This dog is in heat again. How is this even possible?

(Answer have I none.)

life with dogs

This is how our day goes:

She whines.

I ask someone to take her out. She goes out, comes back in, whines some more. I ask someone else to take her out. She goes out, comes back in, whines. I ask a third person to take her out. She goes out, comes back in, whines. I ask another person to take her out who is evidently the first person I asked half an hour ago.

They refuse on the grounds that she can’t possibly need to go out again.

I fuss at her, “You don’t need to go out. Lay down!”  She whines louder.

I fuss louder (using the Mean Lisa voice,) “Be quiet! Lay Down!” She slicks back her ears and sulks.

Five seconds later she whines.  “No!!” I say. (Yes with two exclamation marks.)
Then I resort to uttering the two horrid words all dogs fear: “Bad dog!”

She is mortified. Retiring to her doggy couch she eyes me warily.

I continue with the pretense of working. (A pretense as we both know I can’t work while she’s looking at me like that.)

Mimsy Dog Life With Dogs
Mimsy Lou: an extraordinary beauty gifted with the super power of being able to look in two directions simultaneously.

There is an extended silence.

I hear her tippy little feet tippying over.

The tippying stops. Now her head is on my foot. She sighs, breathing steadily. Asleep.

I relax. Try to think. Write a paragraph. Try to think some more. Take a sip of tea.

She barks louder than a freakin’ freight train and I nearly fall offa my chair.

I swear profusely and take her outside myself. Obviously all those other people were doing it wrong.

She sniffs around, nibbles some grass, goes to the very very edge of the lawn despite my admonitions to “Stay!” uttered in the deepest voice I can manage.

She makes a break for the road. I follow-flop in my too large slippers yelling “Bad dog!!! Get your mangy canine butt back here!” She hesitates, I make a grab for her, she skitters away.

Those evil little lips of hers stretch into an In Heat & Free Smile.

I stand in the middle of our dirt road hollering at her. Knowing I look like a moron and not caring. She smooth-arc glides back to the front porch. I stomp toward the house. She lays flat, nose between paws, ready to streak off again.

I glare at her as I open the door. We go inside. (Restraining myself admiringly, I do not shut her tail in the door.)

She glances at me, sheepish; her non-flattened tail half tucked. I frown, daring to repeat and embellish the Canine’s Most Feared Phrase: “Bad dog! No treat for you!” 

I make a fresh cup of tea and sit back down.

She sits beneath me, waggles her tail, gazes up at me adoringly.

And whines.
ldbtaylor lisa db taylor




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