Winston. My little pig of a dog. I love him, but he makes me crazy. His snoring is louder than my husband's. He takes up three times his body size in the bed. Yeah, I regret that move; every night. He's worse than my kids when it comes to doing what he's not supposed to, but he's got this look when he's been bad. He knows it. He drops down and army crawls over to me both back legs lame and rolls over on his back in submission. Then invariably, his "dog lips" get stuck on his bulldog style mouth so it looks like a Cheshire cat grin. His eyes double in size and his tongue flops out. I usually furrow my brow and say nice try but punish him anyway.
Not this time.
We had been away for an overnight and had left him kennelled. That means he has a long tile hallway from the garage to the laundry room. Of course, I put up all munchies, chewables or things that could slice, electrocute or stick in his big sloppy mouth. He's not very bright in the eating department. He thinks he's a rumba and tastes everything if his flat face will let him suck it off the floor (skinny round crackers and some types of chips excluded but always fun to watch him shove them around for a while then get mad and smack them while jumping and barking at them....I know, it doesn't take much to make me giggle...but I digress) So with all the "naughties" out of his reach on top of the dryer, we saunter out to enjoy our overnight.
We do. And drive home at a reasonable hour to let him out, feed him lalala. I open the door and stare at an empty space. Now there is NO WHERE for him to go. Nothing has been disturbed. In fact, not even his bed has been slept in. I call for him and hear a soft jingle. Still, I see nothing. I am worried. Did he get stuck somewhere? Is he hurt? I call again and look up. Yes, up. My little man has scaled the washer/dryer and is sitting on top of the shelves....where all the goodies are. He couldn't get to them, but he gave his best effort. He spent the entire night on top of my dryer; sleeping in dryer sheets and grocery bags. When he realized I saw him, he crouched down and closed his eyes: like he was trying to be invisible. He began to shake (I'm guessing from an EXTREME urge to piddle either out of fear or necessity...maybe both) I gently picked him up and carried him outside where he promptly "emptied a kegger" all over my favorite patio chair. FABULOUS! He came bounding in (since he was so much lighter) and wanted a cookie. A cookie?! I stopped and looked at him. The reality set in...he began to crawl and "say sorry." I shook my finger and scolded him, but I was smiling the whole time. He knew I was full of beans. So he flipped himself upside down and wiggled his butt, bit his own toes and jumped up again as if to say "Ta-dahhhh! See how cute?"
Winston one: Mommy zero
Then came the deli disaster. My son had made his lunch but left the salami on the kitchen table. He and his sister were upstairs flipping wet toothbrush bristles at each other to see who could get more wet. Lovely. I was still trying to get ready for work but had to come down to iron my skirt. I walked through the living room, passed the kitchen table and noticed Winston drinking...and drinking and drinking and...I turned to see that little snot had pushed the chair back, climbed IT and the table, eaten one-half a pound of salami and was attempting to drink the townships reservoir. Nice one...That warranted an entire morning in puppy prison.
Winston two: Mommy zero
Then last night after running to lessons, sports..and the like, we came home to see that Daddy had cooked a wonderful dinner and we ate out in the bistro. LOVELY! It was a great time. The kids cleared the table and left only the "wrappables" out for us to do. (The ratio of plastic wrap to actual food triples when the kids attempt this. Besides, someone ALWAYS gets bit by that friggin cutting surface!!!) There is a plate of salad sitting at the edge of the counter. A small piece of cling wrap dangles ...no...taunts Winston from above. He can no longer fight the urge. He begins to jump and snap at the piece of plastic pulling the plate and the one next to it which contains meat closer to the edge. I wait in the doorway as he does this and slowly I bend down. Just when he thinks he's got it, I jump through the doorway, swat his fanny and hiss "Git!"
He gasps. Literally, and runs away with his tail between his legs, his ears up and his tongue hanging out. He jerks to a stop, crouches down and bites the carpet.
He huffs and does a dance, complete with butt-wiggle. I laugh at my little pig of a dog and scoop him up.
Winston two: Mommy one; but it was a good one.
I can only say...to be continued...
