Thursday, September 21, 2006

In dog we trust

It was like a scene from Lassie.

“Gromit, what do you want? C’mon, tell me.”

He’d been standing next to the couch staring at me for 20 minutes while I worked on my laptop. Every once in a while he’d tap the cushion with his paw as if to say “Hey! I’m here!”

“C’mon, Grom,” I pleaded. “What’s up?”

Realizing he obviously needed something Very Important, I finally got up.

I followed him out of the living room and down the hall to the laundry room. He looked up at his leash and harness hanging on the hook, looked at me, and then I swear he smiled.

“Walkies? Is that what you want?”

So we went for walkies.

On a Wednesday morning when I should’ve been working.
That’s how it goes. He’s the dog. But he thinks he’s a god.

And in our world, sometimes I think he is, too.
This one’s entirely my fault.

I take a glass of water up to bed every night in case I get thirsty during the night.

One day while we were at work, Gromit climbed up and drank out of the glass sitting by the bed.

Now he gets a glass of water every night, too.

Sometimes I try to trick him with water leftover from the night before, but he won’t drink it.

He turns his head, sniffs, and waits for a fresh glass.
Lately I’ve noticed that if I have to yell at him for something, he yawns.

“Gromit, stop that!”


“Gromit, get over here.”


“Gromit, get down!”


I’m starting to take it personally.
I am listening to: Nothing
I am reading: Myths, Lies, and Downright Stupidity by John Stossel
And I am: Sick