Hey, I've only got a few minutes so I'll make this quick. My brother, Bflat (he's the gin drinker pictured below) has been sick the last week...terrible cold, sniffles, sounds like he drowning most of the time...and he's got Poop Guy (that's my name for darth) and mom (banjosmom is her dkos handle) worried something fierce.
Well, a working dog's work is never done, so I have to remain vigilant with the old man...waking him up at six am every morning for his walk/jog (he does have some weight to lose), getting him off the couch for a few hours on 'home office' days...damn IT professionals...always typing on their computers like it's some kind of shrine. You get the picture.
Take, for one, the never ending struggle to teach him one simple trick - feed me. Sometimes, he seems to understand. I sit, and he feeds me a treat. Other times, it's as if he'd never given a treat in his life. I offer him a high-five, and he throws his hand up for my paw, but no treat. I lie down...no treat. It's really frustrating. And look at my face...this should be a slam-dunk with most people...
Last night, for instance, we had braised short ribs. He'd spent most of the day cooking them, and I was kind enough to watch, patiently, while the house was filled with the smell of meat. I didn't complain, I didn't even beg (it's beneath me anyway). But after he and banjosmom finished dinner (and she ALWAYS leaves a piece of meat or two on her plate for me, I had to start the training over again.
Now, don't get me wrong...mom is fully trained, and I didn't even have to give her any visual cues to get her to take (albeit small) portions of meat off her plate and hold them gently within reach of my mouth. But Poop--I mean darth--he was pathetic. Mom even tried to help him with verbal instruction: "Get Banjo to roll over"(a signal to me that I should lay on the floor, act a little cute, and help encourage dad to foist over some tender morsels.)...Well, let me tell you how THAT went.
I go over by my dog bed. I lie down. I roll the hell over (I even acted excited to do so). And what does he do? He takes a bite of the morsel of meat in his hand before sharing it with me! A bite! He takes a freakin' bite! Can you believe this? I try again, as I see him reaching for more. I lie down, I do a half-roll--he doesn't feed me. I do a full roll, and finally, FINALLY, he starts to get the picture and share the goods.
It's exhausting, I tell you...and don't even get me started on his driving...I have to watch the road AND make sure he's in the right gear (and it's an automatic, no less...but he has to use that tip-tronic stuff on the curvy parts of the road)...oh, and we just got back from Half Moon Bay as he needed to pick up meds for Bflat, and he didn't even bother taking me to the beach...pathetic.
I tell you, people...it ain't easy sometimes. So please, when your woozle is ingratiating him or herself in front of you, hand over the kibble.
Thank you for reading.