Tag Archives: pets

Bested By The Dog… Again.

I have a dog for sale. She’s a lovely black Labrador Retriever. She has big brown eyes and a pretty, silky coat. Her ears perk up all cute when you grab a pack of crackers, she loves long walks, and she’s fully potty trained. We’ve had her seven years. And she’s mostly well-behaved. She can be a pain in the rear end though. But you’ll easily overlook that as long as you keep in mind her adorable little face and her overly-waggy tail. I’m sure you’re asking yourself, why in the world would someone part with such a great dog?

Oh, I’ll tell you why!

Little miss came and sat in front of me. Just sat and stared. This means, Hey, Mom! I have to potty. Take me outside please. Except for when it doesn’t because the little manipulator just wants to go outside.

I told her no. (Don’t get it twisted, she went out four hours ago. She was fine.) Anyway, she just kept staring. So naturally, I explained myself. I said, “No. It’s cold.” She stared some more. So I said, “No. It’s 27 degrees outside. I won’t do it.” Now see here, some of you are probably thinking, you think that’s cold? Whaaat?! Well, I live in South Georgia. It only dips into the twenties a handful of times a year. That’s cold for us! — Anyway, she’s covered in fur, so what does she care? (She doesn’t.) So she just stared some more. So I stared back. Intimidation tactic 101. (This did not work.) She scooted closer and stared some more. I continued telling her, “No. No way. Won’t do it.”

As you can probably guess, I did it. Just in case she actually had to go, I didn’t want to be mean and refuse to let her. But, alas, it turns out I knew her all too well.

So there I was, in a pair of fuzzy socks, pajama shorts, a long sleeve tee, and wrapped in a fleece blanket, standing on our little back patio in 27 degree weather. Where was the dog? Oh, she was standing in the middle of the yard, staring at me like, I know you didn’t put shoes on, so I know you can’t come out here and get me. *sniffs around* *Looks up and stares again* Isn’t it nice out? I’m going to sniff over there now… *Goes and sniffs somewhere else.* — All the while, I’m telling her to come on, get inside. And she just keeps looking at me like, Why would I do that? You’re the dummy that brought me out here. Sucker!

After about two minutes, I’d had enough. The dog did not have to pee, and she was not the least bit ashamed of her behavior. In fact, she went over and scooped up a stick, toting it around, prancing about the yard like I wasn’t standing there telling her to get her butt inside.

What y’all don’t know, is that she’s a big chicken. Big. Chicken. Chick-Chick-Chick-Chicken! Seriously, she’s a fraidy cat. So I said, alright, that’s it. I marched myself inside and shut the door and the curtain. You know what she doesn’t like… thinking she’s stuck outside in the dark by herself and can’t get inside. The closing of the curtain was the real kicker. That was when she was like, Uh-oh! Mama can’t see me on the other side of the door anymore. This is bad. — Because like most dogs, she comes to the backdoor when she’s ready to come in. But we don’t close the curtain. Not when she’s outside. So little miss thought she was locked out. (I was peeking through the curtain.) Which is how I saw her race up and stare at the door like, let me in! And because it was after midnight and I didn’t want her to disturb the neighbors by barking, I only made her stand there a minute before I let her in.

And do you know what she did? Danced over to the laundry room where we keep the treats like she was about to get one. No siree! Not on my watch. (Seriously, she didn’t get one. We do not reward blatant disobedience in this house.) (Well, most of time. She slides by on occasion. What can I say, we’re only human!)

Obviously I’m not really selling the dog. She would be, and this is no understatement, completely devastated. Absolutely heartbroken and incredibly depressed. Seven years is a long time. And I joke, but we, my husband and I, would be just as devastated. Again, seven years is a long time. We’re all attached to each other, and it’s til death do us part. (Even if she drives us crazy along the way. — Which she is good at!)