We taught Dewey, our not quite a puppy any more Labrador Retriever, to ring a bell we have hanging from our front door when he needs to go out. Big mistake. Now he rings it not only to go out but also whenever he’s hungry or bored. And it’s rare when he’s not one or the other. I wonder if we should have banned him from the room when we watched Downton Abbey. He seems to think that he’s Lord Grantham and that my husband and I are Carson and Mrs. Hughes.
He’s also taken to turning up his nose at his dry food unless my husband has added a dollop of wet food and heated it in the microwave, a service I am not inclined to provide. So he’ll go and ring that blessed bell until he gets his way or he gets yelled at enough to stop. Try that with the Robert Crawley.
This morning after coming back in, he smelled faintly of skunk. It could have been poop since he likes to snack on his own. (He’s sweet but not very bright.) There’s a bath for him in the works this afternoon. Maybe I am Mrs. Hughes after all.
I’m participating in the Slice of Life month-long challenge, courtesy of Two Writing Teachers. Won’t you join me?