the consequences for not obeying are not harsh. I don't believe in hitting your dog and generally try to follow The Dog Whisperer's philosophy of being the pack leader. Calm and assertive, that's me! So if I call for the Pest to "Come!" and he doesn't, then I go get him and repeat the command "Come!" which somehow seems to mean something like "Join me" at that point. And leaves me wondering who really is in control after all?
So what is control when you have a dog like Pest? What is it I really want to control about him? If he wasn't wild and crazy and somewhat naughty all the time, where is the fun in that? I got a dog ... not a dud. And like I said, I never intended to train him to entertain people and do tricks at their parties. Though he tells me that the party gig would be fine with him, as long as he got first dibs on the cake. If he's safe and happy and healthy and not too destructive too often then I'm happy with him and he's happy with me. And that works for us.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Let Sleeping Dogs Lie
Why is it that the Pest and the Passive One sleep so much? It's not even noon and the Pest is kicking his feet around in dreamland totally "out" on the bathroom tile floor. The Passive One is snoring on my bed with his head hanging dangerously off the side. He's got his orange rubber ball in his mouth and looks like a pig ready for the luau feast.
They sleep not because they are ill. We keep our schedule with the vet, they eat well (maybe too well?), have plenty of water and get moderate outdoor exercise. These dogs are all bright eyed and, if they had one, would be bushy tailed.
I promise you their sleep habits are not from over work. The Pest starts his job early. He's our four-legged, furry rooster, responsible for waking the house. His first target is the Passive One who receives a firm pounce on the head. My husband gets a nose-poke in the side and then I am bestowed a thorough face washing. He then bumps the boys bedroom doors open ..."Bang!" and I hear the resentful morning chants of my children "Pest get out! Pest go away! Pe-est!!!!" Then the Pest charges downstairs for breakfast heady with the knowledge of a job well done. His work day is complete.
After everyone has left for school or work, both dogs lay down to rest and take a casual nap. That's the type of nap where the body lays still but the eyes are open, at least mostly open and their consciousness is still in gear.
During a serious nap the eyes are locked down, their bodies lay flat, and their brains have switched channels. You could now parade a marching band past them and unless the tubas are carrying pork chops, there is no response.
A serious nap has dreaming. Their noodley legs peddle with nails sweeping the floor. They make brief snuffley woof's or occasional stiffled yaps declaring "the hunt" as they travel down their imagined dog-happy path. Their deep slow breathing quickens almost to an audible pant as they imagine running through breeze blown green grass fields, with a pack of pals romping to the theme song of "Rin-Tin-Tin".
With all this muscle movement and deep breathing, it's aerobic exercise. I am surprised that they don't wake themselves up! But still, they snooze on taking a serious nap several times a day, every day, all day up until it's time for bed. That's when they can finally sleep all night long, resting up from all the dreaming of the day.
They sleep not because they are ill. We keep our schedule with the vet, they eat well (maybe too well?), have plenty of water and get moderate outdoor exercise. These dogs are all bright eyed and, if they had one, would be bushy tailed.
I promise you their sleep habits are not from over work. The Pest starts his job early. He's our four-legged, furry rooster, responsible for waking the house. His first target is the Passive One who receives a firm pounce on the head. My husband gets a nose-poke in the side and then I am bestowed a thorough face washing. He then bumps the boys bedroom doors open ..."Bang!" and I hear the resentful morning chants of my children "Pest get out! Pest go away! Pe-est!!!!" Then the Pest charges downstairs for breakfast heady with the knowledge of a job well done. His work day is complete.
After everyone has left for school or work, both dogs lay down to rest and take a casual nap. That's the type of nap where the body lays still but the eyes are open, at least mostly open and their consciousness is still in gear.
During a serious nap the eyes are locked down, their bodies lay flat, and their brains have switched channels. You could now parade a marching band past them and unless the tubas are carrying pork chops, there is no response.
A serious nap has dreaming. Their noodley legs peddle with nails sweeping the floor. They make brief snuffley woof's or occasional stiffled yaps declaring "the hunt" as they travel down their imagined dog-happy path. Their deep slow breathing quickens almost to an audible pant as they imagine running through breeze blown green grass fields, with a pack of pals romping to the theme song of "Rin-Tin-Tin".
With all this muscle movement and deep breathing, it's aerobic exercise. I am surprised that they don't wake themselves up! But still, they snooze on taking a serious nap several times a day, every day, all day up until it's time for bed. That's when they can finally sleep all night long, resting up from all the dreaming of the day.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
A Day At The Office
Yesterday I took The Pest and the Passive One to my husband's workplace to spend the lunch hour. His office building is located in an industrial park that surrounds a big empty field, where we thought the dogs might enjoy a fresh air romp on this sunny but not scorching day.
I arrived at the office with both dogs completely revved up. Just getting to ride in the van is a Christmas morning thrill. Their tongues are flung out like wet red ribbons panting on the windows now all smeary with residual nose and mouth slobber. They'll pace the upholstery thin working into a frenzy of anticipation while complaining "Are we there yet? Are we there yet?"
We pull into the parking lot, and my husband, "The Fun One", comes out of the building. The van begins to rock, side-to-side and up on two wheels. "Let us out! Open the door! C'mon, c'mon. c'mon!!", they cry. "It's The Fun One! The Pack Leader, the Alpha Dog, Our Hero!" He cautiously slid the van door open, just an inch, and The Pest and the Passive One exploded out, knocking The Fun One backward with their canine zeal. They broke out in The Happy Dog dance, jumping and twirling they pawed at his shirt, drug their nails across his silk tie, snagged threads on his dress pants. But The Fun One doesn't complain because he's Happy Dog dancing too. "Hey boys!", he cheers. "Wanna play?" It's a meeting of the mutual admiration club.
The Pest gets distracted by a 3 foot hedge that runs the long length of the building. "What could be hiding behind that?" he quips, and dashes over to investigate. The equally curious Passive One is right on his heels when they reach the hedge and disappear behind it. The hedge is so thick that their furry feet, trotting along, are completely hidden. Invisible dogs. POP! Two heads appear in profile above the hedge line. They float single file along the top, totally disembodied. Little Rottweiler ghost heads silently moving down one length of the building, about-face and return haunting the hedge.
Then we walked the short distance across the parking lot to the open field. Leashes off, they yell "Freedom!" and run with abandon, their paws sounding like hoof beats on the hard dirt. They take off as if they have a true destination in mind, then stop look for each other, change directions and charge off another way. They have no compass. They have no GPS system. They have no obligation to follow a particular path. This is life without walls, living large, wild and free. And they run, run, run, in the sun, the sun, ugh the suuunnn. The running ends and the trotting, walking begins. Toward the shade, and the grass under a tree. The price of freedom: exhaustion.
After a few minutes, we head back to the van where they quietly laid panting all the way home. "Ahhh, A/C." "Ahhh, water bowls." And they flop on the kitchen floor, resisting any urge for movement during the remainder of the day. Their excuse being that they worked through lunch and now deserve a break. "Comp time", I guess. They've decided to make it a short work day and are now dreaming of the weekend.
I arrived at the office with both dogs completely revved up. Just getting to ride in the van is a Christmas morning thrill. Their tongues are flung out like wet red ribbons panting on the windows now all smeary with residual nose and mouth slobber. They'll pace the upholstery thin working into a frenzy of anticipation while complaining "Are we there yet? Are we there yet?"
We pull into the parking lot, and my husband, "The Fun One", comes out of the building. The van begins to rock, side-to-side and up on two wheels. "Let us out! Open the door! C'mon, c'mon. c'mon!!", they cry. "It's The Fun One! The Pack Leader, the Alpha Dog, Our Hero!" He cautiously slid the van door open, just an inch, and The Pest and the Passive One exploded out, knocking The Fun One backward with their canine zeal. They broke out in The Happy Dog dance, jumping and twirling they pawed at his shirt, drug their nails across his silk tie, snagged threads on his dress pants. But The Fun One doesn't complain because he's Happy Dog dancing too. "Hey boys!", he cheers. "Wanna play?" It's a meeting of the mutual admiration club.
The Pest gets distracted by a 3 foot hedge that runs the long length of the building. "What could be hiding behind that?" he quips, and dashes over to investigate. The equally curious Passive One is right on his heels when they reach the hedge and disappear behind it. The hedge is so thick that their furry feet, trotting along, are completely hidden. Invisible dogs. POP! Two heads appear in profile above the hedge line. They float single file along the top, totally disembodied. Little Rottweiler ghost heads silently moving down one length of the building, about-face and return haunting the hedge.
Then we walked the short distance across the parking lot to the open field. Leashes off, they yell "Freedom!" and run with abandon, their paws sounding like hoof beats on the hard dirt. They take off as if they have a true destination in mind, then stop look for each other, change directions and charge off another way. They have no compass. They have no GPS system. They have no obligation to follow a particular path. This is life without walls, living large, wild and free. And they run, run, run, in the sun, the sun, ugh the suuunnn. The running ends and the trotting, walking begins. Toward the shade, and the grass under a tree. The price of freedom: exhaustion.
After a few minutes, we head back to the van where they quietly laid panting all the way home. "Ahhh, A/C." "Ahhh, water bowls." And they flop on the kitchen floor, resisting any urge for movement during the remainder of the day. Their excuse being that they worked through lunch and now deserve a break. "Comp time", I guess. They've decided to make it a short work day and are now dreaming of the weekend.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Magic Words
Rottweilers are an intelligent breed and, though typically stubborn and hard-headed, they learn pretty fast. Our dogs know sit, stay, wait, all the basic commands that make life in our house have some semblance of order. No circus tricks but I guess you could say that our dogs understand what we are saying. Especially if it's one of the Magic Words.
A Magic Word is not a command or something taught but a word, or quite possibly a phrase, that comes up in conversation while you are talking to your dog(s). There is powerful magic in these words.
For example, one Magic Word at our house is: Walk. Or more exactly: Walk? It has other forms as in "Want to go for a _____?", or "Let's go for a _____". It also has the form "walkies" at our house, which sure looks insipid now that I see it in writing so we're going to quit using it. The dogs have even come to understand the silent movie version of this word. That's when nothing is said but you only go to the place where the leashes are kept. Like magic, the Pest and the Passive One jump up from their nap and dance frantically like kangaroos. They caught the signal, heard the unspoken word and are certain of your intentions. Even if it wasn't your intention ... now you have no choice. It seems like a promise to them. If they don't already have their collars on, well good luck! Because there is no sitting still now for you to clasp them on..
Another Magic Word is: Eat. This word also has variations such as Hungry, Thirsty and Dinner. This is not so much a verb as an event. Especially if spoken around 6:00 (either am or pm). If I immediately begin the task then I am met with hero worship and high fives, especially since they've enthusiastically headed toward the door where the dog food bag is hidden. But if I pause and even think about fixiing myself a cup of coffee first or making a quick phone call, their combined will makes them people herders and I'm swept, literally, in the appropriate direction. "Now get on with it. Load those dog bowls up."
The Magic Word: Car. Now this is especially dangerous if combined with opening the door to the garage. Two dynamic dogs will compete to wedge past you ("Get out of our way, you obstruction!") and can knock you flat or send you flying. Big dogs demand a big car and so our minivan is required because allows each one his own seat to recline upon as we act like chauffeurs. There is no argument of who gets what seat since Pest understands that he has chosen his seat in the back, and the Passive One has his seat in the middle. But Pest also understands that he can jump over the backseat and use Passive One's head as a stepping stone toward the front chaufeuring seat. There he stands next to the driver, slobbering on his arm until it drool dribbles off the elbow. "Car" means adventure usually, fun most often, and a mess always.
At the end of the day, there is still left one Magic Word: Bed. This word has to be combined with the phrase "Let's go to B _ _". The Passive One has figured out this phrase so well that all I have to say is "Let's go ..." and he's already headed up the stairs. The Pest's head and ears come up at the phrase, but he waits to see where the other dog is going before he follows. Once upstairs, Passive One steps around twirling the blanket on his b_ _ around while the Pest prefers the coolness of the bathroom tile floor. My husband and I then climb up into our b_ _ and quickly find two dog heads at the foot of our mattress with big pleading eyes hoping we'll invite them up. We tell them "No," which, of course, is not their favorite Magic Word.
Magic Words during magic days with my dogs. I sure love them, the days and the dogs. I encourage everybody to have a conversation with your dog(s). They are great listeners and they will talk back if we'll just watch and listen. Especially if we use Magic Words.
A Magic Word is not a command or something taught but a word, or quite possibly a phrase, that comes up in conversation while you are talking to your dog(s). There is powerful magic in these words.
For example, one Magic Word at our house is: Walk. Or more exactly: Walk? It has other forms as in "Want to go for a _____?", or "Let's go for a _____". It also has the form "walkies" at our house, which sure looks insipid now that I see it in writing so we're going to quit using it. The dogs have even come to understand the silent movie version of this word. That's when nothing is said but you only go to the place where the leashes are kept. Like magic, the Pest and the Passive One jump up from their nap and dance frantically like kangaroos. They caught the signal, heard the unspoken word and are certain of your intentions. Even if it wasn't your intention ... now you have no choice. It seems like a promise to them. If they don't already have their collars on, well good luck! Because there is no sitting still now for you to clasp them on..
Another Magic Word is: Eat. This word also has variations such as Hungry, Thirsty and Dinner. This is not so much a verb as an event. Especially if spoken around 6:00 (either am or pm). If I immediately begin the task then I am met with hero worship and high fives, especially since they've enthusiastically headed toward the door where the dog food bag is hidden. But if I pause and even think about fixiing myself a cup of coffee first or making a quick phone call, their combined will makes them people herders and I'm swept, literally, in the appropriate direction. "Now get on with it. Load those dog bowls up."
The Magic Word: Car. Now this is especially dangerous if combined with opening the door to the garage. Two dynamic dogs will compete to wedge past you ("Get out of our way, you obstruction!") and can knock you flat or send you flying. Big dogs demand a big car and so our minivan is required because allows each one his own seat to recline upon as we act like chauffeurs. There is no argument of who gets what seat since Pest understands that he has chosen his seat in the back, and the Passive One has his seat in the middle. But Pest also understands that he can jump over the backseat and use Passive One's head as a stepping stone toward the front chaufeuring seat. There he stands next to the driver, slobbering on his arm until it drool dribbles off the elbow. "Car" means adventure usually, fun most often, and a mess always.
At the end of the day, there is still left one Magic Word: Bed. This word has to be combined with the phrase "Let's go to B _ _". The Passive One has figured out this phrase so well that all I have to say is "Let's go ..." and he's already headed up the stairs. The Pest's head and ears come up at the phrase, but he waits to see where the other dog is going before he follows. Once upstairs, Passive One steps around twirling the blanket on his b_ _ around while the Pest prefers the coolness of the bathroom tile floor. My husband and I then climb up into our b_ _ and quickly find two dog heads at the foot of our mattress with big pleading eyes hoping we'll invite them up. We tell them "No," which, of course, is not their favorite Magic Word.
Magic Words during magic days with my dogs. I sure love them, the days and the dogs. I encourage everybody to have a conversation with your dog(s). They are great listeners and they will talk back if we'll just watch and listen. Especially if we use Magic Words.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Waterboys
Our dogs drink at least four bowls of water a day. Just regular sized dog water bowls that need refilling a few times as I go about my usual routine. And if I forget, they don't nag or whine at me, they just go looking for some other way to resolve their thirst. Little did I know how far they'd go.
A few nights ago after dinner, we all settled into the family room to watch some TV. The dogs, as always shadows, are right where we are. I don't remember what TV show we were watching, or why it really had our attention. But we slowly became aware of something odd, an unusual sound. Was that running water?
I offered, "Oh, must be one of the boys taking a shower". "None of the boys are home", my dear husband informed me. "Is the dishwasher running?" That was me again suggesting another idea. "Can't be. It's in the kitchen and the sound is coming from upstairs." That was my husband again. He's smart. "The clothes washer, maybe?" By now, I was grabbing at furballs. So we just listened. Then my husband, with realization announced, "Sounds like, uh-oh... a broken pipe!" Before the last word was out we were up and launching for the stairs. He takes them two at a time, I'm coming behind him as fast as my short little legs will go.
At the top of those stairs, we are beckoned to our bedroom by the sound of gushing water. What we discover in our master bathroom are two Rottweilers having a wild ole time partying in our bathtub. The water faucet full on! The Passive One is paw deep in the tub lapping up water from the bottom. The Pest is concentrating on chugging water directly from the faucet. Both soaking wet and happy about it. Big muddy pawprints lined the tiles along the tub's edge and all across the floor. Several trails of water streaked down the window and pooled on the sill. Water churning down, spraying up, shooting over, flying across.
We announced our arrival: "What's going on, boys?"
The embibing paused as they noticed us. They shot us big, sloppy, goofy grins, tongues hanging down to their knees, delighted with themselves. "Hooray!" they cheered, "the more the merrier! C'mon in, we'll make room! Isn't this great! Fun, Fun, Fun! Hooray! Hooray!" "Whee!" They flipped some water at each other. "Ha Ha! Whoopee!" They flipped water at the ceiling. "Whoo-hoo! Yah buddy!" They flipped water over at the mirror. The bathroom was a-riot with teasing, and romping, and stomping. They leapt, they laughed. Would the neighbors call the cops to complain about the wildness they could certainly hear??
For a surprising second there was calm, the room still, hesitating. Then determinedly the Pest dipped his head to one side, and the Passive one immediately caught the message. My husband and I braced ourselves against the doorframes and cowered. The dogs wound up, from their drooping ears to their docked tails, and let forth a mighty shake that made the floor move, picture frames rattle, the shower doors dance on their glides. Wild, free, who cares if we're inside! A meteor shower of spray, shooting stars of messy wet fur. My bathroom turned into a black hole now that it's covered with their hair.
So who's to blame? And who turned that faucet on? They certainly aren't telling. They've now taken to giving me the eye, while I'm brushing my teeth, shiftily glancing from the tub faucet to me and back again. Hoping. But why encourage them? I know we didn't teach either of them to turn that faucet on. Maybe they have learned it from watching TV. Anyway, they haven't yet repeated the feat, and I'm still re-filling waterbowls.
A few nights ago after dinner, we all settled into the family room to watch some TV. The dogs, as always shadows, are right where we are. I don't remember what TV show we were watching, or why it really had our attention. But we slowly became aware of something odd, an unusual sound. Was that running water?
I offered, "Oh, must be one of the boys taking a shower". "None of the boys are home", my dear husband informed me. "Is the dishwasher running?" That was me again suggesting another idea. "Can't be. It's in the kitchen and the sound is coming from upstairs." That was my husband again. He's smart. "The clothes washer, maybe?" By now, I was grabbing at furballs. So we just listened. Then my husband, with realization announced, "Sounds like, uh-oh... a broken pipe!" Before the last word was out we were up and launching for the stairs. He takes them two at a time, I'm coming behind him as fast as my short little legs will go.
At the top of those stairs, we are beckoned to our bedroom by the sound of gushing water. What we discover in our master bathroom are two Rottweilers having a wild ole time partying in our bathtub. The water faucet full on! The Passive One is paw deep in the tub lapping up water from the bottom. The Pest is concentrating on chugging water directly from the faucet. Both soaking wet and happy about it. Big muddy pawprints lined the tiles along the tub's edge and all across the floor. Several trails of water streaked down the window and pooled on the sill. Water churning down, spraying up, shooting over, flying across.
We announced our arrival: "What's going on, boys?"
The embibing paused as they noticed us. They shot us big, sloppy, goofy grins, tongues hanging down to their knees, delighted with themselves. "Hooray!" they cheered, "the more the merrier! C'mon in, we'll make room! Isn't this great! Fun, Fun, Fun! Hooray! Hooray!" "Whee!" They flipped some water at each other. "Ha Ha! Whoopee!" They flipped water at the ceiling. "Whoo-hoo! Yah buddy!" They flipped water over at the mirror. The bathroom was a-riot with teasing, and romping, and stomping. They leapt, they laughed. Would the neighbors call the cops to complain about the wildness they could certainly hear??
For a surprising second there was calm, the room still, hesitating. Then determinedly the Pest dipped his head to one side, and the Passive one immediately caught the message. My husband and I braced ourselves against the doorframes and cowered. The dogs wound up, from their drooping ears to their docked tails, and let forth a mighty shake that made the floor move, picture frames rattle, the shower doors dance on their glides. Wild, free, who cares if we're inside! A meteor shower of spray, shooting stars of messy wet fur. My bathroom turned into a black hole now that it's covered with their hair.
So who's to blame? And who turned that faucet on? They certainly aren't telling. They've now taken to giving me the eye, while I'm brushing my teeth, shiftily glancing from the tub faucet to me and back again. Hoping. But why encourage them? I know we didn't teach either of them to turn that faucet on. Maybe they have learned it from watching TV. Anyway, they haven't yet repeated the feat, and I'm still re-filling waterbowls.
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