Now that I have firmly entrenched myself in my parent’s
hearts and it hurts them more than me if I do something wrong and they
speak harshly, I can now assert my dominance over the house and take my
rightful role as the baby boss.
River taught me a trick to tell if I have ultimately won over my parents. I still don’t want to go to the bathroom outside, so I am strictly a pee-pad dog. In bad weather, River was the same way. She told me if I could put my front paws on the pad, my back paws on the floor, then pee so it misses the target. Then because Batman villains built our house, the pee ran down the uneven floor and under the pad causing an Exxon Valdez cleanup, and after all that, I do not get in trouble; I am the head of the household. I did sell thrice to establish that I could do what I wanted, even to file the floors and remain dominant.
The most mommy will say about missing the mark is to ask if I could at least try to get it on the pad. I put on my sad face, which is easy because morose is my default look. Happy face dogs must work hard to look sad and guilty, but I can do it without effort. Also, I want to ask her why doesn’t she worry about daddy missing the bowl when he pees. He’s got the aim of a one-eyed shooter with severe cataracts.
My parents still find it amusing when I see a dog, horse, or another four-legged creature on the television; I charge at the TV and then slide into the cable box recover stand on my back two legs, and furiously back until the animal is off the screen and then check behind the TV to make sure it’s gone because I know that’s how they are. My parents said that there are days of watching Westminster seems to be over. Given my dislike of horses, I think Yellowstone is out too.
After six weeks with these people, I am confident I made the right choice to join them. They picked up on the training quickly, the meals are served on time and with care, and I am left alone for less than a dozen hours a week. My parents, I think I’ll keep them.