Just wait until your father gets home!

This dog!  She certainly knows that The Boy isn’t here, because she’s really pushing her boundaries. 

In the mornings, I wake her up… and try to get her outside.  When The Boy does it, he has  to call her a few times and then out the door she trots.  I call her.  I call her again.  When I go to get her, she rolls on her back for a belly rub. I cave and rub her belly. Then I tell her to go outside. Then I say it again. After being ignored, I physically pick her up and put her on her legs.( I can understand wanting to sleep in the morning, after all.)

This week though, The Dog has learned a new trick.  I get her on her feet, then she’s suppose to follow me to the door.  So the last few days, I turn around,walk toward the door… and no dog.  I call her name.  I call her name louder. I curse at her.  I tell her how I’m going to be late to work (She really couldn’t care less). And then I go into the bedroom and find her on my pillow, having dragged up my blankets.  She doesn’t even have opposable thumbs, but she somehow manages.

So I glare, pick her up and carry her to the door.  So I learned a new  trick this week too. I use the gate to corral her over to the door. She tries to turn back and escape to my warm bed, but I win!  I’m a Texas gal now.  It’s like our own version of the rodeo.

Fine. So we settled the morning issues.  Last night, she decided to evolve even more.

I call her to go night night.  She was in the back of the house and ran to the bedroom.  I assume she is just too inbred to figure out where my voice was coming from.  As I scoff, she turns, looks at me, and disappears into the spare room.  I mock her stupidity and call again. And again.  And again.  Now who’s feeling stupid?

I go to get her and she’s not in the room.  Knowing that my dog is not one that has the ability vaporate, she had to be somewhere. So I wait a quarter second until she breathed (the pug breed doesn’t lend itself well to silent escapes) and find her under the bed. I reach for her; she shimmies back. I curse and wiggle under the bed more; she wiggles more. Ultimately nothing but her puggy head is able to be seen behind the storage under the bed.

A classic case of a child acting out.