River's View From The Table Top

As soon as my parents walk out the door I have only one concern:  When will they return?  It is my job to maintain a vigil until the arrive.

Pocket is no help in this matter.  She is locked in her crate, hiding inside her pyramid kitty condo.  She claims she is locked in there because she is worried about what I might do.  The truth is she cannot be trusted with freedom.

I have to watch for my parents and keep an eye on the property.  I have three windows available.  There are two in the living room.  The one between Mommy’s chair and the lift recliner is the best one for the backyard.  Thankfully, before they leave, my parents remove everything from the table.  Before that, I had to knock everything off the table before climbing on it.  That was time-consuming.

But that view is limited to the birds enjoying the feeder, the occasional tree rat who is scared by my bark which is not proportional to my small body, and whatever our back door neighbors are doing, which is never interesting.

From the couch on the other side of the room I can see my boring neighbor’s house and a bit of the street.  The street view is good because if anything is headed north I can see it, run to the kitchen window, and bark it away.  But it leaves my north flank exposed and anyone who knows me knows that is my most important flank.

So the best vantage point is the kitchen window.  I have two options:  The first is to stand on my back legs with my paws on the sill looking out.  This is very tiring, and, if I shut my eyes I tip over, so I have to go to option two:  The top of the dinner table.

My parents don’t understand how I can jump on the table without skidding off  The answer, of course, is air brakes.  I can see the back yard, up the street, the end of the driveway, and all our gardens.  Anything comes into our yard, or if someone walks by the house, I am there, either to bark them away or to ask them if they know where my parents are.   The people never answer.  The dogs leave pee mail, but I can’t get outside to sniff it.

Finally, my parent's car pulls into the driveway.  They are always looking in the kitchen window, and they see me run across the table top, jump down, go to the window, tip my head back and give a long, loud bark of joy.  Then I go over to the door, and I jump up and down, so high I can see them out the door window until they come inside and give me some reassuring touches.  Then I can relax.

Just remember, if you are invited to my parent's house, you might want to bring a wet wipe.  You never know what has been on their table.