Helping River Go Drug Free by Pocket Dog

I do my best to be a good girl.  My sister, on the other hand, is a schemer.  She tries to draw me into her stunts but I struggle to remain neutral.  Unless her plans can benefit me.

Our parents have concluded, on the basis of scant evidence, that River and I are too excitable and in need of treatment.  River believes that we are adequately excitable.  Our issues are with those who parade by our house; walk on our roads, or sit outside their homes, during our daily constitutional; close car doors within earshot; and their pets, who sit in their houses, or yards, and mock us with their overly trained calmness.

River has reported on the my parents experimenting with an herbal substance that is spread on our fur and gave us Don King hair.  When that failed out parents tried a well recommended treatment:  Rescue Remedy.

I appreciated the naturally soothing effect but River felt that is was suppressing her right to experience emotion.  This was a real Captain America Civil War situation brewing between us but I folded like Squirrel Girl.  (Real Superhero:  Google it.)  I agreed to help River trick my parents into discontinuing the Remedy.

If I have a super power it is my stomach.  My tummy can affect my parents entire day.  They examine my poop like CSI technicians studying bomb residue.  (Coincidentally I call my poop “bomb residue.”)   First I produced a bad poop.  Then I don’t eat.  River instructed me that no matter what my parents do: Beg, cajole, render garments, speak in tongues, worship false idols, I was not to eat.  With such shenanigans going on during breakfast who could eat?

The consequences of my actions were not predictable but still beneficial.  Instead of blaming what my friend Freddy refers to as “snake oil” my parents blamed their decision to bind my crate to River’s to block her escape plans.  River’s only means of escape was to squeeze through an inch wide gap in our crates.  I knew this was impossible but River does not believe in impossible.  She clawed, pushed, and bit my crate trying to escape.  It was not conducive to rest in the slightest.

My crate was placed in the living room, far away from River’s calculated prison break attempts.  As an added bonus my kitty pyramid, pictured above, fits in my crate.  I hate my little jail cell but now that my little pyramid is enclosed,  I can enclose myself in the pyramid, and there is no crazed Griffon burrowing into my crate I am calmer.

It took a tremendous amount of persuasion by River to make me continue with the squirrely poop and intermittent hunger strikes,  but I did, and now we are no longer remedied, I am back to a full belly and tootsie roll poops.

Plus River and I have been drug free for a week.  Can’t wait to get my one week kibble.