Saturday, September 18, 2010

If The World Could Be A Fly On Our Wall

This story is kind of broken up, so I'll start with the part where Brutus and I left the lake on Thursday around noon to head back to the cities. I had been cleaning on Tuesday and Wednesday from company, and just general cleaning that needed to get done, and needed to go back to the cities for a Friday morning doctor's appointment, so we (obviously I) decided we would leave on Thursday so we could spend an evening with Don. Since Tuesday and Wednesday and Thursday morning were busy in Sheri world, Brutus didn't get a walk. The extent of his exercise was going in and out of the house a billion times, and then wanting a treat. I think I would have been better off just taking him for a walk and tiring him out!

As soon as I opened the car door to start packing it up on Thursday, he was in the car, on the middle seat, laying down and in riding position. He would not move. There was no getting out to go potty, and I think that even if a chipmunk ran past the car door, he might have stayed put. For some reason, he was very anxious, either about me leaving him behind, or he was excited to go someplace. Who knows!

We made it home in pretty good time, and had only stopped for one potty break, so the first thing I did when we got home was put him on his tie in the back yard while I unloaded the car. It was nice to not be tripping all over him. I got done, and he was sitting at the patio door waiting to come in, and all was fine.......until Don came home and told me that his tie wasn't attached to anything because he had run over it with the lawnmower. What? I had left Brutus in the backyard for probably fifteen to twenty minutes, tied to a rope that wasn't tied to anything. Oh my God. I had to let all of the "could haves" go flying out of my brain so I didn't have a heart attack. Getting loose in the city is a whole different ball game than getting loose at the lake. For one thing, we're next to an incredibly busy road. Ugh, I can't even think about it. OK. No more letting Brutus outside without his leash on.

The rest of the night was pretty uneventful, thankfully. We crawled in to bed, turned on the heated blanket and ordered a pizza. It's called the perfect Empty Nester's one. It's hard to completely enjoy it with two big sad brown eyes looking at you saying "please, just one bite, you make me eat kibble, come on people!" We usually cave and give him a crust. I know, bad dog parents.

Friday morning Brutus would not get out of bed. I had to leave for my appointment at 9:30, and he was still in bed, so I finally woke him up with a treat to get him to go outside to go potty, and then I had to put him right in his crate. That was a BIG guilt moment. He was still groggy enough to not even know what hit him. I got back three hours later, buzzed right downstairs to let him out, and he ran right upstairs to get in the car to leave. I think he had had enough of this being in the city business, and he was going "home". I had left a car door open when I was taking out a few things, so Brutus had gotten in, and I kid you not, he sat in there for an hour while I finished up what I needed to do before we left. We drove all the way to the lake with no potty breaks, and as soon as I hit the dirt road he came bouncing up in to the front seat because he knew we were close. I pulled in the drive way, opened the door, and instead of waiting for me to open his door, he jumped right over me and out and ran around like he had just won a fishing contest. I would have said crowned for Homecoming King, but around here, it's much more important to win the fishing contests!! Plus, if he's at a fishing contest, he usually manages to knock over somebody's beer to get a drink. Um Yeah. The dog likes his Leinenkugels.

Don showed up a couple hours later, and we had been invited to go out for dinner with friends, so then came the big decision of do we crate him AGAIN, or tie him up. He was after something in the garage, so for the first time, we decided to just close the garage door and let him play in the garage. He had his blankets and food and water, and the light was on. He'd be fine. Well, apparently he must have slept the whole time we were gone, because at midnight when we got back and felt very much like going to bed, Brutus felt very much like wrestling and playing fetch and ringing the bell for treats. He was CRAZY!! The other issue with Brutus is that he doesn't like to eat his kibble unless one of us is with him, so here it is, midnight, and Don and I are standing there in our respective jammies, or lack there of, with the dog so he can eat his dinner. I cracked up at the thought of someone seeing us at that particular moment. They would definitely certify us as crazy dog people. After we had both been sufficiently bruised from being jumped on, and gotten up enough times to tell Brutus "NO", there will be no more ringing the door to go outside just to fake us out to get treats, we had to ignore him, and for the first time ever, instead of sleeping at the foot of the bed, he went in his crate and pouted.

Adolescent dogs truly are children, and adolescent dog owners truly are embarrassingly nuts.

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