River Song: High Flying and Adored

I am what is known as a velcro dog.  I always want to be near my humans, preferably keeping in physical contact with them at all times.  I hate being left alone and I suffer from what they call separation anxiety.  I am put in my crate, and when Mommy and Daddy return, the crate is on the other side of the room, and sometimes, in it, is the most offensive boom boom, that has been stepped in, kicked, and, seemingly, deeply rubbed into my fur.

Then came the projects:  The Taking Stinky River Outside Project; The Washing The Stink Off Of River Project; The Trying To Keep River In The Tub Project; The Cleaning The Offensive Boom Boom Remnants From the Crate Project.  The whole thing became quite a project.

After a boom boom incident Daddy had to take the crate apart.  When he put it back together the door did not line up correctly.  The next time I needed to be crated Mommy put me inside, and let go of the latch.  She had assumed the door was secure, but, a soon as I was left alone, I tested her assumption, and, by pushing enough, was free.

I then ran around the house looking for Mommy but she was nowhere to be found.  I went over to the kitchen window.  The blinds kept hitting my in the head.  So I jumped up and grabbed them with my teeth, pulling them down with a great crash.

Now I could see out the window without getting hit in the head.  But while I was ducking as the blinds hit the floor how did I know Mommy wasn’t on the porch?  So I went to the kitchen door, jumped high in the air, grabbed a hold of the blinds and pulled them down too. No Mommy on the porch.   I spent the rest of the day running from one window to the next looking until I finally saw Mommy.

She was quite upset to see me out of the crate, and even more upset that the blinds were on the ground, but, like all good Moms, she was happiest that I was safe.    That night she talked with Daddy and they decided the crate may be causing more problems that it was solving.

Then Daddy suggested getting a gate and keeping me in the laundry room.   They agreed it would have to be a high gate because I am an excellent jumper.  The next night Daddy bought a three and a half foot gate.  Everyone agreed it was too high for a six inch dog to jump over  The biggest concern was me putting my head through the slats so Daddy used the gate from my crate to make it impossible for me to get my head stuck.

They put me in the laundry room, behind the gate, with a bed, some water, and some toys.  I was not happy to be there.  I pushed, prodded and poked the gate before they left but could not escape.  Mommy and Daddy left confident that when they returned I would be still be in the laundry room, and, if I had boom boomed, I would not have trampled in it.

After they were gone I grew very excited.  I had to look out of the now blind free window and see where they were.  I stood on my back legs and jumped.  My paws touched the top of the gate.  I readied myself again, bent my back legs, and jumped again.  My paws touched the top of the gate.  I paced around and thought.  Then I got into position again.  I jumped, my paws hit the top of the gate, and then I pushed off my front paws, jumped the gate, and stuck the landing!

Once again I was free.  I bounced from the couch to the vibrating recliner to the table with the orchards, then back into the kitchen and up on the table.  There were no blinds now so I could look out the window, and jump on the couch and look out the back window,  Then the heat came on.  For some reason I became fascinated with it, and began to paw at the grates, lifting them off the floor.  Then I remembered Mommy and began to run from window to window.

And it was about that time that Mommy got home.  I was jumping up and down looking out the kitchen window.  Daddy said to Mommy “look in the window.”  and she turned to see my excited, smiling face.  She hurried inside (as much as Mommy can hurry) figuring that she would see that gate tipped over, but it stayed upright, leaving Mommy and Daddy flummoxed about my flying.

So now I am back in the crate.  I haven’t got out of it yet, but I keep banging my head against it and moving it across the room trying to get free.  There has been some talk about medication but I laugh at it  There isn’t a crate or gate that can hold me.  Next time you pass by my window, take a glance, and you will see me hopping.

Here’s a picture of little old me before I cleared the gate.  

I am high, flying and adored.