Dog, Humor

Lassie Moment

I’ve had my Lassie moment of the morning. I had let the dog out, and ten minutes later, talked her in out of the rain, which is unusual, she hates to get wet. While I’m dealing with muddy pawprints in the kitchen, she starts whining and scratching at the floor in the other room. I walk out of the kitchen and she pops into the hall to meet me.

“What?” I ask her. She bounces a little. “Show me what you want.”

She stands there looking at me. Well, ok. I head to the office. She returns to scratching and whining. I go into the other room, and she meets me. “What do you want, girl?”

Now, this dog has communication down pat. She lets us know what she wants, and when. Out, water, food… but mostly treats. With whining and body language she’ll show you that yes, she really does want to have you open the treat cupboard and get one out for her. Now would be good.

At the moment she’s wagging her tail, looking up, and I’m having my Lassie moment. What is it, girl?  Has Timmy become stuck in our basement? What is she after? Normally, if I ask the dog to get me her toy, she will, but she’s not going to go back to her scratching while I’m in the room. We stand there looking at one another for a couple of minutes.

I had a lightbulb pop in my head, and went looking for the muddy pawprints. She’d been in long enough they weren’t full prints, but still, bits of wet earth would show on the hardwood floor. Sure enough, like a little trail of breadcrumbs, here was the evidence. I lifted the laundry basket, and she pounced from behind my legs. Somehow her favorite squeaky ball had been trapped under it.

“It would have been easier if you’d have shown me that the first time.”

She ignores me, already stretched out on her belly, ball guarded between her paws, jaws busy on making it squeak. I head back to the office and my coffee cup. Between solving the Mystery of the Missing Ball, and the aroma of wet dog, I need the coffee.

Painting-14

1 thought on “Lassie Moment

  1. Years ago when I was growing up we had a small poodle, the dog wandered into a friends garage on Christmas eve, no tag, no tattoo, (long before the chip thing) and of course when we took in the dog we named him Tiny Tim.

    Timmy loved grapes but would not break the skin if you gave him a whole grape. He would complain until one of the humans broke the grape in half and then he would eat the pieces and be happy.

    One night I was awakened shortly after midnight by Timmy standing on my chest and making a kind of strange noise. I put out my hand and he spat a whole grape into my palm. I broke it in half and he ate both pieces and left.
    My father was working second shift that week, and when I saw him the next morning I asked him if he had given the dog a grape when he got home. He said yes, and that Timmy took the grape and left the room. The question of course is why did the dog decide to go upstairs and wake me up to deal with the grape, when there was a human standing there that would have dealt with the grape.
    Dogs can sometimes be as strange as people.

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