Saturday, July 28, 2018

And I am telling you...

I didn't sleep well last night.  It's been really hot in Germany lately, and while the temperatures are nowhere as oppressive here as they are in the United States, our house retains heat.  Consequently, it's nicer outside than it is in the house.

Early this morning, I woke up to the smell of dog crap.  I turned on the light and, sure enough, there was a lone turd hanging out of Arran's ass.  For some reason, he sometimes poops in his sleep.  It's always just one little dry nugget and it doesn't happen often enough for us to ban him from our bed.  Anyway, Bill woke up and took Arran outside.  Zane decided to follow, sauntering down the steps like a movie star.

The dogs went outside and did their business.  Then, Bill brought them back inside and started to head back to bed.  Zane sat down on the little rug where he eats his meals and gave Bill a defiant look that said, "And I am telling you, I am NOT going."

Bill chuckled and said, "Okay, Effie." and got Zane's breakfast.

An hour or so later, Zane was in the hall whining because the door to the living room was closed and he wanted to drink water and lay down on the loveseat.  We keep that door closed.  So Bill let Zane into the living room, which is marginally cooler than the upstairs.

A couple of hours later, we ate our breakfast.  Zane and Arran waited patiently for us to share some with them.  Then, as we finished our coffee, Zane did his usual whining, imploring us to hurry up and finish so he could take his special weekend walk with Daddy.  Bill walks them during the weekends and I walk them during the week.  Most of the time, during the week, Arran is the one who will pry me from my computer and beg for a walk.  On the weekends, it's Zane.  

Zane is an adorable, lovable dog, but he sure has us well-trained.  His predecessor, Flea, was a lot like him, although he was less benevolent.  Flea used to sneak up behind me when I was working on the computer and bark, never failing to startle and annoy me.  Then, every day at about 10:00am, he would come in and whine for his walk.  He did this even when he was dying of prostate cancer.  Every morning, he would wake up, bark as if to announce his presence, and come down the stairs as if he was king of the world.  He was a beagle with a lot of personality.  All five of our rescue beagles have been that way.  

I adore my dogs.  They keep me sane, and they are better company than most people are.  However, I don't think I could ever truthfully say I own them.  I think it's more likely that they own me.

These boys want for nothing.

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